#having to come up w different piercings for her ears is already hard enough

[haemosexuality]

marceline has the best drip in adventure time so i decided i want to, draw all her looks ig. or at least all the ones i like. im excited to see how many i do before giving up (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing xv. | m

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: oral (m receiving), jk and oc in their feelings :c, fluff n cuteness tbh

words: 7, 816

summary: a series of drabbles where you’re confused and jungkook’s confusing

a/n:

im so sorry for the late update but it's finally here!!! it's been a hectic few weeks w my exam preparation coming right around the corner too :c

anyway!!!! we've got some smut after a while 👀so for visual purposes pls imagine jk from the butter mv, specifically his hair and eyebrow piercing ...

i hope you enjoy this chapter !!!

Safety was a very important aspect of your life. Everything that you did, you always weighed the realistic possibilities of you regretting your decision; mind running at one hundred miles per hour while you drew a mental mind map of every possible outcome you could possibly predict. It was exhausting to have your mind immediately come up with worst-case scenarios where the risk was realistically a meagre five per cent against the other ninety-five, but you were a chronic overthinker by nature.

You steered far from doing things that would end up causing more harm to you and your environment because you knew that there was no actual reason why you could justify getting completely wasted at a party. If it was for fun—surely, you’d vehemently oppose that the next morning.

Your friends, or even anyone who knew of you; always lamented you for your tendency to remain in your bubble. You knew that overall, you were an overthinker and that most of the time—nothing of what you conjured would actually happen purely because, well—your friends are still alive, and so were you. You just missed out on ‘fun’.

But old habits died hard. Maybe that was why the most reckless and impulsive thing that you did—was with Jungkook.

Out of all your friends, Jungkook was the one person that really did whatever he could get his hands, feet or body to do.

He was very determined by nature and a natural daredevil at that. You remember on multiple occasions where he and his family went on a family vacation, and he came back with stories of his adventures swinging from the top of a cliff upside down, getting a snake to wrap itself around his neck—and by far the most impulsive one, returning with a small tattoo of said snake on the back of his neck.

Jungkook was so unpredictable that neither of your friends could ever tell what he’d do next. And you supposed that added to his charm, but it didn’t take away from the five stages of absolute shock that you’d go through when you witness another one of his unpredictable tendencies.

Like right now.

“Please say something,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck while you can only gape at him.

“Purple.” You blurt.

He blinks before his eyes dart upwards as his finger twiddles a few strands of hair between them.

“Yeah,” he hums, “It looks a little blue in some lights, though.”

You nod your head slowly, still processing what is probably the lesser surprising one between the two things that have you double-taking at his figure when you first greeted him at your door.

“That’s … not all,” you say slowly.

Jungkook offers you a lopsided grin that stirs something in your belly, and you don’t know if it’s his hair, or the fact that he’s starting to wear shorter sleeves as the weather begins to get hotter; his tattoos on display as it trails upon his arm—or if it was because of the—

“Eyebrow piercing?” He raises a brow, particularly the one with the eyebrow piercing as it glints under the natural sunlight that filters in the hallway, “So. Do you like it?” He asks, smile still small as he leans in for you to get a better look.

Your breath hitches when his face gets closer, but not enough for it to be insinuative in any way. It was just you and your weak-willed nature whenever it came to Jungkook. You hoped that he wasn’t able to see the way that your ears undoubtedly redden under the proximity.

“What matters is if you like it, Jungkook,” you remind him softly, shyly looking down to your feet.

He sighs, resting an arm against your doorway in a way that makes him look as large as the width of your door. His gaze is still calm and steady, lips curled ever so slightly as he rests his eyes on you.

“I know. But I care if you like it or not,” he retorts.

You scoff, waving him off, but a small grin still threatens itself onto your face.

“Well you shouldn’t,” you huff.

“Why not?” He hums as he cards a hand through his hair. Even if it’s a bright colour and you’re sure that it required copious amounts of bleach and hours at the salon to get the final result—it still looks soft when he swifts through the locks.

“Because,” you lull, “My opinion doesn’t matter. If you like it and you think it’s pretty then that’s more than enough.”

