#god i am just. i am obsessed with the relationship between these two | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crescenthistory · 2 days

Text

You and I, We’ve Grown Comfortable Here

Pairing: Lee x Reader

Summary: Two outcasts with nowhere to go decides to go nowhere together. In each other they find shelter, acceptance, intrigue and a bond neither expected to go as deep as it does.

Words: 13.6k

Warnings: not proofread, basically five fics in one (a year of their relationship developing), assault, hints at sexual assault, implied attempted rape, death, murder, cannibalism (bones&all hello), make-out sessions, blood, implied smut(?), panic attacks, implied abusive parents, kicked out of home, living in a car, crying, angst, slow burn, cannibals in love, hurt/much comfort, happy ending, lee's truck being a character in and of itself

A/N: i am so unwell, i wrote this whole thing in the span of ONE day. this man makes me unwell. anyway, if i ever write any other fics or drabbles for lee, unless otherwise specified, presume it is based on this background because i am obsessed with these two.

***

When you saw the headlights, your heart caught in your throat just a little. It was late, too late to be out walking down a relatively abandoned countryroad, too late to even be awake. With only the stars for company, you were dragging your feet as you were walking in the hopes of hitting a camping site soon. You had heard good rumours of one not far away from the town you are putting in your rearview mirror. Metaphorically of course, with no driving liscense or car, all you had to get from one place to another were your shoes and your bravery.

It had been a couple of months since you left home. Whenever you had the opportunity to sleep, you could still hear the shouting and the slamming of doors when your father finally threw you out for good. The home in question had never felt safe for you anyway, you had never fit into the small town cookie cutter they tried to press you into, even when it drew blood.

After all that, you might be best off alone you concluded, and have stuck to that as you made your way through the US. There was nowhere in particular you wanted to go, you just did not want to be tied down anywhere. You wanted to see, explore and feel.

You had been dabbling in hitchhiking over the months, always sending a silent prayer to gods you did not believe in before getting into the strange cars. With a knife always in the pocket of your hoodie, you felt relatively secure that you could defend yourself if worse comes to worse. Yet you knew you can never truly know. You tried to keep your head on you still.

There had not been any cars on the road you were currently occupying for the past two hours. It had, for a glorious moment, felt like yours. Just you and the pavement and the night. So, when the headlights lit you up for behind, you grew a bit weary. Part of you wanted to jump in it, unsure of how long you had left until the campsite, tired to the bone, but you knew you shouldn’t at this hour.

But you were also so incredibly tired.

The rumble of the engine neared closer and the driver dimmed the headlights. On your left, the car drove into view, an old beat up truck, and it was slowing down to stop beside you. Leaning over the passenger seat, a young man peered out through the rolled down window, a messy head of freshly dyed hair shining like a beacon in the dark. He watched you with a face torn between curios and cautious.

“You good?” he called out, trying to be heard over the noise of his car.

You didn’t answer right away. Instinct told you to keep walking, to keep your head down and stay invisible like you’d been doing all night. But something about him made you stop.

You squinted through the light. “What do you think?”

He let out a breathy laugh, the kind that was more habit than humor. "Yeah, didn’t think so." His voice was rough, not unfriendly, but sharp around the edges. He glanced down the empty road and then back at you. "Need a ride or something?"

Every ride so far had been a risk, a quiet leap of faith, and it wasn’t like you had a good track record with trusting people. Your parents had made sure of that, kicking you out like it was nothing, like you were the problem for being too loud, too you.

Still, you couldn’t keep walking forever. And there was something intriguing about this boy, out here alone in the night, just like you.

“I guess that’s where we’re at tonight,” was your response, and he nodded immediately with a halfsmile.

“Fair enough. Where you headed?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Same,” he said, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other across the empty road. Something about him felt different — like he wasn’t just another passerby. You weren’t scared. Maybe that should’ve worried you.

He threw the passenger side door open. “You coming, or what?”

"Depends," you said, raising an eyebrow. "You a serial killer or something?"

He smirked, but there was a hint of something darker in his eyes, something guarded. "Not tonight."

"Comforting," you deadpanned, but you found yourself stepping closer to the truck anyway.

He watched you climb in with a kind of steady calm, like he was waiting for you to make the call. There wasn’t an ounce of threat in him, no leering or weird comments, just quiet, detached curiosity.

The truck smelled faintly of gasoline and something else, something metallic that made the back of your throat tighten, but you ignored it. There was a quiet ease to him, though, like he wasn’t thinking of you as prey – like he wasn’t thinking of you at all, really. He just… was. And it felt like enough.

The silence stretched between you as the truck rumbled down the road. Finally, you turned to him, curiosity itching at your thoughts.

“So, you pick up girls off the side of the road often, or am I just lucky?”

He gave you a side glance, something like amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “Lucky’s a word for it.”

There was something raw in his eyes when he said it, a guarded edge you recognized. You didn’t push it.

“I heard there is a campsite in the town over, I was thinking of maybe staying the night there,” you said, not wanting him to feel stuck with you in the car forever.

“The Meadows Site? Yeah, I was actually thinking of parking there for the night myself,” he said, giving you a curious glance before looking back to the road. “But it is a few more hours off.”

“Wow, I really am lucky you picked me up then.”

He snorted at that, a sound you somehow hadn’t expected to escape from him, but was amused to hear. You didn’t feel a need to chat further at the moment, and didn’t get the impression he did either. It was not uncomfortable though, the opposite actually. The atmosphere in his truck was comforting, to the point where you would almost fall asleep, though you really should not. Still, there was one thing left to ask.

“What’s your name, kind stranger?” you quipped, teasing tone evident in your voice. He smiled fully then, relaxing more into his seat.

“Lee. And yours, lucky girl?”

You told him your name and settled back into your seat yourself, watching the stars blur into the dark as the truck carried you further and further from everything you’d ever known.

***

It turned out you both had nowhere to go. No one waiting for you at the end of the line. No real reason for him to drive off without you the morning after your night spent in Meadows Site. He had borrowed you a blanket to lay on, thicker than the one you had been surviving on for a while now. After eating breakfast at a shop nearby that he showed you, clearly more familiar in the area than you, it just made sense to get back into the truck with him. That’s how you both rationalised it, as your eyes sparked with interest and entertainment whenever they met. Just made sense.

From that day, Lee’s truck became the closest you had had to a home in months. Maybe even years.

The miles between you and the world grew, but so did the distance between you and the versions of yourselves you left behind. You had nothing to offer each other apart from company, and nothing to lose from spending your days with one another.

It became easy, almost too easy. Long stretches of road, music humming through the truck's radio, filling the space between the two of you. Conversations about nothing that meant everything — favorite songs, old memories that still hurt, silly stories from childhood, tragedies that were so massive it became intrinsically hilarious to you both, Stories you told in the dead of night when the world felt softer, more forgiving.

Lee felt true in a way no other had. His company was comfortable, natural. A genuine friend that you could tease, maybe even flirt with a little when the mood struck. Nothing serious you would say. All in good fun, teenagers cruising through the Midwestern countryside.

It felt like forever, though it had only been a few weeks. The truck was a much better bed than the thin blanket you had relied on since you left the house you grew up in. You’d sleep in the backseat, sometimes curled up in the trunk with blankets piled up like a nest. On rare occasions, when exhaustion weighed you both down, you’d spring for a cheap motel, a temporary reprieve from the road.

The more you got to know Lee, the more that sense you had gotten about him on the night you met grew. Something was different about him, something you could taste on your tongue, a kind of unspoken understanding that simmered beneath the surface. You couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but there was something in Lee that reminded you of someone else. It wasn’t just the way he moved or the sharp look in his eyes – it was the way he held himself, the way he watched people, sizing them up like he knew more about them than they’d ever want to know.

You had known someone like that before.

Your uncle.

Your family never talked about him, not after he disappeared, but you remembered the day it happened like a movie in your mind. The last time you saw him. He had come to visit, just passing through, or so he said. You were young, but not young enough to forget the blood that stained his clothes, how his face was drawn, pale, like he was barely holding it together. How his teeth were off-white in a way you had never seen before. He had brushed it off when you asked him, saying he had gotten into a fight, nothing serious, but the way he smelled… it stuck with you.

The metallic tang of blood, the way it clung to him even after he cleaned up, how his eyes seemed wild and unfocused in the dim light of the kitchen. You could never explain it to someone without sounding insane. But yet somehow, you knew what he was. You knew.

Your parents didn’t say much about it then. They just watched him with wary eyes, their faces tight with something close to fear, though they never admitted it. When he left, they didn’t even look at that, and once he was gone they removed all photographs. They never mention him again, not even when you asked. It was like he had never existed. Like he had never even been part of the family.

You never met someone like him again, someone you could feel deep in your bones.

Until Lee. The Lee you looked at as he drove nonchalantly down roads, almost too relaxed to be sitting in a driver’s seat. He made all those pieces you had tucked away begin to slot together, forming a picture that put words to your instincts. The way your uncle had looked that night, the way your own body sometimes seemed to hum with something restless, it was all there, just waiting for you to acknowledge it.

You did not bring it up to him, it never seemed natural. And honestly, you didn’t feel the need to. For some reason, the idea of it all didn’t bother you. Lee was just Lee still, your road companion.

One night, you and Lee had parked the truck somewhere far off the main road, the stars stretched out like a tapestry above you. It was late, the kind of late where the world felt quieter, where the darkness seemed deeper, more honest. You were lying on a blanket in the bed of the truck, side by side, the silence between you comfortable but heavy, like something was waiting to be said.

The two of you had shared a lot already, more than you thought you had in you to share. He was still technically a strange man to you, it had not yet been a month. Still, you felt a bond with him you could not explain. His presence brought you peace in a world too large for you to grasp.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his fingers twitched restlessly by his side, like he was working through something in his head. Lee had been quieter than usual lately, more thoughtful, more distant. You didn’t push him – he was always like that, a little withdrawn when he was trying to sort through whatever was going on in his head. But tonight, it felt different. More pointed.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you… know?"

The question caught you off guard. It was so vague, so quiet, that for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. You turned your head to look at him, but his eyes were still fixed on the stars above, his expression unreadable in the dim light. There was something in his tone, though. Cautious, like he wasn’t sure how you would answer. Like he was afraid to hear it.

You swallowed, your heart picking up speed. "Know what?"

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he shifted slightly, still not looking at you. It seemed like he had hoped you would not ask. He was always careful, always measured with his words, but this time, you could tell he was holding something back. He exhaled slowly, and then, without turning his head, he said it again, this time more direct.

"About me. About what I am."

There was no uncertainty in you about what he was referring to. There it was, the thing you had been skirting around, the thing neither of you had spoken aloud. You knew, deep down, that this conversation had been coming for a while, with all the time you spent together, but now that it was here, the weight of it felt like a stone settling in your chest.

Your mind raced, memories of your uncle flashing through your thoughts, the blood on his hands, the way your parents had never spoken about him again. The way it all lingered in you like electricity.

You nodded slowly, your voice quiet. "Yeah. I know."

Lee didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body seemed to coil like a spring, ready to snap. His fingers drummed lightly against the truck bed, a habit he had when he was nervous, though he’d never admit it.

You wondered how he knew to ask you, if he had seen it in your eyes. You guessed you could ask him. But this moment hung in the air between you with such fragility. It felt like something had shifted irreversibly between you, and you were not yet certain if it was a good thing or not.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, strained. "And you… don’t care? Or what? You don’t wanna leave?"

You turned to him fully, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at his face. The starlight cast shadows over his sharp features, but his eyes—his eyes were clear, burning with something raw, something vulnerable he never let anyone else see. They were straining to remain trained on the sky.

"I’m not scared of you, Lee," you said softly, your voice steady but firm. "Or of it. I know who you are. And I know you’re a good person."

Lee’s breath hitched, just for a moment, barely noticeable, but you caught it. His eyes finally flickered toward you, the walls he kept up so carefully starting to crack. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. He just stared at you, a thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes, none of them quite making it out.

He swallowed hard, his voice dropping even lower when he finally spoke. "You don’t even know what I’ve done."

"I don’t need to," you said, your gaze locked on his. "I know you. I’ve been with you this long, and I think I have known all along. And I’m still here."

He stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t believe what you were saying, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. But when you didn’t, when you just kept looking at him like none of it scared you, like you weren’t about to run, something in him seemed to shift. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little, and he let out a slow, shaky breath.

"Why are you not afraid?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, almost wanting to laugh. “You’re just Lee to me.”

Lee looked away again, his eyes tracing the stars, but his mind was far from the night sky. The silence stretched between you once more, but this time, it wasn’t heavy with tension. It felt lighter. Like a weight had been lifted, even if he wasn’t ready to say it yet.

You settled back in beside him, arm grazing his. Comfortable.

For the first time in a long while, Lee let himself relax. He was always aloof, physically all over the place, but his mind remained alert. Now, he let it fall onto the pillow your words provided. He realized then, though he didn’t say it out loud, that the tightness in his chest, the thing he had been fighting for weeks, it wasn’t just nothing. He didn’t want to think the word, let alone say it. It had crept in slowly, so quietly that he hadn’t noticed it until it was staring him in the face.

Love didn’t feel safe to him. Love was complicated, messy. Dangerous, even. And yet, here you were, sitting beside him, telling him you weren’t afraid, telling him you knew who he was and that it didn’t matter. That you’d stay.

It was a feeling he didn’t know how to name. Not yet.

He turned back to you, his eyes softer now, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re really not gonna leave, huh?"

You laughed a little at how he shared it like a revelation, shaking your head. "Nope. You’re stuck with me."

Lee let out a breathy laugh, a sound that seemed to ease the last bit of tension between you. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since he met you, he felt something close to hope. He didn’t say it, but in that moment, he knew he’d do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

"I could get used to that," he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

And as the two of you sat there, side by side under the stars, the unspoken understanding between you deepened, solidified. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t afraid. And for Lee, that was enough.

You fell asleep side by side, just you and the stars.

***

Nights passed like that, over weeks and months, with you and him slowly gravitating closer.

Whether it be in the seats of the truck or the trunk, you always slept near each other. Originally you slept on either side of the trunk, or in each your seat, but as you spent most of your nights talking until either one of you passed out, it just felt natural to be close by.

Waking up with your limbs accidentally having gotten entangled, faces closer than you ever would be when conscious became a norm. The first time it happened, Lee woke first, but did not move until you woke, revelling in the touch of your body against his. Eyes studying your calm face, fully convinced this would be his only opportunity to be this close to you. When you came to, he pretended your movements woke him.

Neither of you spoke of it. There was no need to. Some things didn’t need words.

The more you got used to waking up entangled, the more intimate it became. You would find yourself laying on top of Lee’s chest, or his face would be tucked into the crook of your neck. Once this started happening, you both happened to begin to prefer sleeping in the trunk.

Despite your increasing comfort with each other, the nights were never completely peaceful. Sometimes you would wake up to find him gone, wandering somewhere. It was usually in the aftermath of a nightmare, but you also knew that he sometimes had other reasons for being gone.

You woke up in the middle of the night, the truck’s trunk feeling too empty, too cold. Instinctively, your hand reached over the space where Lee usually lay beside you, but all you felt was the crumpled fabric of his jacket. He wasn’t there. For a few seconds, you blinked in the darkness, groggy, your mind slow to catch up with the situation. The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet. That was when you noticed the faint sounds of movement just beyond the trees, down near the creek.

When possible, you two tried to park near a body of water, so you had the opportunity to wash up. You had also mentioned to Lee how relaxing you found lakes, and he started planning his routes around it after that.

You could hear heavy breathing and splashing by the water. Without thinking, you slipped out of the trunk, pulling on one of Lee’s hoodies he had discarded beside your blankets, and you quietly padded down toward the sounds. The moon hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, and that was when you saw him.

Lee was crouched near the edge of the creek, his shoulders tense, his hands dipped in the water. The pale light from the moon caught on his skin, but more than that, it illuminated the dark smudges smeared across his neck and arms. Blood.

He had not heard you yet, too focused on what he was doing – trying to scrub the blood away with frantic, almost desperate movements. He was shaking, his body too tense, like he was on the verge of unraveling. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, the material soaked in water and blood. His hair, usually a mess of carefully maintained chaos, stuck to his forehead in sweat-soaked strands.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You just watched him, heart aching at how broken he looked. It wasn’t like the Lee you were used to. This wasn’t the confident, quippy guy who could brush off anything with a smirk. No, this was the other side of him, the side he didn’t let you see. The one that carried all the weight of what he did, of who he was. The one that bled in more ways than just physically.

“Lee?” Your voice was soft, careful. You didn’t want to startle him, but you couldn’t just stand there, watching him like this.

He froze for a moment, his hands stilling in the water. He didn’t look up at you right away, just stared down at his own reflection rippling in the creek. “Go back to the truck,” he said, his voice rough, a little shaky. “I’m fine.”

But you could hear it. He wasn’t fine. Not even close.

A closer look at where he was sitting, you could see that he wasn’t fine physically either, his torn shirt revealing scratches across his upper body, bruises already forming along his arms in the moonlight. Whoever encountered your Lee tonight had put up a fight.

You ignored him, stepping closer, your bare feet sinking into the wet grass near the water’s edge. “You’re hurt.”

He let out a harsh breath, finally looking up at you. His face was pale, a little gaunt under the moonlight. His eyes, usually so sharp and full of something unreadable, were glassy. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning back to the water. “I’m just cleaning up.”

But you could see the way his hands trembled, how his movements were too rough, too quick, like he was trying to scrub the guilt away more than the blood. You stepped closer until you were beside him, crouching down at his level.

“Lee, look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw tightened, and he kept scrubbing, the water turning pink as it mixed with the blood on his skin.

"Lee," you said again, firmer this time, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

He finally stopped, his hands hovering just above the surface of the water, but still wouldn’t look at you. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he muttered, voice raw. “You weren’t supposed to—” He cut himself off, his shoulders hunching forward like he was folding into himself. “Shit.”

"What is wrong with me seeing this?" you asked quietly, your fingers tracing the outline of a bruise forming along his arm. "Why do you have to fix it yourself?"

He swallowed hard, still staring at the water. "Because you don’t need to deal with this. With me. You didn’t sign up for… any of this." His voice wavered at the edges, frustration mixing with exhaustion.

You shook your head, biting back the sting in your own chest. "You think I care about blood? About this? I knew what I was getting into, I told you so. If you’re hurt, I want to help."

He finally looked at you then, his expression flickering with something like disbelief. “You shouldn’t have to… see me like this. Like some… fuckin’ monster. No, no.”

“You’re not a monster,” you said firmly, and you didn’t waver. You tightened your grip on his forearm. You could see the bruises, the blood streaking down his neck in shapes that looked like somebody had scratched at him, put up a fight. You saw the way he clenched his jaw like he was holding everything in, trying not to crack open. You saw the way his eyes flickered with guilt, shame, like he couldn’t stand himself in that moment. The same boy that laughed with you in the car, who played jokes on strangers. Who usually tried to seem totally content with this lifestyle of his.

"Yes, I am," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You don’t… understand what it’s like. To have to do this, to –"

"I don’t have to understand everything," you cut him off, your hand sliding up to his neck, gently brushing through his damp hair. "But I know you. And I know you don’t have to do this alone. That is my choice, and I choose to be here for you."

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing for a brief moment like he was trying to pull himself together. But when he opened them again, you saw the vulnerability in them, the rawness that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He was struggling, fighting to keep himself together, to not fall apart in front of you.

You sat down beside him fully now, your knees brushing his, your hand still resting at the back of his neck. “Let me help.”

He hesitated, his pride fighting against the offer, but he was too tired to resist for long. Slowly, he nodded, his body slumping in defeat as he let you take over.

You helped him take of his torn t-shirt, leaving him bare to reflect the moonlight, and dipped it into the creek. The cold water soaking through the fabric as you carefully brought it back up to his skin, gently wiping away the dried blood from his face, his arms. He winced slightly when you dabbed at a few deeper cuts near his ribs, but he didn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," you said quietly, your eyes focused on cleaning him up. "You don’t have to be strong all the time."

Lee didn’t respond right away. He just watched you, his eyes following the way you moved, the way your touch was soft, careful. He let out a low breath, something like relief mixing with the exhaustion in his voice. “I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“Why?” You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re hurt? Or because you’re human?”

He laughed roughly at that, shaking his head slightly. “I haven’t felt human in a long time.”

You paused, your hand stilling for a moment before you continued cleaning the blood from his neck. “You feel human to me.”

He went quiet again, his eyes studying you, the way you didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away from the mess of him. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the gentle ripple of the creek as you worked, the soft splash of water as you wrung out the bloody fabric.

“He-” Lee began but his voice broke. You were patient, continuing to tend to him as he seemed to wrestle with whether to continue the sentence. Eventually: “He was a bad guy. I always try to make sure they are.”

It broke your heart to hear the pleading undertone of what he was saying. What he was trying to convey to you.

You weren’t entirely sure what the best response was, but you settled on telling him you believed him.

When you were done, you leaned back slightly, your hands resting on your thighs as you looked him over. He still had some bruises that would take time to heal, but most of the blood was gone, his skin clean again under the moonlight. None of his scratches were in need of any serious medical intervention, but you made a mental note to stop by a pharmacy in the morning regardless.

“There,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Better.”

Lee stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, without warning, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me like this.”