He clicks his tongue against his cheek before his eyes dart down. You’re still avoiding his gaze because you weren’t ready to have your senses assaulted with the way he’s crowding you in the doorway of your own home.

“You’re trying really hard not to compliment me right now,” he teases.

“I am not!” You splutter, ears turning red. Your eyes dart to your feet. “… but if it matters then … I like it. It’s pretty.”

Jungkook’s grin is nothing short of wide when his head reaches out to smooth your hair out of your face that forces you to look up at him. You attempt to keep your heart beat at bay, even if the way he looks pleased with your futile trial of complimenting him. In reality, you thought it looked more than just pretty. Jungkook looked … hot. He was already attractive as he was, and his confident yet quiet nature made him exponentially hotter—but his long, purple hair and the new eyebrow piercing just made him even sexier.

“It matters.” He smiles, cocking his head to the side as you bashfully step aside to allow him to enter your apartment.

He settles in like he’s the missing piece to the lonely nights you spend on your dining table studying away for a test or an exam. And you suppose that Jungkook’s always fit right in, wherever you were. He was a comfortable presence in your life, even when the two of you were in high school and he’d come over for tutoring lessons. Or when it’d be just you and him in your mother’s car while you taught him how to drive.

Jungkook’s somehow always filled in the other seat in your life when there called for two. Even when you note that he still sits on one foot while the other hangs off the couch, a habit he’s had since he was young, or the way that he’s still stupidly polite not to sprawl himself across your couch like Jimin and Taehyung did whenever they were over. Jungkook’s always been there and you were always there to see.

“So … what’s up?” His voice interrupts the daydream that got you a little more soft than you’d like. You shake your head as you shut the door behind you, turning around to fully face Jungkook.

“The ceiling?” You reply lamely, a soft chuckle escaping your lips when you see him roll his eyes.

“Ha ha,” he mocks, “I meant if there was anything you wanted to talk about. You know—since you texted me to come over.” He finishes with a raise of his brow.

You still as your brain processes his words. You did text him first. You had just finished a lengthy meeting with the student union and didn’t feel like studying just yet—and you just so happened to have been thinking about Jungkook when you caught a glimpse of your phone (when were you not).

You didn’t have a reason, even if your conscience would argue that you did and it was because you missed him. Even if you were the one that needed time. Your heart and mind wanted two different things, but they both revolved around Jungkook. So, you compromised and settled for a simple text.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, shuffling towards your couch as you plop in the loveseat across from him.

He ogles the way that you chose a seat that wasn’t the one that he was sat on. He doesn’t point it out, though. Instead, a firm line settles on his lips before he leans back to your couch, eyes still trained on your figure.

“You don’t need to sound so shy,” he says, “I’ll always come if you’re the one that’s asking.”

Your eyes widen when your head darts up. When you look at him, you swear that you’d melt because he was looking at you with mirth dancing in his eyes. The somewhat dim lighting of your living room made him look so … cosy. He looked more comfortable, probably knowing that you weren’t going to nag at him for manspreading at the way you can only stare. You don’t know if it’s on purpose but you’re sure it is—but Jungkook’s eyebrow piercing is strategically exposed when he raises a brow, flicking his bangs aside. Your brain short-circuits.

“It’s not—I’m not—I’m not …” You stutter when he catches you looking like a deer caught in headlights. But all he does is let out a deep chuckle before reaching an arm out.

You stare at the arm that extends itself, eyes trailing up the limb as you gawk at his tattoos. He wasn’t one to flaunt, even though he didn’t pretend like he didn’t have any. So even your friends didn’t catch much of his tattoos unless he was at the gym or changing during practices with the way he practically lived in long sleeves. But now, it was just you and him, in your living room while he practically invites you over with his smile and doe eyes.

“Come ere’,” he mumbles as you continue to stare, “Next to me, please.”

You blink a few times when you realise that he’s beckoning you over with the arm that’s extended. You buffer for a second when he continues to smile at you with that easy grin of his, the one that’s both able to calm you and reduce you into a mess of nerves. But after a few beats, your limbs start moving at their own accord as you push yourself off the couch, slowly inching towards Jungkook and the empty spot next to him where you plop down into.