You closed your eyes, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “I want to.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, just stayed there, eyes closed and his forehead resting against yours. His breath slowly steadying as he let himself lean on you, just for a little while.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

You smiled slightly, your hand moving to the back of his neck again, gently threading your fingers through his hair. “I told you. You’re not alone.”

“Not alone,” he mumbled and wiggled his forehead against yours briefly before pulling back and getting up.

He stretched a hand out to you, ready to pull you back with him to the truck.

***

A few states had ended up in your rearview mirror since you turned that creek pink and your hearts slightly softer. The atmosphere between you had shifted yet again, growing deeper and deeper each time. There was no acknowledgement of it, but there didn’t need to be. In the unspokeness, you could grow bolder. The touches, the glances, they took up more and more space in your increasingly small truck. You would yet again wake up in each other’s arms, and it no longer felt accidental.

It was the small things, too. The way his hand would brush yours when you walked side by side, or how he let his fingers linger a moment longer when you passed him something. The way your legs would press together in the truck when you shared the cramped front seat, neither of you moving away. Sometimes, when the truck was pulled off the road and you were both leaning against it, talking under the stars, his knee would bump against yours, and instead of pulling back, he let it stay there.

It felt like you were both waiting for something. The tension was not sharp, it was warm, almost inviting. You both knew what was next, but neither of you had made the move to cross that last, thin line.

You and Lee had spent the evening like you always did—driving, talking, letting the hours slip away into easy silences and the occasional laugh. Planning where to head to next. You had decided to drive to see the silliest places you could find, asking random strangers was the weirdest tourist attraction they have heard of is. On the list is Ben and Jerry’s Flavor Graveyard, the world largest ball of paint and a nuclear waste adventure trail. The night had come over you, and you ended up parked on the outskirts of a town, the lights from them illuminating you even in the dark. The two of you sat on the hood of the truck, your legs dangling off the edge, shoulders brushing.

He was quieter tonight. You could sense it in the way his gaze kept drifting over to you, then back to the stars. His hand rested on the metal beside you, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm, like he was thinking through something he had not decided on yet. But it wasn’t the usual restlessness that seemed to rule Lee’s entire existence. This was something different. Something quieter.

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet for a guy who never shuts up.”

He huffed a laugh, his head tilting toward you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your eyes catching the faint light of the stars reflecting in his. It was moments like this that you felt the pull most strongly – the way his face softened when he wasn’t trying to keep his guard up, the way he let you see parts of him he didn’t show anyone else. There was something magnetic about Lee when he wasn’t hiding. It made you want to keep his doors open, to take them off their hinges.

His hand shifted, almost imperceptibly, his fingers brushing against yours on the deck of the trunk. It was barely a touch, just the faintest hint of skin against skin, but you felt it like a jolt, a reminder of how close you both were. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he.

The silence stretched between you again, thick with something unspoken. It struck you how much serenity you felt in your soul in the silences with him, even when there was something brewing in it. You could feel him beside you, the warmth of him, the way his breath had slowed, his body still as if he was waiting for something.

Your fingers twitched, brushing against his again, and this time, you didn’t hesitate. You turned your hand over, palm up, an invitation as much as it was a question. Lee glanced down at your hand, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, like he had so many times before. But instead, his fingers curled slowly around yours, his grip gentle but sure, and your breath caught in your throat.

Neither of you spoke. The understanding that had hung between you for weeks was right there, all you had to do was lean into it.

“Lee,” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking. You liked having his name in your mouth.

He turned his body towards you at his name, shifting closer, eyes locked on yours. You could see the hesitation there, the way his brow furrowed slightly, like he was still fighting something inside himself, still holding back.

But you weren’t. Not anymore.

You leaned in, closing the space between you before you could second-guess yourself, your lips brushing his softly, testing. Just once, enough to give him an out, enough to say I’m here, if you are.

For a moment, nothing happened. Lee stayed perfectly still against you, his breath caught, his fingers tightening around yours. Then, slowly, almost tentatively, he leaned in further, his lips pressing back against yours, soft and warm. Open mouthed, lovingly.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate like you might have imagined. It was careful, deliberate, like he was letting himself feel it for the first time, like he wanted to make sure it was real. His free hand came up, brushing lightly against your jaw, his fingers tracing the edge of your face, almost as if he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on.

You deepened the kiss further, savouring his touches, the feeling of his tongue against yours. Your hand glided up to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Slow but steady, the tension between you finally breaking in the gentlest way possible. It was like everything that had been building between you – every touch, every glance, every unspoken word – was spilling into that moment, into the way his lips moved against yours, into the way he held you like you were the only thing to hold.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Lee’s eyes were still closed, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if grounding himself in the moment, his lips parted, trying to catch his breath.

You stayed like that for a while, it didn’t matter how long. Few things mattered, you had found. Lee did.

When he finally opened his eyes, they were unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before. He didn’t smile, but the look in his eyes said enough. He was here, with you, in whatever this was.

He whispered your name, a late response.

You hummed with a smile, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. No words were needed. There were none that could be said, not now, not yet.

Lee chuckled softly, a sound that felt more like relief than anything else. He slid down from leaning against the truck, to laying on the deck, still not letting go of your hand. You followed suit, for the first time purposefully laying your body half on top of his, head resting on his chest.

No more waiting.

There was a whole civilisation right before you, just out of reach, but for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the next destination. You were here, together, and that was all that mattered.

***

Once that barrier was breached, you and Lee found yourself stealing kisses of varying intensity more often than not. There was no label on the two of you, with your pasts you both were guarded from being the first to admit the intensity behind your actions. Yet, the need to be close was not dissipating as the days passed, if anything it only grew the more of a taste you got for each other.

One night, you found yourselves at a dive bar on the edge of some no-name town. The music thumped through the walls, too loud and too fast, but it matched the energy buzzing between you and Lee. The dim lights made everything look a little hazy, like the whole world was moving in slow motion. Lee leaned against the bar, his back to the crowd, his eyes fixed on you as you stood close to him, sipping on a cheap cider that barely tasted like anything. He hadn’t drank much tonight, which made the way he was looking at you feel even more intense.

There was something magnetic about him, the way he carried himself, the way his arm seemed to naturally find its way around your shoulders when in public, protective and possessive without being overbearing. You could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes, and you leaned into it, enjoying the comfort of his touch.

It was late, and the air between you was only magnifying your need for him, his fingers barely touching yours on the bartop like he was daring you to pull him closer. He only moved them to order another round from the bartender, shooting you a wicked grin.

“Thoughts?” he asked you as he handed you your new drink.

“This place isn’t too bad. The guy at the bar isn’t either.” The smile you flashed him was teasing and he all but rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess we’re both alright.”

You were about to make some quip about his soft spot for dive bars when a figure caught your eye, and you tensed. A guy had sidled up to the bar a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you, too interested, too familiar. You glanced at Lee, but he was already clocking the guy, his body going still beside you, though his expression didn’t change.

The guy stumbled closer, his drink sloshing in his hand. “You two look like you’re having a good time,” he slurred, his gaze flicking between you and Lee with a smirk that made your skin crawl.

Lee’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from the guy. His look could draw blood, but his voice stayed calm, almost flat. “We were.”

The guy either didn’t notice your discomfort and Lee’s adverse stance, or he just didn’t care. He leaned in a little closer, still grinning like this was all a joke. “Come on, man. Just trying to talk to her.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Lee shifted, his arm moving in one fluid motion to slide around your waist, pulling you against him in a way that felt natural, like he was drawing a line in the sand. “She’s not interested,” he said, voice low and steady, but you could feel the warning beneath the surface.

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Lee’s calm intensity, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Hey, man, no need to get all protective. Just having fun.”

Lee kept staring him down, his grip on you tight, steadying you as much as he was putting space between you and the guy. “Well, you’re done,” he said, still in that same measured tone, like he wasn’t giving the guy a choice in the matter. “Go back to your drink.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off with a muttered, “Alright, alright. Chill.” Slunking back into the crowd, he cast a few annoyed glances over his shoulder, but lacked the bravery to follow up on his annoyance.

Lee’s body was still taut with that lingering tension, eyes scanning the room again before he finally let out a breath. He didn’t pull away from you though, his hand resting on your hip as if he needed the contact to remind himself that you were alright.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice softer now as he finally looked down at you, concern flickering behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered, trying to take in what just happened and how swiftly Lee handled it. Never before have you gotten away from a situation with a creepy man so fast.

“Are you?” you eventually asked, looking up to see his jaw still slightly clenched.

He nodded, his expression softening slightly as he glanced down to meet your eyes. "Yeah. Just don’t like guys like that."

You smiled a little, leaning into him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. "I noticed."

His lips quirked into a small grin, and it felt easy again, back to just the two of you, even in this crowded bar. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against your skin now that you stood so close.

“Think so.” You finished your drink and without another word, he took your hand, leading you out into the cool night air.

The bar’s noise faded into the background as the two of you walked back to the truck, your fingers still intertwined with his. There was something about the way he was holding your hand that made your heart race. It was tighter than normal, his thumb brushing over your skin.

You stopped by the passenger side door and Lee immediatley closed the gap between you, pressing you gently against the side of the truck. His hands rested on your hips, it was as if he had realised he could place them there now. When his gaze met yours, his eyes flickered with something dangerous, something raw.

"You know," he murmured, his voice rough, "I will always protect you. In any situation.”

You almost didn’t know what to say. It was so simple, yet he poured so much emotion into those words, and you felt them entirely.

“I do know,” you whispered. “I have never felt safety like this before.” The last part felt like a confession more than an answer.

Lee’s breath hitched and he laid his forehead against yours, leaning more of his body against yours, so you were flush between him and the metal of the car.

“I’ve been trying not to kiss you all night. You’ve made it difficult.” Lee looked into your eyes as he said it, searching your face for a reaction. His pupils were wide, gaze intense.

You felt a shiver run through you at his words, the heat between you burning brighter. "Then stop trying."

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips crashed into yours with a force that knocked the breath out of you, one hand sliding up to grip your face while the other remained held your hips tighter, closer. His kisses were always languid, open-mouthed and passionate. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair and pulling at it as you kissed him back with equal intensity, your body arching against his. His mouth was warm and demanding, and when he kissed you, it felt like everything else in the world fell away.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hands moving up under your shirt, the cool air mixing with the heat of his touch. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your neck, each kiss igniting sparks along your skin. You gasped softly, tilting your head to give him better access, your fingers travelling to dig into the skin of his back

"God," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and breathless, like he could barely control himself.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, merging under the stars, the truck a silent witness to the way your bodies moved together, the way you couldn’t seem to get close enough. You lost track of time, lost track of everything except the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your skin. He was beginning to become your Lee.

***

Living with Lee changed you in many ways, but the most important was that for the first time in your life, you felt free. Whether it was the boy’s attitude or his attentiveness to you, or the roads that stretched for miles like ink on paper, you settled into your own body and existence. You owned yourself and your destiny in a way you didn’t think possible.

As you shared more of yourselves with each other, you realised just how repressed you had been, just how much of you had been shut off. In your newfound safety in Lee, you could open up.

Things long locked away were stirring within you. Some painful, some exciting. And some, you didn’t have the words to describe yet.

For the time being, you were on a quest to a museum of the history of cheese that an old lady at a café had been raving to you about. It was another state over, but this sweet woman insisted it was worth it, and as you were the ones who asked her about a recommendation, you felt it only right to trust her word.

On the way there, you were stopping in a typical shittown, the kind where nothing really happens but somehow everyone knows everyone else’s business. Craving excitement after a long day in the car with your feet in Lee’s lap, you asked him to go looking through town for something to do. There was a bonfire party that night, something thrown together by a group of locals, and you figured that would do.

The fire crackled in the center of the gathering in the middle of the forest, the air heavy with smoke and alcohol. Lee’s arm was slung loosely around your shoulders as you walked through, scouting the place.

"You wanna stay long?" he asked, voice low in your ear.

You shook your head, leaning into him a little. "Nah. Let’s just see how it goes."

He nodded, but you could feel the tension in him, like he was always keeping one eye on the crowd. That protective streak ran deep in him, and you couldn’t help but wonder where it came from.

The two of you settled down on a log by the fire, chatting with some locals and getting your kick out of listening to them drawl away about town drama. A man had been circling where you were sat, both you and Lee noticed, but he never approached.

Needing to get some water from the truck, you squeezed Lee’s leg and told him you’d be right back.

He let his arm fall from around you to let you up, but looked at you with concern. “Don’t be long.” You just smiled. He watched you go, his eyes lingering on you longer than you realized.

You were walking back with water in hand, still on the outskirts of the bonfire and shielded from view when you saw the man coming up towards you. He looked the exact same as every man who had been a bother to you since you began life on your own and your stomach soured.

"Hey," the guy’s voice was a slurred mix of alcohol and bravado, his grin too wide, too familiar. "Why’d you leave your pretty boy toy behind? Done with him and ready for me?"

Your skin prickled with unease, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I’m good. You should head back.”

He ignored you, stepping closer. "Come on, don’t be like that. We’re vibing, right?"

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm, and you jerked back instinctively. “Don’t touch me.”

The grin on his face faltered, replaced with something darker. “You’re just playing hard to get,” he muttered, his voice low and threatening now. "Girls like you always do."

“Back off!” you tried, but he took quick steps toward you.

Your heart raced, and before you could step away, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with bruising force. You twisted, trying to wrench yourself free, but he was stronger than he looked. His other hand moved to his pocket, and when he pulled out the glint of a blade, panic surged through you.

"Stop –"

"You’re not going anywhere –"

What happened next was a blur—a clash of instincts, fear driving your body into overdrive. He lifted the knife towards your throat, likely to threathen and not harm in the moment, but you could not wait to see how that would turn out. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your hands lashed out, grabbing his wrist with one and prying the knife away with another. Suddenly the blade was in your hand, and when he threw himself on top of you, you shoved him off with one hand and used the knife with the other.

It found its home in his neck.

You scrambled away, not yet realising what had just happened. At your hands. You stared at him in shock where he laid in front of you, the sounds sickening, wet gurgle as his throat opened up. Blood poured out in a thick stream, hot and fast, soaking his shirt.

In shock and desperation, you grabbed at the wound as if to counteract what you had just done, but he took that opportunity to grab you by the hair and neck, attempting to choke you. Fear surged through you once more, but his once-hard grip was already weakening and you could wrestle free.

By the time you recovered and looked up, the life had drained from his eyes. All you could hear was your breathing and the pulse in your head.

You could smell the blood. On your hands, on his clothes, still oozing from his wound. It was dizzying, the world becoming distant as you were trapped inside this bubble that consisted of the two of you. You and the corpse.

You realised you had never seen a corpse before, not in person. Smelling fresh blood was different from smelling it once it had harkened on Lee’s skin. Not even the thought of Lee could drag you out of the state you were slowly being pulled into.

Without fully acknowledging your movements, you moved back towards the man, the one who had wished you dead and died by his own knife. Your eyes were fixated on his wound, something building inside of you at a rapid speed. A coil built in your stomach, one you had known was there for essentially forever, without the ability to give it a name.

It snapped. And as it did, you leaned down and sunk your teeth into his neck.

Everything felt right, not the kind of comfortable right you had developed with Lee, it felt like your body was finally getting air after a long period of suffocation, it felt like water after a long run. It felt like a meal after having been starving.

Your face was buried further and further in the flesh, your mind completely void of all thoughts. Just your fingers and teeth, blood and bone. Feral, instinctive, lost in the hunger that just kept building, like it was never enough.

"Shit."

A switch went off, and you were snapped back to reality. The smell of forest pine and moss, bonfire and smoke crept back in. As you slowly lifted your gaze, you saw him standing at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide, his face pale in the moonlight. His gaze was locked on you, and for the first time since you met him, you saw real shock on his face. Not fear exactly, but something close. Something you didn’t expect.

Horror.

“Lee…” Your voice broke, barely a whisper. The reality of what you’d just done hit you all at once, crashing into you like a wave. “Oh, God.”

Your eyes flashed back down and suddenly it was as if you realised you had a corpse at your feet. You scrambled backwards, breathing quickening, horrified and lost. You stared at your hands as tears were beginning to blur your vision, only worsened by how you couldn’t even see your skin’s colour through all the blood. Small curses kept spilling out past your lips as your eyes darted between the man, your hands and Lee.

“I– I didn’t mean to, I–” Your voice broke.

Lee took a step forward, his face still a mask of shock. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the blood smeared across your skin. He’d always sensed something in you, always felt that you and him were the same in some way, but this… this was different. He hadn’t smelled it on you before. He had no idea.

“I didn’t– I don’t know what happened, I just–” You couldn’t make sense of it. Of anything. Your world was turned upside down.

“Hey.” Lee had made his way over to you, sitting on his knees in front of you. His voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, low and firm but not harsh. He closed the distance between you grabbing your arm, pulling you up from the ground. His grip was steady, but there was urgency in it now. “We gotta go.”

You blinked at him, still in shock, the reality of what you’d done slowly settling in. “But –”

“I know, I know, okay?” He pulled on a piece of hair plastered to your skin by blood, tucking it behind your hair. “I get it. But we gotta go. Now.” His voice cut through your haze of confusion and guilt. He didn’t wait for you to respond, didn’t give you the chance to argue. He grabbed you by the waist, practically lifting you off your feet as he dragged you away from the body and into the trees.

The world around you blurred as he pulled you through the forest, his grip firm, unyielding. The pounding in your head drowned out everything else– the sound of the party, the crackle of the bonfire, the smell of blood still clinging to you. All you could think about was what you had just done. What it meant. What you were.

By the time you reached the truck, you were shaking, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Lee shoved you into the passenger seat, his hand still gripping your arm like he was afraid you might bolt. He climbed in beside you, slamming the door shut, his face hard and unreadable as he started the engine.

For a while, there was nothing but the hum of the road, the world outside the truck a blur of dark trees and empty stretches of highway. Lee didn’t say anything, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his grip tight on the wheel. Mind racing almost as fast as the car, as he sped down the highway, determined to get as far away from the scene as possible. You sat beside him, leaning your head on the dashboard in front of you as you tried to gather yourself. Your hands still trembling, blood still drying on your skin.

You could barely breathe, the walls of the truck closing in around you. The reality of what you had done hit you again, harder this time. You had killed someone. Eaten someone.

You choked on a sob, tears already streaking the blood on your face. Your chest was tightening, your vision blurring. “Lee, I–”

There was no way for you to finish the sentence.

With your eyes clenched shut, hidden away, making yourself as small as possible in your seat, you couldn’t see the pained look he gave you. He needed to protect you by putting distance between you and the crime. But all he wanted was to pull you close.

“It’s okay. I will stop as soon as I can. It’s okay.”

Eventually he caught eye of a discreet sideroad and veered the truck down it as fast as possible. He slammed on the brakes, parking the car on a plot of grass by a river. The engine cut off, leaving the night in a sudden, heavy silence. In the blink of an eye, Lee was out of the truck, opening your door to pull you out as well. You were too out of it, not processing anything that was happening. He ended up scooping you into his arms and carrying you bridal style down to the riverside.

One bloody bride that is.

He sat you down by the water, his hands still firm on your arms, not giving you room to break down yet. "Sit here." His voice was softer now, but still edged with urgency. He knelt beside you, shrugging off his jacket and dipping it into the water. The cold night air hit your skin, but you barely felt it, still lost in the haze of panic.

You sat there, frozen, as he started to clean the blood off your hands, your arms, your face, as carefully as he could when hurrying. His touch was careful, deliberate, the way it had been when you first found him at the creek, battered and trying to clean himself up. But there was something different this time, something softer, more protective, like he wasn’t just cleaning the blood away, but trying to take some of the weight of it with him. Like he was saying, You don’t have to carry this alone. His jaw was clenched, eyes focused entirely on you, like he was trying to fix you, trying to put you back together piece by piece.

“Lee,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Am I–?” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

He paused, his hands stilling for just a second before he looked up at you. His expression softened, something breaking in his eyes. He reached up with a wet hand, brushing over your cheek and simultaneously cleaning some blood off. "You don’t have to be scared of it," he murmured, his voice low, steady. "Or of me."

You blinked, tears welling in your eyes. "I don’t understand."

“I’m here.” His fingers remained on your face, wiping away the tears before they could fall too far. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

You gave a faint nod.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, the weight of what had just happened hanging between you. He kept trying to get as much blood as possible off you, making you presentable again both in case someone saw you and to help you feel normal again. He didn’t try to explain it, didn’t try to rationalize it.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “He attacked me, I protected myself and then, then–”

“I know,” he said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

Lee made sure your face and hands were free from blood, and then he helped you out of your stained sweater, leaving you in just your top underneath. He discarded it quick and turned back to you, grabbing your shaking hands.

“We need to move again, sweetheart” he said, voice low but certain. “We can’t stay too close.”

He stood up, reaching out to pull you up with him. His movements were quiet, purposeful. He didn’t rush you, but there was a tension in the air now, like he was calculating the next move. You could tell his mind was already working ahead, mapping out the quickest way to get you both far from the scene, far from the mess you left behind.

Your legs wobbled as you stood, your body still weak from the adrenaline crashing out of your system, but Lee’s grip on you was firm, guiding you back toward the truck. He opened the passenger door, helping you in before sliding into the driver’s seat. He tentatively took your hand with the one that wasn’t on the steering wheel, rubbing circles on it with his thumb as a silent comfort. The truck rumbled to life beneath you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of the engine, drowning out the thoughts you didn’t want to face.