“Here?” You ask softly.

He laughs, and it’s a nice sound. Your mind had been muffled ever since he first showed up with that new hairstyle of his and that Godforsaken eyebrow piercing, and now when he looks at you like you were the only thing that he’s ever wanted—your heart can’t take it.

“Closer.” He encourages with a tilt of his head. Then, he delivers the final blow. “Just wanna hold you.”

You freeze, hands stilling on the plush of your couch as you were about to shift closer. The words are still processing in your mind even if you knew exactly what he said and what he meant. The heat on your face was definitely proof of that.

“Oh my God, don’t just say that!” You cry, burying your head into the back of the couch when you turn away from him.

Jungkook’s still laughing at you, hands clutching his stomach instead of trying to reach out for you as you whine into the fabric. He was killing you and your poor heart, and he was doing a damn good job at it. He didn’t need to do much because his presence was always enough to reduce you to absolutely nothing and a pile of mush.

It was this ambiguous back and forth that you’ve settled into with Jungkook after your last serious conversation that had your heart weaker and softer than ever. Every moment you spent with him, even in the crowd of your friends—you knew what you wanted. But there was still an irrational (and insecure) part of you that wanted to wait. To see if he actually meant his confession or was he driven by desperation to keep a friend close.

You should’ve had faith in Jungkook the way he blindly and willingly put in you. Even if you were the more unstable one between the two of you. But your mind worked endlessly to remind you of what the two of you shared, and who you had to share him with—and how she was everything that you weren’t.

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, and you feel a hand reach around your waist to tug you upwards as you squeak at his show of strength. “Was that too much?” He asks softly when you’re facing him, face definitely still flushed as you avoid his face and opt to stare at the chain around his neck.

Even that was making your insides feel funny.

“No …” You mumble, leaning forward until your forehead is pressed against his chest as his fingers drum against your waist. “I’m just shy.”

He chuckles.

“You don’t have to be shy.” He tells you, “It’s just me.”

You blink up and narrow your eyes at him.

“That’s not fair! You can’t just turn up to my house looking like—that—and expect me to be fine!” You huff, gesturing towards his entire frame as he simply listens with an amused raise of his brow.

He tilts his head to the side and even has the audacity to look confused when he smirks at you.

“Me? What did I do? It’s just hair dye and a piercing.”

You huff.

“It’s just hair dye and a piercing,” you repeat in a low voice, clearly meant to represent him as his face scrunches adorably at your impression of him.

“That’s not how I sound like.” He deadpans.

You stick your chin up snootily with a satisfied smile.

“You so do. You sound that dumb with what you just said.” You retort petulantly.

Jungkook stares at you for one long second before he’s pulling you flush against his chest with a wide grin on his face as he attempts to smother you with his arm. You squeal when you feel his fingers around your waist as he squeezes the flesh. He manoeuvres his way around your body until you’re perched on his lap, hands reaching out against his chest so that you could establish some distance (which you fail miserably at).

The room is filled with your gasps and Jungkook’s cackles, and with the way he’s crowding your body with his own—all you can smell is Jungkook. He smells fresh, as always. Especially since he chooses to opt-out of cologne and pays favourable attention to the type of laundry detergent, body wash and shampoo that he uses that gives him the boyish, clean and charming natural scent that he has. And it drives you insane.

So when you look up at him through your lashes in a break when Jungkook’s heaving at how he’s attempted to tickle you, and all you can see is how good he looks with his purple hair paired with the way he unconsciously licks at his lips to wet them; and the eyebrow piercing and tattoos. You melt—and so does your filter.

“Can I suck your dick?”

Granted, that isn’t a question you pose after he’s just tickled you in good faith while giggling away with his doe-eyes, or even the way his hands are placed at a respectful distance away from your bum. And it definitely isn’t a question that Jungkook’s expecting because his eyes shoot wide open, while his foot kicks up hard enough that it crashes against your coffee table.