"I didn’t know it would feel like this," you whispered once you were back on the road, your voice shaking. "I never… I didn’t think I’d ever be like this."

Lee was quiet for a moment, his eyes trained on the road, like he was thinking carefully about what to say next. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, though there was something distant in it, like he was pulling from his own memories. "First time I fed… I couldn’t stop shaking afterward. Not ‘cause of the blood. It was the way it felt. Right and wrong all at once. Like it was something I was supposed to be ashamed of, but my body just didn’t care."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words hitting you in a way that made your chest tighten. It was exactly how you felt – the rush of power, the satisfaction of feeding, mixed with the horror of what you had done. You had never wanted this, but it was like your body had decided for you.

"I didn’t want to stop," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t even think about it. I just… gave in."

Lee turned to you, his eyes soft but serious, and for a moment, you could see the weight of his own guilt mirrored in his expression. "That’s what it does. That’s what the hunger is." He paused, his jaw clenching briefly before he continued. "It takes over. And once it does… it’s like you don’t have a choice anymore. You just need."

You shivered, wrapping an arm around your stomach, trying to shake off the phantom feeling of the blood on your skin, the taste of it still faint on your lips. "I’m going to need it now,” you said, the realisation setting in. “How do I handle that?”

He exhaled slowly, and you saw the streetlights reflected in his eyes as they grew somewhat glossy. "You learn. Little by little. You get to know the hunger, learn how to control it instead of letting it control you. I will help you with it. You won’t do it alone.”

The tears you’d been holding back started to spill over, and you turned away, trying to hide your face. "I don’t really know what to do with myself now.”

He remained quiet, just held your hand tighter.

For a long while, you just sat there, letting the silence and the weight of his words wash over you. The night felt vast around you, you realised now that Lee had rolled down the windows for you. Likely to help you breathe better. You should have known Lee would understand, because of course he would. Yet, there had been fear that he would be angry, disgusted. He wasn’t, not even a little bit. If anything, he was calm. Steady. Like this wasn’t something that could break you.

He built a little bit of confidence you, even as you felt your insides caving in.

The road stretched out ahead of you in silence, the dark trees a blur outside the windows. Lee was counting the miles until it would be safe to stop for the night, just a little bit longer. The truck was filled by spiraling thoughts from you both.

Lee had to stop himself from going down a rabbithole of blaming himself. Thinking that he influenced you, that maybe, if you hadn’t met him you never would have discovered this part of you. He wanted to hate himself, he wanted to break down, but with every glance over at you he knew he couldn’t. Your feelings were what mattered tonight. He knew he needed to keep it together to guide you through it.

You had been crying on and off for the past hour, struggling with too many emotions at once. To process the assault and the intense fear you felt. Guilt consumed you, but not necessarily for killing the man, as you knew you had to, but then you felt guilty about your lack of guilt, and it was a never ending spiral. You felt horrible about feeding on him, about the discovery that you were an eater. When it was Lee it didn’t bother you, because, as you had come to realise, you just loved him. You know he is good. But you? That one was harder.

Then, your mind went to more practical matters. You had killed someone, feasted upon their body and then abandoned it. There were so many layers of illegal in those actions, and a new kind of fear and panic grabbed you.

Lee had seen these emotions develop in his peripheral, subconsciously speeding a bit faster, looking for somewhere safe to stop.

Your chest began to tighten, the panic from earlier threatening to bubble up. “Lee…” Your voice cracked, barely holding itself together. “What if someone finds out?”

He glanced at you briefly, his face unreadable. “They won’t.”

“But–”

“We’re not going back. Not to that town, not anywhere near it.” His voice was firm, cutting through your panic with the same intensity he had used earlier. “By the time they realize anything, we’ll be long gone. We’re already long gone.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they didn’t settle the storm in your chest. You squeezed your hands together, spotting some leftover blood around your cuticle. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like the air in the truck was too thick, too stifling. The man’s corpse was laying on top of your lungs and you were suffocating.

“Lee… I…” You gasped, scratching at your skin, your vision starting to blur. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t think past the overwhelming guilt, the horror of what you’d done.

He called your name, but you couldn’t register anything anymore.

The truck swerved again as Lee pulled off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulled up to a small clearing, hidden behind a stretch of trees. An answered prayer.

He immediatley turned to you, his brow furrowed with concern, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "Hey. Hey, breathe. Sweetheart, I think you’re having a panic attack."

You tried to speak, but your words got caught and you were doubling over in the space that felt more and more confining.

In a swift motion, Lee had pulled you over the console and into his lap, opening the door beside him to let in as much air as possible. He held you securely, tight grip meant to ground you as he tried to talk you down.

With a hand on your cheek, he made you meet his eyes. "Look at me. You gotta breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Focus on me."

You tried, but the panic had taken hold, your mind spiraling out of control. "I killed him. I killed him, and–"

"I know," Lee cut you off, his voice soft but firm. "You did. But it’s fine. It is fine, you are fine. I know. But you’re gonna be okay. You’re not in danger. Just breathe. Please breathe."

His words didn’t allow for you to argue, quelling your disagreements before you could make them. He cupped your face, stroking his thumb along your jaw, and exaggerated his breathing so you could follow it. In and out. He was so close, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, all you could focus on was him. He was pulling you back from the edge.

"Breathe," he repeated, his voice a low murmur. "That’s all you need to do right now."

You closed your eyes, following his lead, trying to pull air into your lungs the way he told you. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slowly, painfully, the tightness in your heart began to ease, your breath coming in shaky but more controlled gasps.

When you opened your eyes again, Lee was still watching you, his hand still gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling. "There you go." His voice barely above a whisper. "Just like that."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch, your body still trembling but no longer on the verge of breaking. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice fragile and raw.

Lee shook his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong."

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had done something wrong, something unforgivable, but the way he was looking at you – like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t some monster, made the words die in your throat.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "I always got you. You’re good."

The weight of his words, the certainty in them, settled deep in your chest, pushing back the panic, the fear. You weren’t alone in this. You had Lee. You always had Lee.

You stayed like that for a while, just sitting in his lap in the truck, your breath finally steadying as the night stretched out around you. You didn’t notice how hard you were holding onto Lee, clutching his shirt and even some skin, but he didn’t say anything either. He just stayed beside you, his hands never leaving you, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge every time the panic threatened to take over again.

You breathed together. Through it all.

After what felt like hours, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but sure. "Let’s get settled down, okay?”

You nodded, too tired to argue, too drained to do anything but follow his lead. Lee helped you out of the seat, his arm steady around your waist as he guided you down. He went around the truck, gathering the blankets from the backseat, more than he would usually grab, and set up your usual makeshift bed in the trunk as quickly as possible.

Together, you climbed into the softness he had created just for you. It felt odd to do something so familiar when it felt like everything had changed. Lee had not, still watching you, as he leaned back against the cab of the truck. You pulled on one of his sweaters, settling in beside him. He tangled your feet together and grabbed your hand, but didn’t initiate more than that, expectantly waiting for you to process your thoughts out loud with him.

Your eyes were slightly glossy again when you whispered, "Thank you."

He shook his head, immediately softening. "You don’t have to thank me."

"I do," you whispered, your voice catching. "You didn’t have to do any of this. And you did."

Lee’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants. "Of course," he said, his voice low but firm. "You’re stuck with me, remember?"

A small, broken laugh escaped you, something warm flickering in your chest. You looked up at him, tears blurring your vision, but there was a kind of quiet relief there, too. Lee’s gaze was steady, unwavering, like no matter what had happened, no matter how far you had fallen, he was there to pull you back.

"Lee…" you started, but the words caught in your throat, too many emotions swirling inside you to put into words.

He seemed to understand anyway. Without saying anything, he angled himself more towards you, his forehead resting against yours. The closeness, the way his body pressed gently into yours everywhere, was enough to calm the last of your racing thoughts. You let out a shaky breath, your hands reaching up to gently hold his face, your fingers brushing through his hair.

For a moment, you just stayed like that, your breaths mingling, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost to the night air. "You’re safe."

Something in his voice, the way he said it, made your heart clench. He had never said it out loud, but you knew. He tipped your chin up, meeting your lips with a searing kiss, one that felt like promise.

It felt like forever before he pulled away, far enough to be able to see your eyes, searching your face for more hurt to quench. You could see his bottom lip quivering slightly before he said it.

"I love you.”

Life stilled in the small clearing, and the weight of the past year came tumbling down on you. All you had done, all that had changed. How painful it had all been. How worth it it all was, to be sitting here in this boy’s arms now.

You took him in, your breath shaky. His words hung in the air between you, raw and real in a way that made your pulse race.

He smiled, understanding your reaction. His forehead went back to yours, his hands cradling your face gently, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. There was nothing aloof about him now. He was all here, in this moment, focused on you like nothing else mattered. "I'm serious," he murmured, his voice soft, the vulnerability in it something you'd never heard before. "I love you."

Your throat tightened, grappling with the weight of it all. "Still?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer, his breath warm against your lips. "You think this scares me? You think any of this changes how I feel about you?" His gaze was intense, a burning passion that steadied you, even as your heart threatened to tear itself apart. "You’re still you. This doesn’t make you someone else. So, yeah. Still. Always."

Your heart soared, a flood of emotions you hadn’t expected surging to the surface. You kissed him again, slowly, just lips pressed against lips as you tried to calm yourself. "I don’t know what life looks like for us now.”

"Then we’ll figure it out," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like there had never been another option. “Part of the fun, right?”

He pulled away just to kiss your forehead and temples, lingering there for almost a beat too long before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "You're not alone in this. I’m not letting you go through it alone. Got it?"

You blinked back the hot, stinging tears that threatened to spill over. The calm in his voice, the unwavering certainty in his eyes grounded you like no else. It felt impossible, but here he was, telling you that you weren’t lost, that he wasn’t leaving, no matter what happened.

"I need you, you know," he whispered against your cheek, kissing it once more. "I don’t think you get that."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. You clung to him. "I do," you said, your voice soft but firm. "I need you, Lee. Desperately."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Then don’t overthink it."

And before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. There was a quiet desperation in the way he kissed you, like every ounce of the feelings he couldn’t quite say were being poured into that moment. His hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as though he was trying to erase the space between you.

You kissed him back with the same intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body pressing into his, craving the closeness, the connection. Everything else faded into the background, drowned out by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his hands on your skin.

His lips left yours for just a moment, brushing against your jaw, then trailing down your neck, each kiss soft but deliberate, making your breath hitch. "I’m not going anywhere," he murmured again, the words muffled against your skin. "You’ve got me. No matter what."

You couldn’t find the words, so you kissed him again, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against him as though he was afraid to let go, as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

For a long moment, the world was just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. It was just you and him, and the quiet understanding that you were in this together.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead pressed to his, you let out a laugh, more from the relief of having him here than anything else. It made him give you a curios smile, just happy to see you regain some of your usual behavior.

"So," you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, "are you gonna say it again, or what?"

He let out a low chuckle, his arms still wrapped around you, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. "I love you," he said, his voice warm, no hesitation this time. "I love you. I’m not scared to say it, even if you make me say it a thousand more times."

"Good," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, softer this time, but no less meaningful. "Because I love you too. And I’m not letting you go."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he kissed you back, slow and lingering, like he wanted to memorize the feel of you against him. When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

"We’ll figure this out," he promised softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. "Whatever happens, we will be fine. Together."

You nodded, your heart finally settling, a sense of calm washing over you. "Yeah. We will."

And with that, the two of you sank down into the blankets, the night quiet at last. Lee’s arm stayed wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses to whatever exposed skin he could find, as if he couldn’t quite believe that you were real, that this moment was real.

As you lay there, tangled together, the world felt a little less terrifying. You had each other, and somehow, that was enough.

32 notes · View notes

yloiseconeillants · 4 months

Text

MAYNCIENT :: Day 17 ~ Mentor

If you, too, wish to set down roots in this fertile field of study, hearken you to the Words of Halmarut and submit your application to the Akadaemia.

#mayncient 2024 #ariadne #halmarut #TWO OF THEM #god i am just. i am obsessed with the relationship between these two #halmarut supports and trusts ariadne SO MUCH but he's still not *certain* he wants to commit to putting her forward as his successor #and this just eats at her in the worst way because like. he's very much the most stable and encouraging person in her life #HE DOES BELIEVE IN HER she just needs to show a certain amount of Willingness to actually take the role as opposed to just like. coasting-#(also there is the matter of her not really being a great teacher and what he considers to be a nurturing mentor but this gets resolved)#(unrelated but he is SO handsome i have such difficulty taking shots with him because i just get distracted lmao)#i owe mythandral for my life (for the dimple/smile lines mod)

11 notes · View notes

thedeafprophet · 5 days

Text

@sith-shenanigans Hope you don't mind, moving this onto it's own post since that post was getting pretty long

Honestly I really like your take on this, I can absolutely see that. I mean gosh, this leaves me wondering how many years its been? How old is October now vs then? When did they meet? My questions about the dynamic between them only grows, but this is an incredibly plausible for a reading here.

May seeing October traped with in parabola and being one of the few still in frequent contact with her by the dreams.... October seeing May make the same stubborn mistakes over and over again, growing older herself and seeing him as more and more fallible. Augh this breaks my heart (having a fantastic time here).

Yes yes yes yes yes thats exactly the way I interpert him as well. I mean, think about it. He's so, so old, he's watched so many people, so many cities, long past his own, come and go and fade to dust. How on earth could you view people the same after that? How do you continue to interact with people, remember that they are people, and not just specs of dust who will fade.

Yes May is manipulative, and possessive, and stubborn, and many other things. He has so so so many issues.... but he's also just a very sad old man who doesnt know how to view others on the same level anymore, and its so so tragic.

#I AM OBSESSED WITH THESE TWO YOU HAVE NO IDEA #absolutely so emotional over the concept of a falling apart relationship..... (this is a constant theme in my stories this is no shock XD)#GOD AND OF COURSE MAY IS SO DESPERATE TO CONTINUE THEIR FRIENDSHIP #HE'S LOST SO MUCH!!#but October is bitter and scheming and practical and always looking ahead. how can she continue to watch him fail time and time again?????#fuck me im geniuenly emotional over this now akdkffkgkgkh #10/10 love talkin about these characters XD #long post #the manager of the royal bethlehem hotel #october of the calendar council #the bloody wallpaper #i have absolutely no canon backing for this but ive always headcanoned October as either being from or descenced from the fourth city #which i think would be an interesting aspect in all of this if she's also connected to a past city #just between the two of them yknow

13 notes · View notes

bitchfitch · 2 years

Note

anon mohgwyn here! just read your mohg x miquella love in abundance series and hoo boy.

it's fucking fantastic. the way you write mohg as this devoted, almost zealous fanatic of miquella's amorphous form, how he is love and truth embodied. how miquella is characterised: he is the most fierce empyrean, and likely would not have let mohg take him if it did not play into his plans: he promised malenia he would return, after all. and yet miquella cannot help but control, in that bewitching nature of his, ironically the very thing he wishes to eliminate from the ring and order.

fhfhhfhfhrhhfhdhdhdhhdhdhdhdhdhdh I'm Soooo glad you're groking what im trying to do with them. Like, I know as soon SotE comes out literally every part of Miquella's characterization in that fic will be made ooc, bc let's be real, it's A Stretch with what's in the game as is (and Mohg is just an oc at this point). but For now he is a glorious manipulative selfish godling who represents half of the change from the stagnation that came before him while still carrying everything that caused that stagnation in the first place within himself.

Like, people more versed in the lore and development have said it better but there's So much that feels flubbed with Miquella's side of the story. And hindsight, it's probably because a chunk of it was cut out late in development to be used in SotE and so much of Mohg's everything was obviously scrapped at some point, But By God if fromsoft doesn't let him be more than a damsel in distress i will riot. Malenia the coolest hardest boss says Miquella was above even her, and in the game he got kidnapped by a shitty sewer cultist who lives in a gross swamp with his little chortling henchmen... without Malenia noticing or Miquella doing jack shit about it. It Doesn't line up.

Sorry i have So many thoughts about them in my skull at all times and they're all tripping over eachother rn bc I'm Excited about it. There's something There. If you squint. they're the exact type of fucked up that appeals to me specifically and I love them in a "by god what is Wrong with you?" way. They're the fuhken, reason i bought the game because i saw the bullshit going down with them in a let's play and just needed to get a closer look.

#i am So fucking unwell about them #I have like 80?% of the fic fully typed out #and just have the sinewy bits between the big bits to go #but those sinewy bits ar largely like #Mohg and Malenia sitting around being bored and slowly bonding #Dealing with their mutual jealousy and anxiety about what the other ones pressence means for their relationship with Miquella #Like Malenia trusts her brother but she cant Not be scared that this shithead is going to replace her as his guard.#Mohg could help Miquella in a way Malenia simply couldn't. and that terrifies her. She defines herself as the fucking Blade of Miquella.#And Mohg is of course fully aware Malenia could make him into a paste in 2 seconds flat #and that no matter what Miquella feels for him #hey i just realized im rambling #Sorry i got excited im Really brainsick about these two and my guy friend can only be expected to tolerate So much of that #so it just #leaks out.#God i have another fic for them percolating in my brain #and a future chapter/sorta side thing thats getting major edits about 90% of the way done #Miquella's characterization in it is piss but im Obsessed with it to the point ive stripped it out and made a new oc. to just have in my #pocket for stuff that like. Bloodlilly adjacent but not Quite right for them #Which is why grinning thing is blond.#im obsessed with that fic in general. As soon as I clean up miqy's characterization and make mohg 5% more unhinged im posting it #it was meant to be a smut fic but its uhhhhhhhhhhhh 5k words of Miquella having a Mohg's shackle based crisis.#bc i accidentally killed patches and through that was reminded of mohgs shackles existence and though hee hoo a smut can be done #and now its about Miquella's guilt over being more than willing to hurt mohg and Mohg being really into that.#And Miquella's guilt over being Really Really into That.#anyways youve stopped reading by now and im going insane Not talking about it. But the fic has a body count now. Its one of the twins.#which isnt a spoiler really because every single character in the fic is a twin. Hell #even the Author is a twin. So who knows what the future holds! besides a twin getting ganked and me crying about it

9 notes · View notes

balletfilmss · 9 months

Text

LOVERS LAKE

✸ pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you & luke escape to the lake and away from counselor duties!

✸ warnings: pre-tlt, established relationship, kissing, me believing whole heartedly that i can fix him

✸ authors’s note: ignoring that it’s literally christmas & this is so summer-coded, charlie bushnell brought back my original series luke obsession so here you go 🙈

the lake was arguably the best place to be at camp half-blood, even for someone who hated the water and was all but dragged their by somebody else who loved it.

that someone was you, and the somebody else was luke.

that boy loved swimming in the lake like the stars love sitting in the sky, and the only thing that made it better was when you were there with him.

between knowing that fact and the pleading look in his pretty puppy eyes, how could you say no?

so now you and him were in the lake together, on a rare escape from your responsibilities as counselors during rec time. you may or may not have been hiding from your campers by staying hidden by the boathouse that stored the camp’s supply of canoes.

you were clinging onto the wooden dock while your boyfriend swam about, still putting on your angry facade at him after he threw you in the water initially.

was the way he scooped you up in his big strong arms and grinned like a little kid when he jumped in with you absolutely adorable? yes. did that mean you were going to let him get away with it? absolutely not.

pouting with your arms wrapped around the dock leg, you watched as the boy’s head disappeared underwater, not missing the mischievous glint that lingered in his eyes beforehand.

and just as you had expected, a wet head of dark curls popped up just beside you. just to be annoying, he shook his head like some kind of dog and laughed when you scrunched your face up at the flying drops of water.

the little loser laughed at you. now you were definitely mad, and would’ve crossed your arms and harrumphed if you weren’t still holding on to the dock like you’d die if you let go.

“are you ever gonna leave that poor dock be and actually come swim with me?” he asked, batting his pretty long eyelashes like he was pleading for you to do what he asked.

“go away.” you grumbled, looking away from him.

“aw, c’mon sweetheart.” he cooed, his tone teetering between teasing and sincere.

you felt familiar hands wrap around your waist as luke pried you away from the dock, ignoring your words of protest.

“you are literally going to drown me.” you frown as you have no choice but to hold onto him.

look, it wasn’t that you couldn’t swim, it was just that it was going to take one hell of a monster chasing you to make it happen.

“oh my gods, i am going to die.”

you were now out of arm’s reach of the shore, left with nothing but your boyfriend to keep you afloat. dam it.

“would you relax? i’m not gonna let you drown.” he chuckled, smiling at your antics as he kept both you and himself afloat.

“well you pushed me in, so you may as well.” you responded, sticking your chin up in dramatic negligence.

“hey, it was push you in or get caught and have about seventeen campers join us. which would you rather have?”

the first option, obviously, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

instead, you stuck to the silent treatment, which meant luke was left to his last and final resort.

“guess you leave me with no choice then,” he feigned a regretful sigh, even though you both knew he was ecstatic to do what he was thinking.

“wha- no. no no no no!”

luke had let go of your waist for no more than two seconds before you had screamed and clung onto him for dear life, your arms tightly wound around his neck and legs around his waist.

“i’m going to kill you, castellan.” you grumble, unable to see his reaction as your cheek was pressed against his.

there it was again, that gods damned chuckle of his that made your heart do little somersaults.

“love you too.” he said humorously. but when you didn’t reply with the same phrase, it was his turn to pout.