“W-What?!” He cries, hands gripping your shoulder to push you away so that he can get a proper look at your face.

And it’s on fire.

But you can’t take back your words, especially when Jungkook’s looking like he demands some sort of explanation.

“I—I …” You stutter but your body is lax in his, and your thighs are still straddling Jungkook’s. You aren’t stupid or that naive, so you definitely know the firmness that presses against your inner thigh is a sign that he’s not opposed to your proposition.

Before you can say anything with how your mouth fails you, Jungkook snaps up until your foreheads nearly crash against each other as he presses his palms against your cheeks, staring you intently in the eye until you’re squirming under the scrutiny.

“I don’t hate it.” He assures you softly, but his eyebrows are furrowed. “But I need to hear it from you that you know what you’re saying.”

You blink at him and all Jungkook does is wait for you patiently. What were you saying? That you wanted to suck his dick? You did. You wanted to do a lot of things to and with Jungkook. Curse him for turning up looking the way he did and meddling with your restraint on needing time. But there was a brewing feeling of need in your chest that wants to please Jungkook, that wants to see him quiver under your tongue the way he has had you before. They weren’t all pleasant memories, purely because your poor heart has had to fight to disassociate your feelings from pleasure when you couldn’t do it.

But you’ve never made Jungkook feel good, at least in the way he was able to do for you.

“I-I—” you mumble, eyes darting everywhere but Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver at all. You take a deep breath, nibbling on your lips as your eyes dart up to the ceiling before they return to his face. He’s still waiting. “I want to. I really do.” You assure him, your own hands reaching out to clutch at his collar.

Jungkook’s cock twitches in his pants, and you feel it. You give an experimental swivel of your hips because you know it must feel good for Jungkook. And it does with the way his breath hitches, but his hands leave your face to grab at your hips to stop your motions. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but all Jungkook does is sigh.

“You don’t have to …” he whispers, “I—you said you needed time and I don’t want to ruin this. What we have.”

You purse your lips.

“I know I said I needed time but I want to, Jungkook,” you tell him seriously, “What happened before was a product of our miscommunication but it’s different now,” your eyes are firm when they stare into his, your face leaning forward for emphasis, “Unless you don’t want me to—”

“Baby, no,” he reaches out to pull you closer to his chest, “I do. God—I can’t think of anything else but … I don’t want to fuck this up.” His eyes flutter shut as he rests his forehead against your breast bone. It’s not sexual at all, and you can hear the genuine frustration that laces Jungkook’s voice.

“You won’t,” you say softly, reaching a hand through his hair, “I want to learn. I want to learn how to make you feel good too.” You whisper.

Jungkook releases a low groan that makes your stomach clench in desire. You realise that throughout the escapades that the two of you have engaged in, you were the vocal one purely in the sense that you were whining, moaning and sobbing in pleasure at Jungkook’s doing. But Jungkook was vocal in the way he spoke to you. Even if it was mean and you found yourself crying after it happened because he pretended that you didn’t exist—there was something about the way he guides you through your highs in that raspy voice of his that made you cum harder each time.

“You’re serious?” He asks, finally looking up to confirm with you.

You nod your head.

“Dead.”

He nibbles on his lips, as his eyebrows scrunch in focus. He was heavily contemplating your offer and even if you never propositioned any male to suck his dick before, you’ve never heard of a case where they’d be hesitant to receive one. But you and Jungkook were different. You knew what you felt for him, and he knew what he felt for you—and somehow that made your odd request all the more important for the both of you.

“We’ll be okay, right?” He asks hesitantly, afraid. Your eyes soften as you nod.

“I want this, Jungkook.” You tell him again, and you’d repeat it as much as you can for him to know.

He sighs deeply.

“If at any point you feel … overwhelmed … just say the word and we’ll stop, okay?” He says, holding you by the shoulder while he hardens his eyes at you in seriousness. You nod your head as you scramble off his lap in a motion fast enough that Jungkook can’t process it.

Before the both of you know it, you’re on your knees, settled in between his legs as you peer up at him. Your heart was thundering in your chest because you had no idea what the fuck you were doing, but you wanted to do this. All because of that damn hair and piercing of his.