“hey.”

between the pout in his voice and the poke he delivered to your sides, you knew that your inattention had had just the effect you wanted.

this was the dance the two of you had done several times before. he’d annoy you, you’d ignore him and then you would relish in the way he turned into a lost puppy when it lasted for ten seconds too long, proving once again just how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

“hey. hey. hey.”

he poked you again and again, repeating the same word in hopes that you’d look at him, but you remained relentless.

“i’m not forgiving you that easily.” you insisted, as if your faces weren’t inches away from each other and water wasn’t the only thing between your body and his.

once again, he knew you too well to know there was little truth to your words.

he pressed a kiss to your cheek in hopes to get you to finally turn your head and look at him. again, nothing.

“hey, pretty girl.” he whispered, growing desperate and excruciatingly impatient. “would you at least look at me?”

feeling as though you’d drawn it out rather excessively, you listened and looked at him.

immediately, your lips were captured by his in a sweet kiss, the lake water seeping in between and tainting the flavor.

when he pulled away, luke wore a smirky kind of smile that made you want to kiss him again just to get rid of it and the giddy little feeling it gave you.

“am i forgiven now?”

he was, but instead of saying that, that was when you splashed a wave of water in his pretty little face.

#୨୧ love letters #｡ﾟ･ׂׂ daddy issues (kj’s version)#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x you #percyjackson #percy series #pjo show #pjo x reader #charlie bushnell #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians

4K notes · View notes

kamaluhkhan · 9 months

Text

you are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

pairing: young!coryo snow x fem!reader

summary: clemensia dovecote has a theory that you and snow are destined for an enemies to lovers arc. you're sure it's completely, absolutely not true...right?

warnings: 18 + smut; biting + mention of blood ; both reader and snow are not the best ppl and have some very classist/elitist opinions

a/n: finally!! i wrote one of the ideas that has been haunting me ever since i've been back in my hunger games obsession + watched tbosbas...needless to say this will likely be a series inspired by taylor swift's reputation album. also i am so sorry this is unedited bc ofc it's 3am when i had the motivation to write this but i hope y'all enjoy ♡

i've had enemies so intense it felt like love, so mutual it felt romantic (chelsea hodson)

"what in the name of all the gods is he doing here?"

you're practically seething when coriolanus snow walks into your foyer. he's wearing an ensemble made with crisp white silk and intricately embroidered with gold thread - elegant, eventhough its silhouette would have been fashionable last year. a single white rose sits in the pocket of his jacket. he surveys the crowd, like he's calculating who's most worthy of his attention, platnium blond hair perfectly curled and practically glowing under the light of the chandelier. he looks beautiful, almost angelic.

you absolutely hate it.

"oh, i invited him," clemensia dovecote informs non-chalantly.

coriolanus makes eye contact with you from across the room, and you turn your head sharply to your best friend.

"why would you think it was okay to invite him?"

clemensia smiles mischeviously, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray. she hands one to you.

"i know the two of you have your petty squabbles — "

"they are not petty, nor are they squabbles," you grumble, taking a sip of your drink.

your contempt towards coriolanus was perfectly reasonable and absolutely mutual. he had some ridiculous notion that snow had to land on top, that it was his right to be there instead of yours. your relationship, if you could call it that, was limited to nothing more than snide remarks, sarcastic comments, and scornful stares. you both hyperaware of the importance of keeping up appearances, but the older you got - the closer to life outside of the academy and the higher the stakes - the more any sense of civility between you two faded. just earlier this week, you'd gotten into such a heated debate about the best way to increase viewership for the upcoming 10th annual hunger games, that your professor excused you both from the class early due to the disruption. it seemed that no one knew how to make you burn with anger quite like coriolanus snow.

clemensia rolls her eyes. "whatever you want to call it, i actually think the two of you would get along if you really tried."

one of the things you admired - and, frankly, loathed - about clemensia was her determination to always prove herself right. she had this theory - one you would call ludicrous - that the tension between you and coriolanus had nothing to do with academics or status and everything to do with wanting to rip each other's clothes off.

your eyes catch coriolanus' icy blue ones again and you down the rest of your drink. obviously, clemensia was wrong about this. so, very wrong.

"well," you huff, setting your empty glass down on another silver tray that passes by. you brush invisible dust off your dress - a deep red lace, short and form fitting with exaggerated long sleeves - and add: "you'll be lucky if i invite you to my next party."

clemensia might have had the sense to apologize then, but you walked away before she had a chance.

you allow yourself to weave through the crowd, greeting every guest with an equal facade of enthusiasm and grace. you smile as brightly at one person as you do the next, showing off your newly bleached teeth and making sure that everyone feels special. silver trays of food and drinks appear and reappear throughout the crowd, being carried by nameless waiters. there's a table overflowing with gifts concealed by crisply folded wrapping paper - you expect at least half of them will be worthless.

you put up a good front, but soon enough your lipstick needs reapplying and your hair readjusting, so you briefly excuse yourself lest anyone notice a crack in your perfectly constructed image. the door to your room is slightly ajar, and you open it to reveal none other than the person you'd deliberately, but not so successfully, tried to ignore all night, his white silk shirt stained a dark crimson that happened to match your dress.

coriolanus was furious when he found out you'd invited the entire graduating class, except him, to your birthday party. you'd even invited sejanus. it wasn't that he particularly wanted to celebrate you, of all people. you were the most brilliant, biting, enfuriating person he knew, but to be excluded in such a way was insulting. when clemensia extended him the invite, he jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to you, that he belonged here. tigris curated his outfit, and it would have been perfect had arachne crane, vapid creature she was and ever the lightweight, spilled an entire glass of red wine on him. he hurried away before anyone could see him in such a humiliating state. coriolanus is in the middle of calculating his options when you walk into what he now realizes is your bedroom.

you don't say a word at first. you haven't said one to him all night. instead, you close the door behind you and your eyes graze his figure.

"you show up to my party, late no less, and now you're parading around in what looks like a bloodstained shirt that is far too outmoded to be appropriate attire for this occasion," you remark, displaying that signature fierceness. "are you trying to ruin my birthday, snow?"

"don't blame me," coriolanus scoffs. his shoulders tense and he makes a point to stand up a bit straighter. "blame arachne for not being able to hold her alcohol while she's complaining about the food."

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

"something about people in the districts having better options."

"vapid bitch," you mutter under your breath. you walk over to your closet, disappearing for a few seconds before bringing out a fresh shirt. you extend it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"i can't very well have a good time when one of my guests looks like he just got killed in the hunger games," you huff. "so either you put this on or your leave my party. now."

coriolanus holds your gaze, his jaw clenched, before giving in and taking the shirt from you. he goes to undo the buttons of his shirt, but stops when he notices that your eyes never leave him.

"some privacy would be nice," he says sharply.

you roll your eyes, muttering something about it being your house and your room, before sitting across the room at your vanity. as he undresses and throws his soiled shirt on the floor, coriolanus watches you closely. you meticulously apply lipstick, the shade of red almost as dark as your black nails.

you were attractive, there was no denying that, but ultimately dangerous. because you weren't carelessly cruel like arachne, nor did you wear your heart on your sleeve like sejanus. you didn't use your family's status as an excuse to avoid hard work like felix, nor were you a spineless know-it-all like clemensia. no, you were different from the rest. you had a fiery ambition and a sharp tongue, a wicked streak with just enough charisma to lure people in. sometimes when he thinks of you, coriolanus recalls stories his grandma'am once told him and tigress, about sea monsters who would tempt sailors with their bewitching voices and enchanting beauty, enticing them to risk everything - to jump into the ocean and never be relevant as anything more than a midnight snack. you were a constant, suffocating reminder of how quickly he could lose everything if he lost control, if he gave in.

coriolanus watches you set down the tube of lipstick before picking up a compact. you lightly brush the shimmery powder inside over your face to accentuate some of your gorgeous features.

the desire that burns throughout his body now has to be a side effect of the few glasses of liquor he managed to drink, allowing himself the appearance of having a good time alongside everyone else without losing control.

your eyes leave your reflection momentarily, and you finally catch coriolanus staring at you. you wink at him from across the room just as he's finished with the last button. the way you look at him makes the collar of his shirt feel tighter.

he can not give in....but what's the harm in admitting, just for one night, that he would let you drown him? devour him? beg on his knees to give you pleasure, and then thank you after the fact?

coriolanus clears his throat. "this feels wrong. i should be the one gifting you with a new shirt. it's your birthday, after all."

you let out a breathy laugh, setting down your makeup. you walk over to him, until there are only a few inches between you despite the vastness of your bedroom.

even you had to concede that coriolanus snow had such a gorgeous face for such a vicious person. you're infuriated by how elegant he looks now, in your shirt. your hands busy themselves in smoothing down his already perfect collar and you take note of the intensity of his heartbeat. you notice the way his jaw remains clenched, his posture stiff, his skin flushed. you realize that he must be trying so hard right now to retain his composure around you and you feel something that can only be described as triumph.

you smile at him, sickly sweet, and remove your hands from his body. "the best birthday present i could get is winning the plinth prize over you, snow. we both know you're not good enough, let alone better than me."

he hesitates slightly before responding.

"sorry, valerius. that's the one thing i can't give you. is there anything else you'd want from me?" he whispers, words dripping like honey.

"that depends, is there anything you want from me?"

he hums, moving his hand to cup your cheek. he begins to trace your lips with his thumb, ruining the look you had so meticulously crafted.

if only you knew.

"you're the birthday girl, sweetheart," he chides. "i'm supposed to be the one giving the gift. you do know how birthdays work, don't you?"

he's mocking you, you know that. he's trying to make you feel weak and small. you had the power a second ago, his heartbeat in the palm of your hand, and normally you wouldn't stand for him turning the tables. you'd push him away, storm out the door. but right now all you want is to tug on his perfect blond curls, to bite the smirk off his lips. maybe it's the way he's so close and can't seem to take his eyes off your lips or the calculated amount of wine you drank that's made your head a bit foggy, made you put your guard down. made you start to entertain the idea that maybe possibly clemensia's theory had some truth to it.

"why don't you surprise me?" you suggest.

coriolanus surges forward and kisses you with such ferocity, he might as well be a man starving. teeth on teeth on tongue. you instantly tangle your hands into his hair, pull on some curls just to see what he'd do. he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, hard enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood mixed with the remnants of honeyed wine on his lips. you whimper and pull away slightly. he holds your face firmly between his two hands, so you cannot go too far.

"sorry." but he smirks, and you know he doesn't really mean it.

eventually, you've both stumbled onto the bed half-naked. coriolanus positions himself above you, effectively caging you in with his arms and legs. you take note of his lean thighs, his bare torso with skin taut around his bones. you're almost taken aback by how frail he looks - like a malnourished teenager from one of the districts. you reach out to trace the outline of his ribs, your nails scraping against his skin, and he shudders. your hand moves lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear. he stops you before it slips underneath the material.

instead, coriolanus begins to indulge in his deepest fantasy. he kisses and sucks and bites down your body, his tongue trailing down your chest, over your breasts and around your nipples, across your stomach. he laps up your soft whines, the curses that tumble from your lips for him to do something more. you sink further into the silk sheets when he arrives between your thighs. you raise your hips, desperate to find any sort of relief, and you feel his nails dig into your hips.

"patience," he teases, his breath fanning over where you needed him most. "so needy." you could practically feel coriolanus roll his eyes.

"i swear to god snow, if you don't do something soon. i-i'll go find someone else to fuck me. felix, or maybe sejanus --"

you yelp when his teeth sink into your inner thigh. he looks up at you, eyes the darkest blue you've ever seen them.

"don't," coriolanus warns, and he gets back to work, lips actually arriving at where you needed them most.

after you've reached your high, he comes back up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls away, you take note of how his lips and nose shine with remnants of you. the way he looks at you while he licks his lips shows you that he wants more. you move your hand down, and you're deeply satisfied when you feel him half hard, already sticky with his release.

"oh." you smirk. "you already finished."

his eyes widen, skin flushing pink. you could feel his heartbeat grow faster above you. you could imagine he was debating the best way to restore his dominance from before. yet, here he was, nothing but a horny teenage boy who came untouched as he was eating out his worst enemy. you find it in you to not call him pathetic, but instead decide, in your post-orgasm haze, you find it endearing.

"i-i didn't mean to, but --"

"i'm just that sexy when i cum," you suggest, running your hands through his curls to calm him down. "how about we try again, pretty boy?"

soon enough, he's sitting up with his back against your headboard and your legs wrapped around his waist, his length fully nestled into your warm cunt. coriolanus' blunt nails graze your hips, moving lower to your ass to guide you with each thrust. you love seeing him underneath you, seeming completely mesmerized by how your breasts bounce up and down in front of him. he leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple, but you beat him to it. you bend forward and suck bruises onto his skin, everywhere and anywhere: underneath his chin, across his collarbone, where his neck meets his shoulder.

his moans are so loud, and you're sure he's not going to last much longer. you're also worried that some of the other party guests might catch you, so you pull his head away from your shoulder and crash your lips back onto to his. you swallow his moans as best you can, tongues fight for dominance, but he lets out a deep groan, and lets you win. you bite down on his bottom lip just as you reach your climax, causing him to let out a deep groan once more.

you gasp when he suddenly flips you over, pulls out of you and stokes himself a few times before painting your body with his release. coriolanus all but collapses on the bed beside you. you're both breathing heavily for a few moments, on your backs looking up at the ceiling, before he turns on his side towards you. coriolanus trails hs fingers down to your abdomen, sticky with his cum.

"i told you: snow lands on top."

"was that a joke, coryo?" you guffaw, genuinely surprised at the mischievous but playful glint in his eye. a bit surprised at yourself, too, for using his nickname that you'd so carefully avoided. you had to remind yourself that he was still the same coriolanus snow you'd grown to hate.

the boy tangled in the sheets beside you, his messy curls translucent under the light of your chandelier, his skin glowing with sweat and decorated with lipstick and rose-petal bruises. the boy who now smiles at you with dazzling blue eyes, leans closer and whispers:

"don't get used to it. it's a special occasion." coriolanus kisses you sweetly, and you shiver before he adds: "happy birthday."

this boy in bed with you now is the same manipulative, power hungry snake who would stab you in the back if need be. and, the truth of the matter is: you aren't much different, either.

you get up to grab his wine-stained shirt, use it to wipe off his release and toss it back down to the floor.

his eyes follow you the entire time, even as you come back to straddle him again. almost instantly, you feel him harden underneath you. you hold his head in your hands, kiss him deeply, tease his bottom lip between your teeth as you pull away.

"snow lands on top, huh? not for long, if i can help it."

3K notes · View notes

b00tyliciousbabe · 3 months

Text

da vinci

pairing: dacre montgomery x male reader

summary: just the actor fawning over the abundance in your cultural capital.

request: @gayaristocrat YOU ARE THE VISUSLS BBY! thanks sm for your patience, plus the anon who also requested a while back, i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing.

notes: happy pride! after FINALLY handing in my art coursework, this is my projection onto the character of the reader. never will i ever pick up another paintbrush - well…also officially finished my exams now so i am a slut for y’all’s requests! flood my inbox (but more importantly my hole) xx

song rec: naomi sharon - definition of love

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

dating dacre was nothing short of a dream. he always made you feel so at ease. he loved how creative you were - the perfect match to his inner theatre kid. taking him to fashion exhibitions + poetry slams, and the actor inviting you to theatre shows, seeing the world through each others’ eyes made the time together even more precious. you first met at a ballet show. he had been dragged to see it by a few of his castmates, but was more so enjoying the bts view of you with the dancers. you were backstage fitting all the dancers and making sure they were all comfortable in what you styled. he managed to peek behind the curtain and saw your beautiful, so focused on draping the fabric of the lead’s skirt.

fuck, you were fine.

but he didn’t think much of it, just some cute guy, with beautiful eyes, who probably had a boyfriend. he took his seat and watched it with his friends. one of them was engaged to one of the dancers and so took dacre to the dressing rooms after the show. after introducing the two of you, y’all were practically drooling over each other. barely a word was said between you, but your hearts’ communicated greater feelings than mere speech ever could. they say love at first sight is something for the big screen, but your initial encounter rivalled the biggest stories of romance any writer could ever craft.

from that night, you practically were together, with the tabloids plastering the two of you holding hands, yachting in capri. the pop culture side of twitter was OBSESSED with your relationship to the actor and was in constant awe with how perfect you guys were for each other.

y/nsupremacy: you guys make my heart smile

user111: they’d make such cute babies

dacrefanclub6: sexiest couple on the internet

there was even a time where he had to do a nude scene in an upcoming blockbuster and the whole world saw how much your man was packing. in his press tour, the panel of interviewers didn’t shy away from your bf’s HUGE deal, some even made inappropriate comments.

‘god bless bottoms like y/n, he be taking that shit better than a pornstar’

‘poor y/n, how does that thing even fit?’

‘checks out…big booty bitches y/n deserves to be fucked by hung men.’

dacre was afraid that you would feel uncomfortable with the constant media comments on your thickness, but he had nothing to fear. you embraced it, you were said to have the best bod in fashion. as much as he tried to keep his life with you private, he lowkey wanted to let the world know that how much of a good boy you were for him.

dacre: ‘in all fairness i ain’t had any complaints from him so…’

dacre: ‘but…our neighbours definitely hate us.’ he remarks with a devilish grin.

everyone was rooting for your relationship, and what better way to show this than him enlisting the joint troops of your fandoms to surprise you whilst you were working in paris. he had gotten some time away from filming and decided to come and visit your atelier in paris. sprawled out on your desk, with needles and materials adorning the creative canvas of the room, he saw you hard at work. with the same vein poking through your forehead as the first time he laid eyes on your angelic physique, he could’ve fallen in love all over again.

‘hey babe’ he came up to you with flowers. ‘you look ravishing tonight’ rolling his r’s with a tenacity that made you smile. his tone always made you feel so safe.

‘i ain’t even dressed yet,’ you protest, dusting off the loose threads and sequins from your sweats. ‘you’re beautiful in whatever you wear,’ coming closer and gripping underneath your butt, ‘even prettier with less on.’ dacre quips as his lips tickle your ear.

‘dacre stop,’ you laugh out. ‘that giggle of yours is so infectious.’ he crashes his lips into you, the flowers dropping haphazardly onto the desk as he pushed his tongue deeper.

he was wearing the blazer you had designed for his birthday last year, paired with a pendant necklace with the first initial of your name on it. he looked so sexy. ‘can’t seem to keep my hands off off of you.’ he breathed, nudging his jacket off.

‘nuh uh, we have dinner reservations.’ nudging him away.

‘fuck. why’d you gotta be so damn sexy?’ he sounded aggravated but you pecked him again, ‘don’t worry, i am all yours tonight.’

taking you to the balcony of a quaint, parisian bistro, the chill of the capital’s air made the two of you even more enamoured, your hearts burning passionately. whilst eating, you got some sauce on the corner of your lips, as he pushes it back into your mouth. ‘gotta get you used to the feeling of a foreign object in your mouth before tonight, don’t i?’ dacre always loved being dirty in public and you made sure to satiate his exhibitionist kink.

after many glasses of wine, you made your way to the louvre. with your many contacts you managed to snag an after hours tour - solo. you were much more of a lightweight than your boyfriend (the man could drink like a pirate and be even more chipper than before) and you couldn’t walk in a straight line for more than a few metres. he let you go so he could see your figure and admire it from afar, but as soon as he saw you stumble, dacre’s hand on your waist guided you to safety and sobriety.

y’all ran throughout the museum, finally landing and kissing in front of the mona lisa. it was such a picturesque moment. the taxi ride back to the hotel was such a fever dream, y’all were all over each other, your chauffeur knew well to close the barrier and give you two some alone time.

‘have i ever told you how beautiful you are?’ he says slurring his speech.

‘tell me again…’ you implored.

‘the most beautiful boy in the world.’ he reassured, pulling you in as the city of paris lit up, illuminating your eyes.

you called him an ‘eager beaver’ as dacre stumbled the two of you into the hotel you were staying at. he grunts between kisses,‘you know you love me.’ serving you with another peck. he stripped your clothes as you followed suit with his own, leaving a chasm of fabric in the corner of the room.

only your shared jewellery was left to remove. you fell back seductively onto the mattress. as dacre crawled on top of you with a dark lust growing in his eyes, you pulled him by the pendant around his neck.

the muscular man laid atop of you, placing each hand on the bed at dip of your waist, using his palms as a fulcrum to steady himself. you glanced down to see the light reflecting off his abs as they danced on the curves of your body.

‘you’re so beautiful.’ he whispered, kissing your cheek and cupping your face.

he lifted himself from your figure, grabbing your thighs and placing your feet at either side of his head.

kissing your legs softly ‘so fucking soft.’ he moaned into your skin. his dick was throbbingly red, precum glazing his cock as he slowly thigh fucked you. he folded his arms around your plush knees, and kept that pace, your fingers grazing his cock head each time it escaped the warm walls of your inner thighs. to your annoyance, he kept this up for what felt like forever. halting, you felt his rock length graze your hole.

‘dacre, put it in already!’ you said with overstimulated passion, earning a snicker from your boyfriend.

knowing that you were beginning to grow impatient, he caresses the flesh of your abdomen. ‘look who’s eager now?’ he smirked.

shut up,’ stroking his happy trail with an endearment. you looked up at him and bit your lip. ‘I need you, please.’ his mouth agape at you ‘of course baby.’

he laced his fingers into yours. rocking slowly into you. his huge dick stretching you out slowly as the the dimly lit room made his ash blue eyes appear dark with lust.

‘fuck, have i missed this pussy’ rhetorically muttering. dacre began whispering sweet nothings into your ear:

‘you’re doing so well.’

‘taking it like my good little boy aren’t you?’

he made you so hot. lifting himself onto his toes, he angled himself directly into you, placing his entire weight on you. fucking down into your hole, your boyfriend was hitting nerves that had been neglected in his absence.

your sphincter began tightening around him, dacre knew what this meant - your release would soon follow. he started kissing your neck, and circled your left nipple with his thumb, goading your orgasm out of you as he started drilling a bit faster. dacre chased his own high begging you to finish with him whilst slurring his words.

‘take it, baby it’s all yours. UGHHHHH’ he busted strongly inside you. his big balls slapped at your butt one last time, reassuring both of you that he had seeded you deeply. you came all over his chest, as he chuckled.

‘love it when you paint me, that’s that sexy shit i like.’ he praised giving you an eskimo kiss to calm you from my high.

‘y/n,’ he whispered, big spooning you.

‘what’s wrong baby?’ you sounded concerned, cradling his hand.

‘nothing love, i just,’ he paused hesitantly.

you turned back to face him. ‘what is it? you know you can tell me anything.’

‘I just need you to know how much i missed you,’

‘oh dacre, you already did an amazing job showing me.’ You joke ‘I feel so…enlightened right now.’

he lets out a sad deep chuckle, turning to him and stroking his cheek ‘I missed you too.’

he gripped your waist, taking your words as a source of comfort. pushing his tongue down your throat.

‘ready for round two,’ you say, massaging his dick with your palm, getting him ready.

‘always.’ he affirms, spanking your ass and turning you over. the first round was very much for your pleasure and to let you know that he had truly craved your body.

but seeing your coke bottle body all splayed out for him? it was here that dacre’s beast was awoken.

‘ass up for me baby.’ he said guiding you to a more comfortable position. he massaged your thick cheeks and started eating you out. his large hands looked abysmally small in comparison to how juicy your ass was.

‘I ain’t gonna show you any mercy this time, you know the safe word, but i don’t think we’ll be needing it.’ he muttered, kissing down your spine before impaling you.

‘shitttt dacre, slow down.’

‘shut the fuck up and take that shit like the pretty, little cockwhore you are.’ dacre degraded, knowing how much you loved his dom/aggressive nature almost as much as his softer side.

dacre began going ham on your poor hole. he stood up as he began pulling you into him from the edge of the bed. with one hand crossed against your cheek and the other in his hair, he had to compose himself - else he come to quickly.

he fucked into you at a painfully quick pace, but it felt so good having him take control. dacre slutted you out almost unconscious for a bit and you were brought back to earth as he hit your second hole.

‘fuck baby,’ ‘I will never get tired of that ass.’ he said watching your thickness bounce against his abs. you started becoming more active, pushing back onto him for a heightened pleasure.

‘shake it for daddy, theeeere ya go, that’s MY shit baby. FUUUUUUUCK.’

‘oh god, your dick is so good, dacre.’ you moan out , which is enough to send him over the edge.

he came as your ass halted at his base. tightenibg around him he started breathing falteringly. ‘baby d-don’t do that, shiiiiit.’ he started leaking like a faucet. trying to thrust inside with some rhythm (to no avail), he collapsed on top of you.

‘I love you so much.’ you say breathlessly.

‘the feeling is so mutual babe.’ he kissed into your skin.

‘y/n, you’re so fucking wet,’ he spoke under his breath. still inside that filled pussy of yours, his cum and your slick provided a juicy lubricant. as he pulled out, the cum oozing out of your wrecked hole pooled into his pubes and on the duvet cover. the two of you were completely oblivious to the mess, and cuddled in the filth you’d created - a filth you were looking forward to adding to in the morning.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

#gay #bottom male reader #smut #gay male #gay reader #male bottom #male x male #gay love #gay smut #male bottom reader #dacre montgomery #gay men #male reader #male x male fluff #bottom reader #gay fluff

473 notes · View notes

todorosie · 2 months

Text

DID YOU MISS ME ? | your boyfriend is definitely struggling with long distance. maybe you, his sweet and studious girlfriend, can stop studying for just a moment? promise it’ll be fun.

content. long distance relationship, over a webcam, guided masturbation, reader is fem presenting with a vagina, usage of baby, sweetheart and princess, mention of exhibitionism, reader wears glasses, brown and black girl friendly. word count: 1.5k

the highest form of love that satoru knows is consideration. you see it in the hand placed on pointed countertops to protect your hip; the slow close of bedroom drawers to stop rattling pencils from waking you. you see it in the way he takes up as much space as possible during every social interaction, taking the attention off of you if only for a brief moment.

he is a giving lover, just kind enough with cockiness that doesn’t sully his good looks. you like them a little mean, sometimes rough around the edges – and satoru can be mean, at times even selfish, but you like those parts of him too. the darker and uglier bits that stick to him no matter what.

so what harm is it really to indulge him? to give in when he’s been so far away for so long? any woman would relish in seeing him like this, puppy-like in the way that he calls out to you through the garbled audio of your laptop.

“please, sweetheart,” he begs, “wanna see that pretty face.” his voice is breathless, the slick sounds of his hand pumping around his cock flooding warmth straight between your legs.

what you see from your end is his sweat-slick torso, dark pants pushed down just enough to reveal that he’s wet and leaking between the thighs, precum drips from the tip of him and reconnects between sticky, long fingers. if he were here you know he’d stuff them in your mouth and have you taste the saltiness pressed into your tongue.

“how much do you want me to beg, huh?” he snaps you out of your daze, now leaning forward into the view of the camera. he’s so pretty like this, rosy cheeked and soft. “see? no reason to be shy. i show you mine… and you show me yours.”

your cheeks warm as you unmute your mic, “i can’t,” you shift on the bed and it groans as you watch a pout grace satoru’s lips, “my love you know i have finals tomorrow. i have to keep studying or-“

“or what?” he interrupts, petulant. “you’ll ruin your perfect gpa by getting a 95 instead of a 100?”

“yes, actually! you should be studying too, y’know.”

“can’t! i’m busy trying to get a girl i like to notice me. she’s been so distracted lately…”

you smile a little, going back to trying to read the open tab next to satoru’s web footage. “really? and how would you know that?”

“well, for starters, i’ve been obsessed with her for years. i used to get hard just looking at her on campus–“

“satoru.”

“quiet. anyway, she’s pretty easily distracted, gets clumsy when she’s on edge.” more nefarious sounds, soft groans and whines. it takes a lot of willpower for you not to shift your gaze. “— like how her webcam has been on for two minutes and she still hasn’t noticed yet.”

you glance up then, eyes zeroing in on the small window hiding behind your notes. one click and you’ve been enlarged, perky nipples poking through your white tank top that you know you’ll get teased about later. it only takes you a second to get embarrassed. “god, have i looked like this the whole time?”

“by ‘whole time’ do you mean our entire relationship or right now? because, yes, you always look this sexy.”

you roll your eyes and close your notes tab. the device settled between your legs as you lean back. “‘toru, be serious.”

“i am being serious,” he says, “don’t you see what you do to me?”

“i’m actively trying not to–“

“–even during boring talk about classes i want you. indulge me a little bit, yeah?”

you let out a huff, the tips of your nails tapping against your skin. you’ve never been good at saying no to him and he does look desperate… “fine. what do you want me to do?”

your boyfriend visibly perks up. “fuck, really? take off your shirt.”

you raise a brow.

“please?”

you giggle, hands moving to pull your tank top over your head and toss it off to the side. “you’re lucky my roommate won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“very lucky, should hit the lottery with these odds.” there’s a brief pause. you’ve never done this with him before. “play with your nipples for me, baby. get them nice and hard.”

you pinch and prod at the erect buds with cold fingers, a whimper leaving your lips at the way they ache from the contact. you can hear satoru’s movements continue between your thighs, huffs leaving his bitten pink lips. you glance to see that he’s slowed down, focusing on the base of his length.

“you’re doing so good, sweetheart. look so pretty like this. wish i was there to suck on those perfect tits. i miss the way you taste on my tongue.”

you feel unreasonably shy. “jesus, don’t say things like that. it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s the truth. i need you, haven’t had that perfect cunt around me in too long. come on, show her to me.”

your legs shake as you use them to lift your butt off your sheets, slowly tugging off your sleep shorts and then the flimsy cotton panties. you know satoru can see how wet you are from the moan that leaves his mouth. you’re so hot between your thighs that you wonder if he can feel that, too.

“w-what now?”

“touch yourself,” you run your fingers over your clit with a hiss, “wait, baby…slowly at first, get your fingers nice and wet for me.”

you do as you’re told, leaning back more comfortably as you massage your fingers over your entrance. you drag the wetness up and down until your entire cunt is covered in it. satoru watches intently, tongue poking out slightly from his lips as he struggles to restrain himself. each stifled moan from you is enough to send him over the edge.

“such a pretty pussy, already dripping for me. you’re so good at that, sweetheart. is this what you do when i’m not around? touch yourself under the covers while your roommate sleeps only a few feet away? do you cover your mouth and hump your hand wishing it was mine instead? do you wish it was me keeping you quiet as i fuck you right next to her?”

you moan, head tilting back as your free hand fondles your breast. you’re inside yourself now, two fingers plunging into your tight hole, dripping onto your palm. “i miss you so much, ‘toru. i miss you inside me.”

he smiles, cheekily. “of course you do. then again, i miss you, too. i might go crazy if i don’t feel you around me in the next week… to your clit now, want you to get right on the edge for me, baby.”

you ease out of yourself, fingers moving up to rub your swollen clit. your thighs shake as you feel your cunt gush, the liquid slipping down to your ass. “‘t-toru!”

“fuck. look at you go! that’s a good girl. make a mess for me, show your man how much you want his cum.”

“want it s-so bad… you’re so pretty, satoru.” and he is, pink splotches covering his chest and upper thighs, hard cock twitching in his fist as he pumps it furiously. he’s close, you can tell. his white locks stick to his forehead, mouth open in a perpetual state of euphoria.

“you think so? thing is, i could never hold a candle to you. i want you to look at me when you cum. show me those pretty eyes.” your glasses ironically slip down your nose as he says this and you quickly place them beside you on the bed. your vision is blurred now, but you imagine that has to do with the pleasure more than anything—perhaps related to the building pressure in your tummy.

“s-satoru!”

“yeah, baby? say it again.”

“fuck, satoru!” your wrist aches from the awkward angle but you’re almost there, right on the edge. just a little more, you could feel it.

“you’re so close now. give it to me. cum for me, baby. give me something to think about later.”

“please, please, please,” you whimper, not sure who you are begging at this point. it doesn’t matter, truly, because the next thing you know white corners of light cloud your vision, surges of what feel like electricity travel down your thighs as your cunt throbs and tightens around nothing. “oh, fuuuck!”

“keep cuming for me, princess. you look so good, you’re so perfect. fuck, i’m go-gonna–!” you watch as he cums with a strangled moan, his hand furiously milking him dry as his spend covers his lower stomach and hand. the bright pink tip of his cock is sensitive, his body jerking with each pass of his thumb on it as he calms down. you’re both breathing hard, faces out of view as you both lean them back in ecstasy.

“so,” your boyfriend starts, “i’m definitely booking a flight tomorrow, right?”

you nod your head ever so slightly, still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm. “yeah,” you chirp, satisfied. “definitely.”

author’s note. we are so back. this is the result of me being up way too late. thank you to anyone who stopped to read. please reblog to show support for writers in the community. sorin.

#cuntcure.com #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo x black reader #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo satoru fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x fem!reader

369 notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 1 year

Note

hi 💖 I’m literally ✨obsessed✨ with your writing atm and I’ve never done a request before so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity!!

I would love to read an established couple fic where reader drops by !professor spencer’s office and spicy times ensue 🌶️👀 the trope where reader is inexplicably jealous of the girls auditing his class gets me every 🤌 single 🤌 time 🤌 (but don’t feel like you have to include that trope!! I’m a sucker for any !professor spencer smut lmao)

- 🐺 anon

A/N: Thank you sm for your request!! I am also slightly unhinged about Professor Spencer (I think this is my second one this month lmao) so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: use of sir, degradation, fingering, no contraception, PinV sex, semi-public sex, jealous reader (she's like 27 beefing with undergrads), age-gap (15 years), Spencer keeps a souvenir of her visit 😊. Also I don't even know if American lecturers have office hours, so like... For context I am a European living in SK lmao. 18+ MINORS DNI

W/C: ~2k

Check out my masterlist!!

You’d lost count of how many times you’d visited Spencer in his office now that he’d started lecturing semi-regularly. The break from his regular activities as a member of the BAU suited him well, and you had no complaints either, loving having an excuse to drop by the college campus he was based on to visit the cute student-run coffee shops and explore the space. And since you’d started working from home while you wrote your novel, you definitely had the time to visit.

Usually, you’d find him in some lecture theatre or the other, but having walked around all his regularly scheduled rooms, he was nowhere in sight. You shrugged a little, figuring that he must be in his office if he was nowhere else. You were right, of course, but he wasn’t exactly alone.

A line of undergrads had formed at his door as you noticed the sign pinned to his door mentioned his updated office hours for the semester in the run-up to finals week. Typical. You were never the best-timed person, and you could see that you weren’t going to get his attention for a while from the look of all the students. You waited outside for him to open the door and summon the next student into his office, settling onto a couch opposite his door.

You weren’t trying to listen in to the multiple conversations going on, but you couldn’t help it when they were being so loud and open.

“God, he’s so fucking hot, I just want him to bend me over that desk and-”

“-wonder if he’s single. If he is, I’m totally going to make a move-”

“-I just know it’s big-”

“- in that lecture about the serial rapist, all I could think about was his hands-”

You blushed a little deeper with each of their confessions. They didn’t know who you were, of course they didn’t, and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell them. But now you knew why it was that they were here, and honestly, you couldn’t blame them for lusting after the man, you’d done the same thing. Your relationship had started in a similar way. You’d knocked on the doors of the FBI with a case back when you were a journalist, and been met with those big brown eyes and it had taken your entire strength to not jump him then and there.

So you understood. But you didn’t have to like it, and you certainly did not. The longer you sat there, the older you felt, constantly resisting the urge to yell at these kids in an old maid's way. Gods he was old enough to be some of these girls’ fathers. You weren’t exactly close in age with him yourself, a gap of about 15 years separating the two of you, but come on.

The door to his office finally cracked open, and you followed the sound of his voice, still rambling out facts as he let the student out.

“Now that you have the difference between stressor and trigger down, you’ll find it easier to interpret some of the readings, just keep in mind that sometimes they can be one and the same.” The student nodded and thanked him before leaving, a slightly disappointed look shadowing her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” His smile lit up the second he saw you, and you held out the coffee you’d bought him earlier to him.

“Thought I’d drop in and see you. I missed you.” Maybe it was petty of you in front of literal teenagers and people who couldn’t even legally drink yet, but you wrapped a hand around his waist, underneath his suit jacket, and looked up at him with a big grin, fluttering your eyelashes. He looked at you with knotted eyebrows, trying to decode your words as if they were the key to cracking a case he was working on.

You felt the eyes of the students burning into you, heard them whispering to each other and your grin deepened. You’d marked your territory successfully.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got office hours for the next 25 minutes, do you mind waiting?” He looked apologetically down at you, speaking with a bit of an awkward tone, not used to the notable PDA.

“That’s fine. I can wait out here, right?” You asked, trying to give him your most innocent look. He nodded his assent, and you returned to your seat, grabbing a book from your bag and settling in as he welcomed the next student to his office.

An hour later, all the students had finally dispersed. A fair few of them had given up after you made your identity known, embarrassingly slinking away from the queue, but a fair few had stuck it out, still just wanting a glimpse of him. The conversation had dimmed though, now back on the topic of college parties and TikTok stars or something.

When the final student slipped out of the office, you jumped up enthusiastically and joined Reid inside, letting yourself in with a small knock and a sing-song “professor.”

He was sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose looking down at some papers, and looking as attractive as he had the day you’d met him. You slunk over to him, swirling his chair around so you could sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips.

“What’s gotten into you today?” He asked, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him, obviously not objecting to the sudden physicality of your affection. “It’s not an anniversary, we’re only on our 1,813th day of dating which doesn’t mark any milestones or other special cultural holidays, so what gives.”

“You know I love it when you talk numbers to me.”

“You know I love it even more when you spill and tell me what’s going on? Come on, Y/N, something’s different.” You pouted at this goddamn superhuman perception. It was going to be embarrassing to admit that you saw the gaggle of girls that had been crowding around his office as competition.

“There were a lot of students today.” You said, simply changing the topic a bit, hoping you wouldn’t have to explicitly name the green-eyed monster that had taken over you.

“Not really, that’s about the amount I get every time I open office hours.”

“Every time?” He’d told you often that you were an absolutely open book, your facial expressions baring your every thought and feeling. So you cursed yourself at the pout you felt forming on your lips.

“Woah, what was that? Y/N, are you… are you jealous?”He laughed a little bit as your frown deepened, a flush coming up to cover your face.

“So what if I am?”

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you, baby?” He trailed his hand up between your thighs and your breath hitched as you felt the tone of the conversation immediately shift.

“They were talking about you, y’know?” your breath hitched at the last word, as his hand found its way to your clit, beginning to press the tiniest of circles around that nerve.

“Oh? What were they saying that made my princess so upset?” The hand gripping your hip was nearly painful now, as he clasped you tightly, letting your legs spread for him as he slowly picked up the pace, your back now flush against his chest as he looked down to between your legs from over your shoulder. Your head was thrown back against him, your chest rising and falling with every small movement.

“They were talking a-about your hands,” you moaned out. His eyes stayed fixed on your center, but his free hand trailed up to your blouse, popping a few buttons expertly so he could see the rise and form of your chest, see your nipples sticking out through the thin bra you’d chosen that morning.

“Hmm, is that it baby? They just talked about these hands?” He continued at his agonizing pace on your clit as his hand lifted to your nipples, pulling one breast free of your bra and beginning to roll it between his fingers. You writhed at the touch, trying desperately to keep quiet, knowing from your time outside just how thin these walls were.

“Baby, I think you didn’t hear me. Was that all they said?” His tone was darker now, and you knew you had to answer before he made you.

“No!” You moaned out, trying to gain back some composure when all you wanted to do was relax into his hands and let him pull your release from you. “They… they said they knew you were big… Down there.” He laughed a little at that and shifted his hips underneath you.

“And are they correct baby?” You feel him pressing against your leg now and it takes everything in you not to let your eyes roll back in pleasure and let him use you as he wants.

“Yes, sir. They were… they were right, you always fill me up so good.” Your hips start grinding down into his, his hand stilling as you use him to get yourself off.

“There’s something else they said, right, baby? You’re holding something back?” He smiled, dropping hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck as you frantically rubbed yourself up against him. Your moans were ripping out from your mouth now in frustrated moans, as you felt needy in a way you’d never quite experienced before.

“Stop teasing, Spencer.”

“No. This is my office, and you come in draping yourself all over me like a whore in front of all of my students. You don’t get to call me Spencer right now, you’re going to have to show a little bit more respect.” With those words he pushed you up to your feet, pulling his hands off of you before quickly clearing a space on the desk and bending you over it.

“I heard this bit. They said they wanted me to bend them over and take them like this, right?” You heard him unzip his pants, bringing the tip of his cock to your entrance as he started teasing you, pulling your panties to the side. You moaned out a yes, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore.

“Use your words, baby. What did they want me to do to them?”

“They wanted you to bend them over the desk and fuck them like a little whore, sir.” With that confession out in the open, he finally pushed into you, stretching you out with a sinful groan slipping from his mouth.

“Fuck baby, so tight and wet for me…” His thrusts were hard and slow, and you could feel the wetness seeping down your legs, the wet sounds of your activity filling the space infinitely. His pace picked up and so did your constant mewls from the contact, the sounds completely unmistakable for anything but base lust.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart. Going to come, right here on my cock in my office, huh?”

“Yes, sir, I’m going to…. Shit, I’m going to cum.” He grabbed your hair and pulled your face up to his, swallowing each of your moans with his mouth as he let his tongue explore, your body twitching still under his ministrations. He kept his rough pace up for another minute or two before hitting his peak as well, pulling out to empty himself out on your thighs.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mumbled, falling back into his chair and running a hand through his tousled hair as you fell forward back into the desk, chest heaving. He was at eye level with the results of his labour and you heard the sound of his phone camera clicking before you could pull yourself together.

“Spencer!” You giggled awkwardly, looking back at him with an incredulous look as he pulled some tissues out of the desk drawer and started cleaning you up.

“What? I always take notes during my office hours.” He grinned up at you, as you turned around and planted another kiss to his lips, pulling him back up to you.

“How many students do you think will actually turn up to your class tomorrow?”