“Your knees,” he murmurs, attempting to tug you up but you’re stubborn when you stay rooted in position, eyebrows furrowed in determination as your jaw ticks.

“Isn’t this how it goes?”

“They’re going to hurt,” he points out.

You roll your eyes before narrowing them at him.

“Do you usually complain this much before you get your dick sucked or what?” You snap, patience wearing awfully thin.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your blunt statement, especially when you reach out to rest your palms on his thighs.

“I don’t mean …” he mumbles, hands gripping the couch because he’s too afraid to touch you, “It’s not like that and you know it.”

You sigh, leaning your cheek against his kneecap and he feels his heart go into overdrive. It was different, with you. This wasn’t just another girl that wanted to suck his dick for his approval or whatever—this was the girl of his dreams, readily waiting to learn how he liked it. Though he’d argue that he’d like anything you do to him because his love-glasses blinded him that way. But there was still fear ebbing away at his heart, terrified at screwing it up even if you were the proposer in this case.

“Jungkook, I’m not going to disappear on you after this,” you say softly, still peering up at him, “I want this.”

Your heart tightens when he hesitantly reaches out to rest a hand between strands of your hair as he tilts your head upwards. Something about just sitting between his legs as they sprawl out wider to accommodate your body seems do domestic and intimate. Even the context of the situation makes you tingle from your fingertips all the way to your toes—you were here to learn, from Jungkook; on what he liked and didn’t.

You didn’t plan this. Admittedly you and Yena have talked on more than one occasion about how you really wanted to sleep with Jungkook—you didn’t have a timeline for it. It felt weird to put a date to it so you shoved the thoughts aside even if they popped up every once in a while. This just so happened to be one of those moments where your mind ventures into a more explicit territory whenever you were with Jungkook.

“I know you need time but …” his eyes flutter shut before he leans his head back into the seat—eyes staring up at the ceiling as if he was searching for answers that he didn’t have with himself. You wait because you suppose that’s the least you could do when you made him wait for you while you attempted to deal with your own feelings. When he looks down, his eyes are gentle yet resolute, “You know I love you, right?”

He sounds nervous even if he’s said it before. But the words don’t fail to make you flush or evoke the tremble in your ribcage—a signal from your body that tells you that it’s only Jeon Jungkook that could ever make you feel this way.

“God,” you huff, but the corners of your lip twitch and that’s enough to tell Jungkook that you did. You knew. “Can you teach me? Please?”

You’re pressing forward again, eagerly shifting on your knees as Jungkook takes one long look at you as if he was memorising this image to eternity. When he decides he’s satisfied, he rests into the seat before gently coaxing your hands away from his thighs and towards his—

“Start here,” he guides with a low voice, large palm encasing your smaller ones as you feel the metal of his zipper come into contact with your skin.

You blush, but you were an overachiever for a reason. The potential embarrassment of fumbling is tucked away in your mind, your only concern and fascination lie with the fact that Jungkook’s already hard that you feel him brush against your wrist.

“Don’t you need to get hard?” You ask softly.

Jungkook blinks before he’s giving you that devastating smile of his, the one where only one corner of his lips turn up into an amused grin while you tilt your head at him in an inquisitive manner.

“I’m really hard right now,” he assures you; and to prove his point, his hand guides yours over the outline of his cock. You gasp because it’s the first time you’ve felt anything but your own intimates in your grasp.

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs together, appreciating the way that Jungkook’s beginning to bite on his lips while he focuses his attention purely on you. You knew just from feeling alone that Jungkook was not your averagely-sized male.

“O-Oh,” you breathe when your hands begin to work at their own accord—slowly unbuttoning his jeans, working your way down the zipper. The entire time, you’re occasionally looking up for any signs of approval from Jungkook, the resolved student in you needing appraisal from your teacher. And he picks up on your prompts, smiling at you gently even as his breath begins to turn uneven at the way you’re still gently pulling his pants down.

“You’re doing great,” his hand cards through your hair until his thumb reaches your cheek, rubbing a gentle motion to be paired with his words.