“I’ll be lucky if the module actually has any sign-ups next term.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #Requested #🐺 anon

1K notes · View notes

bug-is-snug · 8 months

Text

starved pt. 2

part one

plot: you're a zombie <3 CW: depictions of violence, depictions of obsession, gore, self-cannibalism (stay safe cutiepies!), blood, gore, eventual smut (That means Minors DO NOT INTERACT), self harm (I think? I'm not sure but I'm adding it to be safe!), military inaccuracies, dead dove do not eat kinds of stuff

A/N: let me know if I missed anything with the content warnings! Also please forgive me for the terrible accents, I am but a small humble person with the brain made of v8 juice- Also some of this was written on mobile so forgive me if there are any grammar errors ^^; banner by: @frostthecupcake (deactivated) and found by using "Find A Banner"

You felt your face grow warm as your mind went back to the sight of your Captain's wrist. Well- mainly his veins...God, he had lovely veins... You imagined grabbing his arm and sinking your teeth in, tearing away at his skin and tendons with gnashing teeth...while you daydreamt you couldn't help but wonder; How sweet would his flesh taste? Shaking your head profusely, you let out a huff and continued to head off towards the barracks while ignoring the emptiness in your stomach. God, you could feel the blood running down your throat, warming you far better than any hard alcohol... "Stop it." You hissed quietly to yourself, as if you had any control over the thoughts that ran rampant in your mind, "Don't think at all, just shut up!"

Taking a moment, you lean up against the wall and desperately try to gather your thoughts. Your stomach growled almost angrily, making you let out a frustrated groan. "Hungry?" A familiar voice cooed playfully, their Scottish accent giving away their identity instantly. You look up to see Soap, your heart instantly beginning to race. Your eyes scanned over his body while your nose took in his scent, which allowed you to recognize that he had just gotten back from the shooting range, the smell of his musk and the gunpowder making your head swim. "Uh-" Christ, you sounded dumb, "Maybe? I dunno, I kinda skipped lunch today...though I do hear that your body can make you hungry when you're exhausted so- uh- maybe it's that?" ...WHAT? Where did that even come from?! What kind of stupid excuse is that?! Soap raised a brow, staring at you for a moment and giving away that he was also just as bewildered as you were over the shit you just said. "...I am going over here now." You quickly walked around him, attempting to make it to your room. "Hold on now, that dinnae make a lick o' sense. What's goin' on wi' ye?" A strong, calloused hand grasped at your forearm making your heart jump to your throat, "Ye alright, lovie?" You shuddered slightly, digging your nails into your palms as thoughts of tearing your precious teammate’s ribs apart and sinking your teeth into his heart while it still beats made you feel dizzy and your stomach ache. What would it taste like? Sweet? Savory? How much would you be able to devour before someone else stumbles upon the sight? You quickly interrupted your own thoughts as you blurted out, "I think I'm sick is all." Soap hummed and reached over, pressing his hand against your forehead. "Ye dinnae feel sick, ye feel cold to be honest, lovie..." He muttered. "Sarge-" You were cut off by his hands feeling up the scruff of your neck and under your jaw. "Sorry, mate. My mum used to do this to check if me or my siblings were sick..." His voice was low, as if he trying not to spook an injured animal. "Sarge, I'm fine, honest-!" You tried to reason with him. You knew he was telling you the truth, but you also knew how he was. To clarify, while the relationship between you and Soap was rather handsy it was usually a welcome action and when it wasn't, you would tell him and he would back off. The touches the two of you would share sometimes bordered on inappropriate, but it often didn't go much further than that. It was a very intimate relationship, one that could be missed if someone didn't have a trained eye. However, it wasn't quite romantic...just intimate and sometimes intense-

Looking into his eyes, you could tell that while he was indeed just checking up on you, there was a small sense of enjoyment at the fact you were letting him casually paw at your sensitive skin. You let out a soft hiss in pain when he pressed down on a particularly tender spot, "Johnny, too hard..." "Sorry, lovie..." Soap said quietly, letting go after a moment. "It's okay..." You assured him, "What's the prognosis, Doctor MacTavish?" He chuckled at your teasing and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, "Yer feelin' a bit stiff is all. Probably from yer god-awful posture." "Then I am going to do what I was planning to do and go take a nap. I should probably tell Gaz...I was gonna eat lunch with him today..." You said, disappointment heavy in your voice. "I can tell 'im fer you, lovie. Dinnae ye worry yer little head ‘bout it." Soap smiled, reaching over and giving you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. A sigh left your lips as you gave him a relieved smile, "You'd really do that for me? Thank you, Johnny..." He smiled back, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "Yer welcome..." You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow which made him chuckle and give you a wink before he walked around you, leaving you on your own as you finally made it to your room. You remembered the last time you retreated to your room when feeling unwell while you stared at your bed, closing your door behind you. It was a few days after the attack... Your body felt like it was on fire, especially where that damn doctor had bitten you. Your heart raced and your arm felt like your veins had poison coursing through them. You had refused to let anyone know, nor let anyone take care of you going as far as to barricade the door. Stupid? Yes, but what were you supposed to do? Let the teammates whom you trust your life with every single day know you're unwell? Ask them for help because they're your found family and you would drop everything to take care of them if they were in this state because you love and cherish them as people? Cringe- You groaned in pain, curling up in your little bed while digging your nails into the fabric, tearing them effortlessly much to your surprise. "What the fuck?" You huffed out, grimacing as you stare at the ruined sheets, "I just bought those..." Was that what you should have been worried about? Absolutely not, but you have to cope somehow. The pain was unbearable, but the worst of it was the fever and the fever dreams that came along with them. Well, you called them fever dreams; they actually appeared in your mind when you were awake. And most of them were really just...urges... Visions of ripping people apart filled your mind. It felt so real...you could feel your fingers digging into some faceless person's skin, tearing apart their flesh and ripping apart their ribs while they screamed and thrashed. The more skeptical part of your mind shoved it off as just an edgy little thought that you had as a courtesy of watching so many horror movies with Gaz, just a silly little spout of aggression. No, it was the thought of eating the person that got you to worry. It was the thought of burying your face into their warm body and sinking your teeth into their heart that scared you. The worst part of it was the fact that your stomach growled every time you imagined chewing and swallowing, like a forbidden fruit... Blood spilling down your chin like you had just bit into an apple after days of neglecting your hunger became a feeling you craved desperately. "Please just be a really fucked up version of the flu..." You whispered, "I swear to everything that is good and holy if it's not-" You were interrupted by a sudden sharp pain in your stomach, making you cry out. Burying your face into your pillow, you let out a quiet sob while you clung to it. Somehow, you felt embarrassed about how much pain you felt. You've taken bullets for fuck's sake! You have broken bones, dislocated joints-! And a little stomachache is making you cry?!

"What the fuck...?" You muttered, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Upon seeing the literal puddle of it in your hand you cringed, “Mm…that’s nasty…”

Sitting up, you use the headboard of your bed to keep you steady while your head pounds and begs you to lay back down. You huff, leaning your head against your arm for a moment. This fucking sucks. There is no denying it!

Your nose is pressed against your flesh, and you catch a whiff of yourself…Oh my…

Your stomach beckons you, and in that moment, you don’t even care. How can you? You’re starving!

So…

Without a second thought…

You sink your teeth into your wrist with a sickening squelch, tearing through veins and muscle. And, God, if it didn’t taste lovely…

Back To Current Day…

You sit down on your bed, running your fingers over the stitching you had done over the once torn sheets. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough!

With a sigh, you lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling as you reach over and gently touch your forearm, your fingertips sliding across the edge of the bandage. You didn’t really want to check if the wound was still there…but you didn’t want it to get infected either.

Your eyes glance down as you kicked off your shoes, scooting into your bed while your hand slowly peeled the bandaid off. You expected infection…a festering, pulsing and pus filled one…however, there was nothing. Your wrist was completely healed, like nothing happened-! How…?

You shake your head as hard as you can, as if it would shake the thoughts away. You ball the bandaid up and go to the trashcan, tossing it before going to your sink and rinsing your hands off. This isn’t so bad, right? It’s- er- not ideal, but it’s something! Maybe you should keep a journal of your changes- No. Too risky. If anyone found it…

Your eyes closed as you lean against the counter, inhaling through your nose while your leg bounce uncomfortably, “I can’t see a doctor…I really should but-! …What if I hurt someone…?”

You found yourself doing that a lot; whispering to yourself, fighting yourself…etc…

But that’s neither here nor there, it’s time to eat.

You started to head to your mini fridge, kneeling down before it and opening it up to take a package of raw meat out. You tear it open with your finger, feeling yourself begin to shake…

Shoveling raw meat into your mouth was not a good feeling. Did it scratch that lizard part of your brain? Yes. But social norms taught you to be disgusted with such bad manners-! However…as you sunk your teeth into the raw chicken breast, you ripped and tore away at it, feeling yourself grow more and more ravenous as it you continued. It tasted pretty okay for the most part, which is what surprised you the most.

Tasted like chicken, obviously, but the raw flavor added to it somehow? It was so hard to describe! But…then those thoughts came…

You were imaging the meat belonging to Soap, your beloved teammate. You felt so dirty and perverted…

‘This isn’t normal,’ You reminded yourself, ‘This is NOT. NORMAL!’

You didn’t even realize someone else had entered your room until they cleared their throat, making you snap your attention to whomever it was.

Oh shit.

#bug sure is snug in this rug #141 x reader #task force 141 #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #poly 141 #john soap mctavish x reader #zombie au #zombie reader #john price #141 au #cod 141

312 notes · View notes

banjjakz · 10 months

Text

convection currents ; yuuta x GN!reader

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?” God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. “Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.”

word count: 7.6k

warnings: horizontal hanky panky, obsession, possessive tendencies, unhealthy relationships, codependency, semi graphic descriptions of violence, major character death

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes + reblogs appreciated!

Yuuta wants to like you.

And he does – like you, that is. He really, really does.

But there have been some moments that give him pause.

Don’t get him wrong! You’re sweet, kind, doting, attentive, and very clearly an anxious bundle of painful self-awareness. He finds comfort in the kindred connection between your loner spirits. Training is made infinitely easier when he steals a glance at the gentle flash of your sweet smile, the soft flutter of your hair in the breeze, the twinkle of your laugh, floating through the air as a windchime’s ephemeral melody serenades the breeze. Everything about you seems to be perfectly enveloped and embedded within his daily reality at Tokyo Tech; natural, easy, right. That is what it feels like, to be at your side.

The budding affection between the two of you kicks his foolish, stuttering heart into overdrive. How long has it been, since the blood pumping through his veins was motivated by a sensation other than mortal terror?

You make him want to envision a reality wherein he’s embedded into the fabric of the living, breathing world, rather than continue to occupy his perch as a pariah, perennially scapegoated to the periphery.

Each sidelong glance thrown your way is accompanied by the erratic twitch of his clammy hands, as he tries and fails to pay attention during one of Gojo’s rambling, nonsensical lectures. The light in his eyes revives when you call his name. Innards undulating in and out of place, he tracks your body’s every movement, your muscles contorting fast as quicksilver during scrimmages, lethal and alluring all at once.

These are some of the objectively positive aspects of his attraction to you; the things that pull him from his bed in the morning, calling to him like the abyss compels a creature of the night to rise from its coffin.

And then, there are the more…er, complex moments.

“Did you just come back from a mission, Okkotsu-san?”

Like today, for example. Yuuta had just arrived back on campus after a fun afternoon spent with Toge traversing around Tokyo, patronizing various cafes and konbinis. You were lingering at the entrance of the dormitory, back to the front door, effectively coming between him and his bed.

“Ah, no. I was with Inumaki. We were hanging out for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Just in the city…”

“What did you do?”

He stills, uncertain. “Um…that’s…”

“I’m sorry.” Your head ducks in shame, hiding your face from his quizzical glance. “It’s been hard adjusting to student life as a mid-year transfer. I keep up well enough in classes, and on missions, but I don’t think any of the other students like me all that much. Forgive me, Okkotsu-san. To be honest, I’m jealous of how easily you get along with Inumaki-san and Maki-san.”

Of course. How could he assume anything different?

As a non-lineage sorcerer, you were haphazardly discovered by one of the senior sorcerers on a mission gone south and roped into the jujutsu world without prior knowledge of its existence. From a firsthand perspective, he of all people should be able to understand how isolating that must be.

Kicking himself for his judgemental first reaction, Yuuta forces his skeleton to release the tension it harbors. “No, don’t worry. Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat dinner?”

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

This is how he finds himself alone, with you, in a secluded alcove on the outskirts of campus. The afternoon has matured into a thick, syrupy evening, the sky bruised with a smattering of warm hues. You sit on the grassy bank as a pair, shoulder-to-shoulder, your union celebrated by the rhythmic thrum of the cicadas’ song.

“Here, take it.” He offers you the last flavored onigiri leftover from his spoils of konbini adventures.

You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “No, no, no. I’m fine with just a plain one. Please. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Plain is my favorite,” he lies. “I don’t even like yaki.”

“...Then why did you have one in your bag?”

“Haha! That’s a great question! I don’t know!” Beet red, Yuuta scratches the back of his head.

Out of mercy, and perhaps pity, you graciously accept the yaki onigiri. Munching in companionable quietude ensues for several minutes, as you both watch the sun impale itself on the dark horizon, bleeding out across the sky in dark, inky tones.

Without sitting face-to-face, it’s easier to speak to you, somehow. The insistent pressure on his chest lifts long enough for some words of actual substance to slip forth. “It’s hard, the first year.”

You remain silent.

“My first year was hell, too. Although that’s probably because I was being haunted.”

“By who?”

He blinks, your question knocking him off balance. Not by “what,” but by “who” had he been haunted? You’ve always been observant. This is why you’ve survived for so long.

“Um, it’s a long story… I’ll tell you in full one day. For now, I’ll just say that there was someone very special to me when I was a child… and it was hard for her to let go of me, when push came to shove.”

“Ah. I see.”

Although August has yet to conclude, the air around him is significantly chillier than what is characteristic of Tokyo’s late-summer hazy heat. Yuuta shivers, pulling his knees up to his chin.

“Yeah. But, um, anyways. If you need someone to talk to…to be by your side… I would like to be that person for you.” He utters your name like a prayer, too concentrated on not stuttering to be embarrassed at the earnest tremble in his voice. “I wish I had a confidante when I first got here. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“A confidante? But didn’t you have your friend?”

Your reply jolts him into looking at you. The expression on your face tells him that you truly mean it as a genuine inquiry.

“Well, um. I was being haunted…and Rika – er, she didn’t really listen to me. She actually got a little overprotective, I think.”

“Do you think she was evil?”

“No!” The denial explodes from his mouth before Yuuta can even fully process the nuance of the question posed. “No,” he repeats, at an appropriate volume, this time. “She was clingy, and protective, and possessive, and honestly violent, but she wasn’t evil. I loved her. I think a part of me always will.”

Love? What is he doing talking to you, alone, at night, about love? How embarrassing. He hadn’t meant to say all that!

Quickly, he stuffs his mouth with the remainder of his onigiri. No more talking. Just chewing.

If you are perturbed by his sentimental ramblings, you show no sign of it. If anything, your face remains impassive, serene, undisturbed like the surface of a tranquil pond.

“You loved her for that, then. Was she haunting you if you were in love?”

After he finishes choking down the final, sticky remnants of his dinner, Yuuta frowns, mulling over your words which are heavy by the virtue of their implication, yet hang and sway in the air as an empty noose dangles from the gallows.

“...I don’t know.” Yuuta says, at length. “That’s what I was diagnosed with when I came here. And it was hard for me to function, back when Rika was still here. I didn’t have any friends. And people close to me got hurt a lot.”

“It sounds like she was always trying to protect you… even when you were apart. I only wish one day, I find someone who would have the capacity to care for me like that…”

“You want that?”

“I do.” Not an ounce of hesitation in your firm, forthcoming reply. “I’ve spent my whole life as something worth less than notice or acknowledgement. Always feeling invisible, never having anyone – not even one person – who cared about me. Up until this point, I’ve lived life wanting to die every day.”

For lack of a better reply, Yuuta simply asks: “What changed?”

“...I met you, Okkotsu-san.”

Oh, wow.

It’s kind of funny – where other people describe feeling hot, Yuuta has always been chronically, terminally cold. Your words induce a rapidly onsetting deep-freeze which permeates every layer of his skin, every molecule of his bones, every wretched atom of marrow lying dormant inside of him, all of it, every fiber of being rooted to the spot in an indescribable emotion.

“I–I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

That’s wrong. “No, you didn’t! You didn’t, I swear. Just… um, I’m also a person who is lonely, like you described. So I’m not used to, err, being, ah, important. To people? I guess?”

“Oh… I see.”

Clearly, the higher function of critical thought has abandoned him; this is the only explanation for how he reaches to grab your hands, sending the half-eaten yaki onigiri tumbling down to the dark earth beneath your anxiously shifting feet. He squeezes you, tightly, and is delighted in a morose sort of way to find your digits even colder than his.

“Let’s teach each other. How to be important to someone else.”

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?”

God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you.

“Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.”

;

Field missions have been a part of his daily life as a sorcerer since the day he arrived at Tokyo Tech. Battle has always been challenging for all the obvious reasons, but never before has Yuuta had to deal with the added hardship of fighting alongside you.

This, of course, is not meant to imply that you aren’t able to hold your own; on the contrary, your physical and cursed prowess has granted you the rank of semi-special grade despite this being your first year enrolled in any kind of formal jujutsu schooling. Your cursed technique is innate to your personality and sensibilities, which helps. But even if that weren’t the case, you would still be one of Tokyo’s top-performing students.

Missions are difficult because, despite all of this being true, Yuuta is powerless to curb the instinct to protect you during fights.

It manifests in small ways, at first: insisting to be paired up with you for assignments, always volunteering to partner up when splitting from the larger group during an investigation– things like this.

His behavior starts to stray into problematic territory the longer he is allowed to get away with it, unchecked.

“After Ijichi casts the veil, we’ll sweep the building. Inumaki and Yuuta, you two take the upper levels. We’ll do the bottom half,” orders Maki, gesturing between you and herself.

Immediately, Yuuta objects. “No. I’ll do the bottom half. You and Inumaki should go up together.”

“What?”

“I have a phobia of heights,” lies Yuuta, shamelessly. “It will impact my performance.”

“I have literally never heard you talk about being afraid of heights before.”

“Shake sushi,” agrees Inumaki.

You remain silent, pupils trembling, bottom lip severed between your teeth in a display of bashfulness reserved only for Yuuta’s blatant favoritism, which he wields frequently, in hopes to catch a even a single glimpse of you just as you appear now.

“I’m self-conscious about it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you both for understanding.”

“Wait! Okkotsu, we didn’t–”

And with that, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you away with him, sprinting into the abandoned love hotel before Maki or Inumaki can prevent you from absconding.

The two of you are laughing, tickled as usual at the effects of pissing Maki the hell off. Consequences will rain down in due time, no doubt, but for now, it feels best to bask in each other’s presence.

Once through the front door, Yuuta halts to an easy jog, guiding you past the cobweb-covered front desk, around the decrepit scraps of the once-ostentatiously decorated lobby, all the way to the far back corner, where a solid, heavy metal door obfuscates the emergency stairway.

“Oh, it looks jammed… Should we–”

Your stumped musing is cut off by the ricocheting cacophony of Yuuta’s boot violating the door. The metal itself bends and warps, caving in on itself in a hurry to make way for the unstoppable force of the sorcerer’s impassioned blow. He didn’t have to activate any cursed energy.

“Let’s go!” Chirps Yuuta, cheerfully.

In another context, maybe, it would be appropriate for his pulse to spike, for his hands to clam, for his breath to quicken, at the prospect of being alone with you. However, the reality of the current situation is that Yuuta is dragging you down into some dark, unknown depth, where neither of you will be disturbed. As you descend the concrete flights, visibility is increasingly hard to come by, and this, too, excites Yuuta. He is now forced to rely more heavily upon his other senses, which naturally prioritizes the scent of your sweat; the sound of your rabbit-paced heartbeat; the feeling of the paper-thin skin of your inner wrist; the taste of his own desire.

The cursed spirit they’re looking for has been wreaking havoc on the surrounding commercial strip, to the point where several businesses have had to draw their shutters in the wake of the love hotel’s primary foreclosure. Evidently, recurring, unresolved muder-suicides did not bode well for business.

“Um…if we’re supposed to be searching for the curse behind all of the couples’ deaths, shouldn’t we be looking in the bedrooms?”

Your voice echoes, tinny, in the thick, humid air of the emergency stairwell. They haven’t hit the bottom yet.

“Eh, maybe. This doesn’t feel like that kind of case, though.”

“Huh? How do you figure?”

Although moving swiftly, at the speed of light, your footfalls make barely a whisper against the aged concrete steps. Still, it’s enough for Yuuta’s hypersensitive ears to pick up on. Deprived of the sight of you, he drinks in the intimation of your existence, greedily.

“Heat rises,” he says, slowing pace as they approach what can only be the door to the boiler room, which has been left ominously ajar. “Cold sinks.”

“...Um, I’m not sure I follow.”

Stealthily, he slithers inside the slender crack between frame and the door itself. The angle of its opening doesn’t even waver. He pulls you along with him, replying as he moves, “Crimes of passion carry a kind of hot, frenetic energy. Panic, impulse, instinct – all of those things have lots of, hmm, friction? Like an explosion. Really hot at first, dangerously hot, and then it fizzles out into nothing.”

Unfamiliar pieces of enormous machinery tower in the dark. As much as you are able to while crouching so low to the floor, you take care not to trip over any errant pipes.

“So this isn’t a hot curse?”

“No,” Yuuta confirms. “The curse–” murder-suicides in a love hotel, how on-the-nose could it be? “–is premeditated by nature. Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice.”

He stops short. You would’ve crashed straight into his shoulder blades if he weren’t painfully cognizant of your whereabouts at all times. He preemptively steadies you on your feet before you can even begin to stumble.

“At some point in this building, someone,” says Yuuta, quietly, as he cautiously eyes the opaque blackness before them, “spent a lot of time thinking about their beloved.”

“How can you tell?”

“Cold sinks,” Yuuta repeats.

Violence explodes, seemingly, out of nowhere. The curse attacks all at once, aiming perfectly towards you as though it had been lying in wait, stalking your every move. Yuuta always takes point whenever you pair up together, because he always insists on taking the first hit. It is this presupposition that leaves you wide open, vulnerable for attack from behind.

“Yuuta!!” You shriek, desperately dodging the grotesque appendages reaching out to you. Your body hits the floor just seconds shy of what would have been a gory fatality.

When you lift your head to identify the exact form of the curse, you still in uncomprehending terror.

“...Yuuta?”

How can this be?

Not even seconds prior, Yuuta had been a whole, living, breathing, intact person, guiding you as solidly as your own personal anchor. Why, then, does he appear to you now as a corpse, brain matter spilling down his temples, bloated limbs belying days of decay, flesh pale and tender and loose around the bone.

No, no, no. Had you been too late? Had the curse gotten to him first? Are you next?

Despair fills you, overflowing your sensibilities with the intrusive desire to rid the world of your miserable existence. How could you have let him slip through your fingers? How could you be expected to return to any semblance of a life, with Yuuta gone? You don’t deserve a future without Yuuta – you don’t even want to imagine one.

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

Cursed energy welling within you, threatening to tear you apart at the very seams, you are about to implode with all the conviction of an abandoned lover– but a familiar, desperate cry of your name halts your ministrations.

That was Yuuta’s voice calling out to you.

But there he is, lying before you as nothing more than a desecrated body.

Unless…?

Yuuta calls your name again, sharply, this time in a tone adjacent to something scolding. The fear of disappointing Yuuta outweighs all else. It’s enough to snap you back to reality, to clear your clouded faculties and reveal to you the real Yuuta, who stands on guard just a few paces away, living, breathing, sweating, crouching, preparing for action.

“The curse,” he calls, eyes never leaving the thing in front of you. “It’s the curse. Don’t worry, it’s not real. You’re alive.”

“I’m alive?” You parrot incredulously. “That’s your corpse over there!”

“...Huh? My corpse? But I see yours–” He cuts himself off, face going eerily blank. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Close your eyes. Don’t flinch.”

In your defense, you try your best.

Remaining sightless and motionless is difficult as the rest of your senses are inundated with the disgustingly explicit soundtrack of slaughter. The sound of flesh forcibly sliding apart on the edge of Yuuta’s cursed katana is familiar, at this point, but no less gut-wrenching to bear witness to. When he deals the final blow, the evidence sprays all over the front of you, drenching you from head to toe in what should be the curse’s blood.

And yet, the liquid is frigid. Like you’ve been assaulted by the waves of the cruel, immortal sea.

“You can look now.”

Hesitantly, your eyes flutter open. You’re met with the sight of Yuuta, also covered head to toe in the viscous liquid produced by the corpse’s demise. Now that the exorcism has been completed, the preternatural heaviness is lifted from the building. But still, you struggle to breathe.

“Why didn’t you let me fight?” Something horrible announces itself, crowing from an ugly, dark corner of your mind best kept away from public view. “Was I going to slow you down?”

He sheathes in katana without sparing the gory weapon another glance. The space between your bodies is quickly extinguished, as Yuuta crosses the space in a matter of heartbeats. Blood roars in your ears, drowning out all which does not consist of Yuuta’s fixed gaze, Yuuta’s shaky breath, Yuuta’s pallid, sweaty skin, Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta.

“No.”

A large, wet palm meets your cheek. The soft squelch should be repulsive. Your stomach flips for entirely unrelated reasons.

“Why do you think all those murder-suicides happened?”

The question catches you off guard, but you answer, nonetheless. “The curse.”

“What do you think the curse made people see, for them to do something like that?”

You want to ask what the hell this line of questioning has to do with anything, with the mounting intensity in his stare, with the firm hand on your face, calloused thumb rubbing miniscule half-crescents into the crux of your jaw where the bone and flesh is pliant and breakable, could crack open like the shell of a creature already cooked alive, prepared to be split open for gluttonous consumption–

And then, rudely, the memory of mere moments prior hits you:

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

“Oh,” you whimper, pathetically. “They see– the curse makes them see, um, someone special to them.”

“Not just ‘special,’” Yuuta corrects. From this close you can see the faint trail of blue-green veins spiderwebbing their way from his eyebags, metastasizing every which-way, just underneath his skin. “What is a curse?”

“The coalescence of negative energy secreted by human non-sorcerers.” You rattle off the elementary answer without second thought.

“What kind of curse was this?”

The moisture evaporates from your mouth. “A cold one.”

“Why?”

“‘Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice,’” you mimic back.

Although, your tone doesn’t quite replicate the self-assured way by which Yuuta had originally imparted the information. No, your voice shakes apart, just as disjointed as the rest of your body feels at this moment.

“What did you see when you looked at the curse?”

He already knows. He wants you to say it. You want to plead for mercy, if only to savor the eroticism of begging for something you know will not be spared for you.

“I saw you, Yuuta.”

The curse’s blood is bitter and cold, like soured juice, when it is thrust upon your tongue. Yuuta is uncaring of the gore coating the both of you, the time-sensitive nature of this mission assignment, the way your knees sway and buckle as the adrenaline begins to leak from your body, replaced by a new, even more exhilarating sensation.

Opaque darkness still shrouds the boiler room; and yet, it isn’t enough to prevent your souls from recognizing one another. Hands wrestle with buttons, fingers grapple with zippers, teeth gnash into flesh, and the two of you take each other apart not with the reckless abandon of lovers under the duress of a transient liaison; no, you are methodological, thorough, all-consumed by the well-marinated desire that has been fertilizing from the moment you first came into contact with one another.

Yuuta throws you down to the floor and moves his body at a preternatural speed so that he beats you there, his hand cradling the back of your skull before it can strike the concrete.

“I saw you too,” he huffs into your mouth.

“You were d-dead…” The way you struggle to say the word is cute. You’re so fucking cute. God, he’s no better than a fucking curse.

It’s impossible to curb the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck, eagerly feeding off of the intoxicating effects of your pained, thrilled squeal. “You weren’t,” he murmurs into the abused flesh, pressing a kiss where he’d just gnawed. “You looked close, but you weren’t dead.”

“...Huh…?”

Can you even think right now? Do you understand what he’s saying to you? How could you possibly grasp the implications of what is transpiring, right now, when you’re laid out on the floor, snow-angeling in the blood and guts and gore of a murdered curse, delirious off of a heady combination of lust and adrenaline and fear?

“You were just barely alive. On the edge.” He moans, rocking the hard line of his body into your own. “Do you know what you said to me?”

“Tell me.”

“You asked me to finish the job.”

Back arching off of the grimy, gritty ground, every fiber of your being reaches out for the fingers that tear at the cloth of your uniform as though it is nothing more than some cheap costuming. “You know what? I knew it wasn’t the real you, when it said that. ‘S not like you.”

He’s monologuing to himself, it seems. You are far beyond the hope of verbally communicating in anything other than your strained, hoarse whines.

“You’d never ask me to do that. You’d stay with me until the very end, wouldn’t you?”

Desperately, hopelessly, you nod, your fingernails carving your intentions into the meat of his shoulders. When had his shirt come off? Did you do that?

Are you the one tearing away the last bits of offending clothing, or is that him? Do you growl in stoked desire as he breaches your entrance, or does that inhuman noise come from the both of you?

When Yuuta is buried inside of you, he feels like he’s finally been laid to rest. There is the warm, comforting embrace often described as death – but instead of an eternal bliss found at the conclusion of his life, Yuuta is able to access this euphoria by burying himself inside of you. You are his headstone, his tomb, his coffin: all of you exists to house the death of all of him, and without him inside of you, you would live on in aimless unfulfillment, anxiously awaiting the day a beautiful boy will come to die under your care and linger with you in eternity.

You are–warm, hot, burning up, self-immolating beneath his fingers. Every thrust forward threatens to scald his hips on your molten flesh.

“Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu–” you stutter, body shuddering to life, rising from the ground, seizing and contorting in strange shapes as you struggle and fail to cope with the insurgence of pleasure coursing through you. “Yuu–ta–”

“Promise me.”

“Wha–”

“Promise me,” he hisses, hands coming to your throat. “Promise you’ll stay. You’re too important to me, I c-can’t lose you too, hnnnnn–”

Promise you, I’ll never leave you, is what you are able to only mouth, breath and voice held captive in his unrelenting grasp. Because you cannot voice it entirely, you pour all the contents of your heart and soul into the sentiment. Fingers rising weakly to clasp onto his, you tighten his grip on your windpipe and take comfort in the drowsy haziness that cradles your consciousness.

When he comes, he holds you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to crawl off and die somewhere else if he doesn’t keep you right where you are, crushed against, his shivering frame, so tightly bound to him that he can hear your diaphragm contract and expand, over and over and over again, each breath cut short by a wheeze or a sob.

Through it all, he cradles you. Naked, bruised, and forever scarred from the sight of not-Yuuta’s rotting corpse, you cling to him and release your sorrows into the dark, empty abyss of the boiler room.

Back and forth, he rocks your body, soothing your nervous system into an illusion of safety. There is no such thing as “safety,” not for jujutsu sorcerers – but together, with limbs intertwined as one, this is the closest you can come to fooling yourselves into hoping, one day, for a safe place. A safe person, even.

“Shhh,” he simpers, thumb swiping your cheek, which is damp from an unholy mixture of cursed blood, sweat, spit, and tears. “We’re together. It’s all okay.”

“T-together…”

“Yeah. Just you and me.”

;

“You don’t think that’s an issue?”

“I’m not saying there isn’t an issue. But we should tread lightly, here. We don’t know what could happen if we interfere.”

“If we don’t interfere, the newbie might die.”

“It won’t get to that point. I won’t let it happen. Oi, don’t blow smoke in my face. That’s unladylike.”

“Don’t lecture me on what’s ‘ladylike,’ cocksucker.”

“Wow! That burns!”

“Come here, I’ll show you what else burns.”

Lingering outside the door to the infirmary, you shift your weight from foot to foot, unsure of the appropriate course of action to take. Clearly, Gojo and Ieiri are in the middle of a conversation that is not meant to be heard by prying ears – not that you can make heads or tails of what they’re talking about, anyways.

All you wanted to do was come see Ieri for your weekly check-up, as was customary following the love hotel mission. The adrenaline must have numbed your pain receptors in the moment, because as soon as you’d arrived back on campus, your entire body felt like you’d been through a grinder.

You were kinda confused, at first, because you didn’t even engage the curse in combat. In due time, of course, you remembered what–or who–had actually bruised your ribs, broken your skin, sprained your joints, left you carrying the contours of his wanting.

Why were they talking about you dying, anyways? Yuuta saved your life. Nothing was going to happen to you as long as he was by your side.

“Hey.”

Jumping out of your skin has started to feel good, kind of. You look forward to Yuuta’s unceremonious greetings as he creeps up on you in silence, futilely waiting for you to detect his concealed presence.

“H-hi,” you demure. Why are you shy? He’s been so far inside of you he practically fused into your skeleton. Blushing because he caught you unawares is ridiculous.

“Aren’t you going to go in?”

Wondering how he knows what you’re here for is pointless. Equally as useless is trying to deduce how he was able to figure out your recurring appointment time. He’s Yuuta – it’s natural for him to acquire knowledge about you, as easily as one picks low-hanging fruit from a tree.

“Umm, I think they’re talking about something.”

He frowns. “About what?”

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you heard? “Ah, I don’t know...”

“Are you sure?”

You remain silent, unsure of how to proceed. Part of you wants to bare your innards at all times, whenever Yuuta is around. It feels natural, like a rabbit’s cowering. On the other hand…

Somehow, the thought of telling Yuuta the truth–yeah, Gojo-sensei and Ieiri-sensei think there’s a chance I might die soon–would not end well for anyone involved. If there was something you truly needed to know, you’re sure your senseis would tell you.

Right?

“Please trust me,” you whisper, only feeling a little guilty. You’re doing it to protect him. If something dangerous is going to happen to you, Yuuta shouldn’t be involved at all. He must live. You must make sure of it.

Reluctantly, he acquiesces, although he insists on accompanying you to your check-up that week. Strangely, neither Gojo nor Ieiri seem surprised that he is here with you, and make no effort to question why. Yuuta is allowed to linger at your sides as Ieiri takes your vitals, reviews the status of your various injuries, and even holds your hand when she scans your cursed energy levels. Thankfully, you are on track to make a perfect recovery.

In fact, not only are you replenishing the strength and ability that had been impaired during the love hotel mission–you are regenerating cursed energy at rates which exceed your natural capacities.

When Ieiri relays this to you, Gojo, who has been lingering in the infirmary for some unknown reason (you suspect it’s simply to annoy Ieiri with his very presence) speaks up: “Do you know what that means, kid?”

“Um…” You start, nervous. Everyone’s eyes are on you. It feels like you’re under a microscope. “I’m moving up a rank?”

Gojo bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over at the waist. “Wow, what an opportunist! Haha, maybe in the future, if your cursed energy continues to compound exponentially. I’m asking you about the cause. Any idea why you’re suddenly overflowing with power?”

“No.” Your answer is as truthful as it is anxious.

“Typically, a dramatic increase in output like this only occurs after a Binding Vow. Make any life-or-death promises, recently?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, the way Gojo says it. You can tell because his crow’s feet dip down just far enough away from underneath his blindfold that you can tell whenever he smiles with his eyes. And he is smiling, after he cracks the joke. You’re also able to intuit when he stops smiling, as the depressions on his face smooth out into a careful blankness. You are thirty seconds too late to the punchline. Instead of laughing along, you remain damningly silent, and Yuuta shifts uncomfortably at your side.

“Okay,” says Gojo, clapping his hands. “Alright.”

Although you’re fully clothed in your school uniform, it makes you feel chillingly exposed when what feels like all Six of his Eyes bore into the collection of dark marks ringing your neck in a brutal, makeshift collar. Those were not, in fact, the work of a curse.

Yuuta fidgets with the flimsy paper lining the examination bed. You kick your feet like a child in time out.

“You owe me seven thousand yen,” Shoko deadpans.

“Hey! Didn’t we say forty-five?”

“Don’t kid around.”

Am I in trouble? The terrified plea swells to the front of your mouth, begging to escape. You force the words to sit, stay, and curdle on your tongue.

“Can we go now?” Asks Yuuta, uncharacteristically direct.

Given the odd gravity in the room, you don’t expect Gojo’s easy wave of his hand, dismissing the two of you with a flippant hum. Not having to be told twice, you hightail it out of the infirmary, grateful to be released from the constant invasion of privacy and security that is a prolonged existence within the reach of Gojo’s Six Eyes.

Finally alone once more, the training grounds are a welcome reprieve for you and Yuuta, who crash into the grass clearing hand-in-hand, heartbeats synced.

“Did we make a Binding Vow? When we…you know…”

Yuuta’s voice trails off, lamely.

“What if we did? Would you regret it?”

“Huh? No, of course not! It’s just…well–”

“Well, what?”

“That’s kind of permanent,” Yuuta whispers, dark pools of obsidian sorrow holding your gaze in its cruel, captivating clutches. “And we don’t know what will happen if it breaks.”

For one second, the rawness of it hits you. Fear washes down your back, prickling your flesh, raising goosebumps, locking your spine rigidly into place. The two of you had certainly made a life-or-death promise, infused with cursed energy and blood and…other…bodily fluids. To inadvertently perform a Binding Vow meant that the sheer intensity behind both of your wills was purely, wholly devoted to the promise.

Which is why you take a step closer to him, voice steady. “I didn’t make that promise with the intention to break it. Ever.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t…you can’t be sure of that.”

“I am.”

“You won’t be able to guarantee it.”

“I will.”

Familiarly calloused hands grab your shoulders, jostling you with charged intention. “You don’t get it! My favorite person in the whole world already left me once. If that happens again, I can’t… I don’t know…”

“Yuuta.” You don’t have to lay a finger on him for his entire body to stand at attention, drawing tall and taught, when you call his name. “I will never leave you, even if I die.”

The ensuing kiss tastes like metal.

Despite the passionate fervor with which he devours you, his mouth his cold, and his digits even more so as they dig into your cheeks, your throat, your waist, your chest, groping and pulling and kneading your flesh to loosen the rigor mortis that has arrested your willingness.

“D-don’t, ah, make any m-more marks…”

Your protest is, at best, unconvincing, the person least of all convinced being yourself, as Yuuta’s teeth and tongue on the tender flesh of your neck make you feel like you’re about to leave your body. “Hnng–Gojos-sensei already knows, I think.”

“Good.” He’s crazed, nipping and slurping at your sensitive soft bits like a man starved. “Let him know. Everyone should know. I shouldn’t even–” he kisses “–have–” he bites “–to say it–” he licks you in between speaking, as though it goes against the grain of his being to part ways with you for more than just a few jagged inhalations.

The ground hits you hard, reprimanding you for your clumsiness with a firm impact on your backside. Yuuta pursues with haste, hands slamming down on either side of your head, ripping the grass in retribution.

“Yuuta,” you hiss, hands flying to his dark mop of hair, trying to reel him back – in vain, of course. “We are outside. In the middle of the day. Anyone could walk by!”

“Don’t care.”

His eyes are glazed, half-lidded, pupils blown wide and deeply dark as a gunshot wound, uncaring of your anxiety as he attempts to dive back into you.

“Wait! What if someone sees me?” Now, he rears back. “I don’t want anyone else to see, Yuuta… only you get to see me like this.”

Even the ants traipsing across the clearing stop dead in their tracks, rendered motionless, silent, at the abrupt onslaught of highly charged cursed energy that washes through every living and non-living thing within a five-mile radius.

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, your world upends as you are thrown over a wide shoulder clad in spotless, wrinkled white. You’ve always thought it was funny – how Yuuta’s uniform never managed to permanently stain itself with any of the gore he frequently encountered, and yet, there was always a noticeable depression in the seams, ever-lurking, complicating the otherwise flawless expanse, evoking a sense of pity.

Even when the shirt flies off, abandoned to crumple sadly in the corner of his bedroom, you can’t get its image out of your head. That spotless white. Those gleaming gold buttons dripping in iridescent rivulets down the front of the garment. Only within the intricate designs etched into their surface is one able to glean the barest hint of blood, staining the metal a pale crimson. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it.

But you have always sought out his ugly, twisted parts. Even when he tries to hide. Even when he might duck from them himself.

That’s okay.

That’s why he has you.

When he bites you so hard that the wound draws blood; when his palms squeeze around your windpipe so deftly that you lose vision; when pins down your bruised hips, ignoring their wriggling avoidance; when his unquiet nature makes itself known, eclipsing the carefully bashful performance he puts on for his peers so that he might be liked, or loved, even–that is when you feel most connected to him. That is when your affections burn brightest.

And during the comedown, as he holds you close and rocks your brutalized body back and forth and back again, you are well aware that it is he himself who he seeks to soothe.

He doesn’t know, you realize, broken out of your post-coital mental haze with a pointed moment of clarity.

Yuuta has no clue what lurks inside the haunted catacombs of his soul.

What does it say about you, then, that his naivete only serves to further incense your want, smoldering like an inferno brewing at the base of a pyre, threatening to engulf your sorry corpse in entirety?

;

As third year trudges on, instruction takes less time in the classroom, or on campus. More frequently, you find yourself out on missions from sun-up to sundown, running around Tokyo-to and even surrounding prefectures. The grades of the curses you go up against only increase with time, and so, to, does your proximity to mortal danger.

Through it all, Yuuta is present. Indignantly so. Despite your rank as a semi-special grade sorcerer, you have yet to embark solo on an assignment. The pair of you are one combative unit, at this point so intertwined in sentiment and instinct that rarely is it necessary to reach for verbal exchange while engaged in battle. It is as though the reserve of cursed energy you draw from is a pool shared between you, a combination of your innate abilities plus an additional overflow, supplied by the Binding Vow you had consummated all those months ago.

So close are you, now, that Yuuta grows comfortable – confident, even – with your hold on his proverbial leash. These days, he is less neurotic when you inquire as to his whereabouts. Your prying questions provoke within him nothing other than a deep-seated sense of reassurance. He no longer doubts where he stands with you, as he once did when you were still a fresh-faced, mid-year transfer adjusting to life at Tokyo Tech.

In retrospect, he recognizes that he should never have let his guard down.

It’s his fault, really. Entirely his fault. The extra strength provided by the powerful effects of the Binding Vow deluded him into a false sense of security.

He shouldn’t have been so careless with your life. He shouldn’t have strayed so far from your side. He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight. He shouldn’t have left you alone, even if it was only for a split second–not even.

Once again, he has failed to save the most important person in his life. Somehow, losing you is worse than losing Rika. He is no longer a child. He possessed both the skill and ability to save you.

And yet, he had been absent in your time of need.

The one time you’d been off on a mission without him. The one and only time. Principle Yaga’s sorry excuse was that the higher-ups found it strange that you, as a semi-special grade, had never completed a solo assignment. Apparently, your rank was being threatened if you refused any longer to display independent capability.

Well. Now there’s no rank for you to claim, anymore.

After news of your death reaches him, he roams campus like an aimless specter, as though he is the one who has been robbed of life.

In a way, he has. Half of his being has perished. He limps, lopsided, dragging the phantom weight of your body with him wherever he goes.

It takes a while to get used to the absence of your physical, living, breathing manifestation. As a fellow sorcerer, you have been wholly eradicated from the fabric of his reality.

But as a spirit…?

Death is not enough to break a Binding Vow – this, Yuuta knows better than anyone. He retains his augmented cursed abilities, along with your presence. The two of you join once more in battle, as he summons you to protect and guard him in life as he failed to do for you. Your selfless nature has never been more clearly evident. Not a single call goes unanswered, not a single need of his unmet.

Is this a haunting?

No, he doesn’t think so.

When the two of you had still been skittish and shy around one another, nothing more than a pair of innocently covetous children, you’d dared him to reflect on his relationship with Rika. What had been translated to him as a haunting, you reimagined as something more corporeal, something genuine, something worthy of gratitude, and love.

This is how he chooses to think of you – the both of you, together, still joined in perfect union. No matter the fact that you will watch him age, change, develop, and eventually die, one day, should he be so lucky. You do not haunt his waking hours. You do not terrorize his dreams.

You love him in a way that transcends the bounds of space and time.

He has not been cursed. Rather, he has been blessed with your unconditional love.

To earn true forgiveness, he must show you his, as well. You must occupy his every waking thought. You will invade his every intention. You are at the forefront of his mind when he rises with the dawn, and the memory of your breath against the shell of his ear whispers to him good night. You dress him. You urge him to sustenance. You machinate his combat. You heal his wounds. You wipe his tears when he sobs, alone, terribly alone, sobbing into his knees after each time the life of a friend meets a senseless, violent conclusion.

You are still there when he wraps a rough, harried palm around his throbbing arousal, thrusting up into an elusive, now long-gone pleasure. You guide his hands’ journey across the hazardous dips and valleys of his rib cage, the grotesque concave of his stomach, the sharp blades of his hip bones. His skeleton threatens to crawl outside of his flesh. It yearns for something beyond this senseless cycle of bloodshed, grief, and rage.

Never does he feel closer to salvation than when he is on the precipice of ecstasy, dehydrated, underfed, delirious, heart beating so fast that it limits his vision, his lung capacity. When he occupies this liminal space, it is not the brink of orgasm which he straddles. As he approaches climax, he yearns not for an explosion of wet heat, but for the euphoric embrace of a final ending: your arms around him once more, real, tangible, warm.

Until then, he will trudge onwards. Miserably alive. Cold inside and out. Numb to physical pain, constantly inundated with the wounds inflicted on his spirit, his sentiments, his soul.

Solace finds him in the fact that you committed to remain by his side, forever. How could he wallow in total despair when this remains true?

You chose this, after all.

You chose him.

You did.

Didn’t you?

531 notes · View notes

scoonsalicious · 6 months

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, the last straw, arguing, violence, Sexually Explicit Content Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (angry/rough PIV, fingering, degradation kink), memories of past CSA, self harm, Bucky really, really fucks up.

Word Count: 4k

Previously On...: Tony sent you a very expensive apology gift.

A/N: Ya’ll are getting this early! Just one thing to say:

I am so, so sorry.

Coincidentally, this is getting posted on the day I'll be coming home from NoLa, so I'll arrive just in time to hear you all say how much you now hate me. Yay. -_-

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, lost in the dark colors, the reflection of the moonlight over the water. The sound of the door opening broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see Bucky shuffle into the room.

“Hey, sweets,” he said, toeing off his boots.

“Hey,” you said without emotion, turning your face back to the painting.

“Whacha lookin’ at?” he asked, coming to sit next to you on the couch.

“Apology gift from Tony.”

“What’s he apologizing to you for?” God, you couldn’t even muster up the energy to be angry at him.

“Calling out your unhealthy obsession with Jade in front of the team,” you said, voice flat.

“I do not have an unhealthy obsession with Vix,” Bucky said, annoyance coloring his words. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing going on between the two of us before you start believing me.”

“Maybe you should stop telling me there’s nothing and start actually acting like there’s nothing,” you said as you stood up. “Because honestly, I’m tired of hearing your empty words.” You began to walk away, but Bucky reached out and grabbed your arm.

“They aren’t empty, Pocket!” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it filled the room as if he’d shouted. “It fucking hurts like hell to hear you say that.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that oozed from your voice now. “Your feelings are hurt now, so that changes everything. Let me put aside the pain I’ve been dealing with for months to reassure you.” You yanked your hand free from his grasp. “I’m exhausted, Bucky. Nothing is getting better. In fact, things are getting worse, and I keep pretending that I can be okay with things, but you just keep picking her over me, time and time again. I don’t deserve that. Not from someone who’s supposed to love me.”

“Pick her over you? That’s fucking bullshit and you know it,” he said, voice rising.

“Is it?” you asked him. You pointed to the corner where your overnight bags sat waiting for a trip you’d never take. “Is that bullshit, Bucky? Cause we were supposed to be in the Catskills right now, but because that fucking cunt came crying for you, you went running to her and left me sitting here, alone and forgotten. Again.”

“Pocket,” Bucky ran a hand over the back of his neck, a sure sign you were ruffling him. “She needed someone to support her. She’s not like you– she doesn’t–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Barnes!” you interrupted, shouting now. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m breaking up with you because of her and you still just stand there and defend her!”

Bucky’s face paled and his eyes went wide. “No,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“What?” You weren’t sure you heard him.

“I said ‘no,’” he said, his voice louder, but still soft. “You're not breakin' up with me. Doll, please. I need you. You said you were gonna fight for us, fight for me. That’s what you said!”

“I’m so tired of fighting for you when you’re off fighting for her! I can’t do this anymore, Bucky,” you practically sobbed. “You are fucking destroying me and feel like you just. don’t. care. I can’t just sit here and let it keep happening. You say you need me, but you’ve made it clear time and time again that you don’t give a shit about what I need. Every time I’ve asked you to put a boundary between you and Carthage, you’ve stomped right over it. And I can’t keep living like this. Yesterday was supposed to be a celebration of one of the greatest accomplishments of my career, and she ruined it.”

“It wasn’t her fault she got bad intel!” Bucky shouted.

“Could you just FUCKING STOP?!” you screamed. “Stop defending her! She either royally fucked up or she set them up on purpose! Those are the only two options! Either way, the entire thing was her fault. Rhodey is unconscious– almost died– because of her! She’s got you so wrapped around her fucking finger that you can’t even see it, and I am SO. GOD. DAMNED. OVER. IT! You promised me you’d make it up to me,” you continued shouting at him. “You fucking promised! But as soon as she bats her lashes, your promises don’t mean shit! You keep making excuses, you keep saying you’re sorry, but you keep doing the same fucking thing over and over again, and the only thing your actions are promising is that she means more to you than I do!”

“That’s not true!” he shouted back at you. “You mean more to me than anything!”

“I don’t fucking believe you!” you screamed, your voice going hoarse.

“I’ll fucking prove it to you!” He grabbed your elbows and pulled you to him, kissing you with such force it would have knocked you over if he hadn’t been holding you up. The moment he broke the kiss for air, you slapped him across the face. Only to immediately kiss him again.

Within seconds, you were ripping at each other’s clothes, desperate to feel one another, skin to skin, your tongues battling against each other as though whomever could dominate the kiss could win your fight. Bucky literally tore your shirt in half before you pushed him down onto your bed. Crawling on top of him, you scratched your nails down his chest, hard enough to draw blood.

Bucky hissed into your mouth, reaching down to yank off his pants and boxer briefs. You hastily pulled them down and off his legs before climbing back up to his mouth. Your kisses were passionate, angry and feral, each of you trying to prove a point to the other.

You felt both of Bucky’s hands grasp the waistband of your jeans and rip them open, sending the button and zipper teeth flying. “Those were my favorite fucking jeans,” you warned.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he growled, shoving a hand into your panties and finding your clit. You arched your back as he pinched and rolled it between his fingers, the aggression in his movements igniting your blood. You gasped as he shoved two fingers into you while simultaneously flipping you so you were now on your back and he loomed above you.

He pulled his hand from you, leaving you aching and empty. He kissed you as he divested you of what was left of your jeans and your panties. “Taste yourself,” he said, shoving his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them, savoring the tang of your essence on his skin. Bucky groaned at the sight before pulling his fingers out and kissing you again.

“You’re mine,” he growled, grabbing at your breasts and roughly kneading the flesh. “Look at me, Pocket. You’re mine.” You turned your head away, not wanting to meet his eyes, but Bucky would have none of it. Gripping your chin tight enough to leave a bruise, he yanked your head back so you were looking him in the eye. “I said, you’re mine.” He entered you then, the force of it nearly splitting you in half. “You’re mine and I’m fucking yours. Forever.”

He pounded into you as if his very life depended on it, and you clutched at his shoulders for dear life. “God, yes, Bucky,” you cried, all your resolve finally leaving you as the pleasure rose within you. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. Only mine. Only fucking mine!”

With a roar, Bucky picked up one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit you deeper as he drove into you. His thrusts were punishing, as though he were trying to see just how deep he could get himself inside of you before you actually broke in two.

"You like that?" he murmured as he rutted his hips into you.

"Fuck, yes, please, Bucky-- just like that," you moaned. He had you close. So, so close. "Keep going."

"Yeah, I thought so, you dirty slut," he grunted.

"What?" you asked, pulling your head back into the pillow so you could stare at him, wide-eyed as he continued to pound relentlessly into you. His words had taken you aback-- this was not something your loving boyfriend had ever said to you before. You dropped one leg from around his waist and tried to pull the other from his shoulder.

"Knew you loved taking my cock. God, you're such a filthy whore for me."

"Bucky, stop." You pushed gently against his chest, but he was already so far gone to his lust that he didn't seem to hear you.

"Such a good fucktoy for me," he grunted, his pace quickening as he neared his release. You felt your breath coming hard and fast now, but not from your impending climax, which had died with his words, but from an oncoming anxiety attack. “You goin’ dumb on me already, like a good little cockslut?”

Flashes of your miserable childhood flickered through your head, the way Darren would call you his "good little money-making whore" after you'd been raped by yet another of his clients, or when he decided to violate you himself, calling you his own personal slut, his special fuck toy.

"Bucky," you shouted, punching him with your fists, desperate now to get him off you, out of you. "Stop! Get off of me! GET OFF OF ME!" You screamed, thrashing at him. You saw the moment your words registered-- his eyes lost their haze of lust and his hips stopped pumping into you.

"Doll?" he asked, looking down on you in confusion. "What's wr--"

"Get off me, get off me, get off me!" you shrieked as you rolled out from under him, your entire body suddenly on fire with shame and disgust. The second your feet hit your bedroom floor, you were reaching for your silk robe, wrapping yourself in it as though the thin fabric could protect you from his words. From him.

"Pocket," Bucky watched your movements, his eyes betraying his bewilderment at your actions. "What's going on? What did I do?"

"Why would you call me that?" you asked, your words coming out in between your desperate gasps for air. "Why would you say those things?"

Bucky sat up, reaching for you, but you moved away from him. "Baby, what things? What did I s--" Realization dawned on him then, and his entire face fell. "Shit. Oh, God. Oh, Pocket. Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I didn't think--"

"Why would you say that, Bucky?" you asked, fighting back the tears that so desperately wanted to break free. "You've never called me a-a-..." you couldn't even get the word out. "How could you do that?"

"Fuck, Baby..." Bucky began, running his hands through his hair in response to your distress, "I never... I thought you'd like it. I should have realized, after Darren..."

"Don't say his name!" You hadn't meant to shout at him, but you were damned if you were going to invite the ghost of your tormentor into the sanctuary of your room. "Please," you cried, "don't say his name."

Bucky got up and tried to wrap his arms around you, but you pulled away, feeling too vile, too dirty, to even let him touch you.

"Sweetheart, please," he began, reaching for you again, "you're shaking. Let me hold you." You shook your head as you moved away from him yet again, trying to steady yourself.

"Where did that even come from, Bucky? Why would you think... What would even make you think that was something I would want?"

Bucky's hand went to rub the back of his neck as he looked up at you from behind his lashes. "I... I heard girls... like that sort of thing. That it turns them on."

"You can't just start it out of nowhere," you cried, "It's something you need to agree on first! You can't just say it without making sure your partner's okay with it! And I can't believe you'd ever think I would be okay with it! God, who even told you that?" You couldn't imagine any of Bucky's friends saying something like that to him; hell, Steve would have a coronary before even suggesting it. Did he read about it in some degrading kink group online?

"I was talking to Vix, and she said--"

"You what?" you spun to face him, your words sharp in your shock.

"Vixen. Jade. I was talking to her during training one time and she said girls like it when guys talk to them like that during sex. Well, she said she likes it. Said it, uh, turns her on."

Your entire body froze as if you'd been doused with ice water. "You were talking to Jade Carthage about sex and what gets her off." Your voice was hard and clipped. It wasn't even a question, just a statement that made your stomach twist, but you had to make sure you had understood him correctly.

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad," Bucky hemmed, "but sweets, I swear, it wasn't like that."

You called for FRIDAY to turn up the lights, no longer wanting to be trapped in the intimacy of the semi-darkness with him.

"It wasn't like that? Then please enlighten me, Bucky, what was it like? Jesus, how did you two even stumble into that conversation in the first place?"

"Baby," Bucky looked frantic as he grabbed his boxer briefs from the floor and tugged them back on, "I don't even remember how we got on the subject. We were sparring and I pinned her and--"

"You had a conversation about sex while you were lying on fucking top of her?" You could barely contain your rage; you were seething, about to vibrate out of your skin with revulsion.

"Honey, it's not that big of a deal, really."

"Not that big of a deal?" you asked, knowing you were about to tread into some very dangerous territory, but needing him to understand you. "So, it wouldn't be that big of a deal if I let Steve get on top of me and had him tell me what gets him hard? What makes him come?"

Bucky's jaw tightened immediately at the mention of Steve. "Don't," he growled. "Do not bring him into this. It's completely different."

"It's not, Bucky! It's a thousand times worse! God," you threw your arms above your head as you began to pace in front of your bed. "I can't tell if you're actually this naive or if you think I'm fucking stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid, Pocket," Bucky's voice was quieter now, more restrained. "I... God, I just messed up. I'm an idiot. I didn't think it through and..." He trailed off and slumped onto the edge of the bed, his hands pushed into his hair as he stared down at the floor.

You could see his muscles craving to pull you back into his arms, but he resisted. His eyes flickered to you before darting away again, like looking at you caused him physical pain.

"Do you want to sleep with her? Were you imagining her while you were fucking me?" It was a reckless question to ask--a question that you didn’t want the answer to--but it slipped out before you could stop it.

Bucky's head whipped up, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at you. "What? No!" He stood abruptly, hands outstretched towards you. "Baby, no! God, no! I would never... I can't even believe you'd think... Don't even talk like that."

"But you took her kinks, her turn ons, and you brought them into our bed. You spoke words you knew another woman-- a woman you know I fucking loathe-- wanted to hear, you... you used them on me, knowing my history, and you didn't give a shit about what saying them might do to me!" Your voice was trembling with accusation, your body shaking with tremors of hurt and betrayal.

"No! No, sweetheart... it wasn't like that." He kept repeating himself, his words rushed, his face pale with shock and regret. "I didn't mean to disrespect you like that. I heard her say it and I thought... I mean, she's a woman too, right? So, if she liked it, I thought maybe you..." He trailed off, his expression one of sheer desperation as he tried to find the right words.

"But I'm not her. It wasn’t about pleasing me; it was about using what pleases her." You shook your head harshly, a lump forming in your throat. "You don't even see how wrong that is. And you shouldn't even have been having the conversation with her in the fucking first place!"

"What can I do?" Bucky pleaded, his voice a strained whisper as he raked his fingers through his hair again. His face was etched with pain, regret seeping from every pore of him. "How can I fix this? Tell me how to make it right."

But you were too overcome by anger and heartbreak to think straight. You moved further away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you were trying to shield your heart from further damage.

“What did you tell her?” you asked, but Bucky looked at you with confusion etched across his face. “You said it was a conversation. I’m assuming she didn’t do all the talking. What did you talk about? Did you tell her what gets you off? What you like? Were you sharing intimate details about our sex life with a complete outsider? Did you tell her about your ‘sergeant’ kink?”

He didn’t need to speak for you to read the truth in the expression on his face.

The silence hung in the room, heavy and oppressive, as Bucky fought for words. A nerve twitched in his jaw, the only movement in his otherwise frozen face. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke.

"I... Yes, I did," he admitted, his voice a mere whisper. "I didn't think it through. I didn't mean to... I just..."

His voice trailed off again and he sunk back onto the bed, looking completely defeated. His hands covered his face as if he were desperate to hide himself from your accusing gaze.

“Get out.” You couldn’t even stand to look at him. This was a betrayal beyond anything you’d ever have expected from him.

Bucky’s head snapped up at your words, his eyes wide with shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at you as though he was seeing you for the first time.

"Get out," you repeated, each word a dagger. "I can't... I can't stand to even look at you right now."

Still, Bucky didn’t move. He just sat there in stunned silence, his face pale and his eyes filled with regret.

"I said get out!" Your voice was shrill, filling the room with a chilling echo that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of your being.

Bucky flinched at your tone, and finally roused himself to his feet. He looked at you one last time, his steel-blue eyes so full of pain that it made your heart ache despite everything. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, like he might try to explain, but you’d had enough of his ‘explanations’ for the evening. Hell, maybe for the rest of your life.

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes filling with a mixture of fear and dread as he nodded slowly. "Okay... yeah," he stammered. "I'll give you some space."

“No. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done, Bucky. This… this is unforgivable. We’re finished.”

"Doll," he breathed, the pet name he had given you sounding like a prayer on his lips, but a curse to your ears. "I love you... I'm sorry. I messed up, I know. But I love you."

“I don’t believe you.” You felt like your heart was being ripped apart as you watched him standing there, consumed by remorse. You had never seen him like this before, his usual charismatic confidence replaced with fearful uncertainty.

“Just go,” you whispered, turning away so you wouldn't have to see the pain in his eyes. You felt a sob rising in your throat, but you held it back, refusing to let it out while he was still there.

With every inch of him screaming resistance, Bucky walked over to the door and hesitated at the threshold. "I'll... I'll do anything to make this right, sweetheart," he promised, his voice choked with emotion. "I'll fix this... We can fix this."

But you remained silent, your back still turned to him as you tried desperately to keep your tears at bay. The sound of the door opening and closing behind him was deafening in its finality.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, suddenly feeling cold. The room was suddenly too big, too empty without Bucky's reassuring presence. You sunk onto the bed, burying your head in your hands as the events of the night washed over you with overwhelming force as you began to sob in earnest.

You weren't even sure what you were angriest about. He’d broken yet another promise and left you waiting, your romantic getaway forgotten so he could be by her side. He'd called you a slut and a whore. He’d discussed your sex life with Jade-- the one woman you hated above all others, and openly discussed her kinks with her, and his own desires in return. He'd forced her kinks on you without your consent.

And then there was the worst part of it all, the bit that made you feel sick and hollow: he'd failed to see what he'd done wrong.

You had thought Bucky knew you better, that he respected you more than this. You'd shared secrets and fears with him, things you'd never shared with anyone else, not even Tony. He knew your past, knew how much trust meant to you - knew how difficult it had been for you to open your vulnerabilities up to something more than just casual sex - and yet he'd violated that trust in such a profound way.

This was just beyond anything else that had come before it. You couldn’t see a way to move forward after this.

Numbly, you began to strip off the sheets from the bed, your hands shaking as you balled them up and threw them into a corner of the room. You couldn't sleep on them now, nor ever again. You couldn't bear the thought of lying down where he'd... where he'd...

Tears started to spill down your cheeks as the reality of what had happened set in. You tried to blink them away, tried to swallow down the lump in your throat. But it was too late. Tears blinded you as you moved through your space on muscle memory alone, grabbing a garbage bag from under the sink in the kitchenette and shoving the offending sheets into it to dispose of later. Boiling them in chlorine wouldn't be able to relieve them of the taint they now carried.

Once the offending sheets were securely bagged and out of sight, you stumbled your way into the bathroom. Turning the shower on as hot as it would go, you stripped from your robe and stepped under the scalding stream from the waterfall shower head.

Hissing as the water hit your body, you let yourself succumb to your emotions. You reached for your loofah and began scrubbing at your skin, doing everything in your power to wash away the intense feeling of shame that had permeated deep under your dermis. You scrubbed until your skin was red, until it was raw and cracked and bleeding, but it offered you no relief.

The sensations were familiar, the burning heat, the stinging of newly torn flesh. It had been so long since you had felt the need to ritually cleanse yourself like this, you had desperately hoped you'd finally found yourself beyond the need to do so, but just a few words from Bucky's mouth had sent you reeling backwards, back to being that worthless, vile, used up girl that no number of college degrees, fancy company titles, or board-approved computer programs could fully erase. It was in your DNA, and you couldn't escape it. You scrubbed and scrubbed until time had lost meaning.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

255 notes · View notes