You smile to yourself, feeling more confident to tug his jeans down his thighs. You knew that Jungkook was well-built, it was a fact given that he was an athlete who frequented the gym more than any place on campus. He had impeccable stamina, even before he took football seriously—but the way that his thighs clench under your clammy hands only prove your point. But all you can really focus on is the outline of his cock from his boxers.

“Can I …?” You ask hesitantly, reaching out to tug at the hem of his boxers.

Before you can do anything, his hand stops your wrist as you immediately pause in your ministrations. Your eyes widen, fully ready to pull away in case you did something wrong. What if he didn’t like it? What if he changed his mind or that you were bad—?

“Stop thinking,” he chides, “I want this. I love your hands, anything that you do,” he whispers in reassurance as you swallow. “How about you feel me first? Over the boxers. Baby steps.”

You exhale, nodding your head as your hand reaches to cup his length in your hand. You gasp in tandem with Jungkook, feeling the heat radiate from his dick as you give an experimental squeeze. You look up to gauge his reaction, and you suppose it’s good with the way his breath hitches. He doesn’t say anything and you take that as your cue to continue, your hand squeezing tighter upwards, right before your thumb rubs over what you think is the tip.

“It’s wet,” you blurt.

You’re about to hastily apologise because who the hell points that out before giving someone a blowjob?

“Yeah,” he releases a shaky breath, “I’m so hard right now you have no idea.” He laughs, throwing his head back.

You don’t say anything else, but you continue to work your way up and down his length over the cloth—and for some reason, you feel like it never ends. The heat from his cock, the stirring in your belly or the wetness that begins to accumulate between your own thighs. His hand rests in your hair in a gentle way, simply remaining there as he allows you to have your way on his cock.

That realisation makes you feel the need to go further, so you do. You squeeze until you reach the base of his cock, and you feel the outline of his balls. You briefly read online that some guys liked it when you squeezed—so you did. And Jungkook nearly lurches forward and knees you in the face when you do.

“Fuck, baby,” he chokes in a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, but your heart isn’t there when you grin in satisfaction to yourself. The term of endearment doesn’t fall onto deaf ears either, and it shoots straight to your core.

Deciding that you weren’t happy with just fondling him above his boxers, in one swift motion; said fabric now drapes over his thighs and you’re welcomed with the sight of Jungkook’s engorged cock staring you straight in the face.

You assume it’s bad taste to just stare at someone’s intimates as if you were dissecting the anatomy right as you were about to get down to business. But you couldn’t help it. Jungkook had such a … pretty looking cock. You don’t know if penises could look aesthetic nor were you going to be superficial and say that penises should look a certain way. But he had such a pretty cock and it only made you want to shove it all the way down your throat. But your inexperience tells you to relax because you weren’t about to embarrass yourself like that.

“Do you … hate it?” Jungkook asks tentatively.

He wasn’t particularly an insecure person. He knew he was good looking and had a great body—he worked hard for it! But that’s because he never cared about anyone and what they had to say enough for it to affect his self-confidence. But you were the one person that he’s sought for validation ever since he was just a teenage boy, before the muscles and the confidence he’s developed over the years.

Especially when he was so hard that he thinks he’s going to bust a nut the second your mouth touches his cock—the way that you’re staring only makes him anxious.

“You’re really big,” you tell him, eyes peering up, “And pretty.”

Jungkook blushes. He can’t believe it but the fact that he’s the one that’s flustered when you were the ‘inexperienced’ one only goes to show how whipped he was. He almost laughs, but your hand is touching his bare cock and he nearly chokes at the firm grip you immediately take. He really almost laughs, because even now—you were a quick learner, an observant student who already probably knew what he liked.

Your hands twist upwards when you jerk him off, and Jungkook tries his best to keep his hips at bay even if he’s letting out low groans the tighter you squeeze. Your eyes occasionally dart up to observe his reactions, and you’re pleased to see that his mouth is slightly agape whenever his breathless pants leave them. You didn’t know that pleasuring someone else could feel this fulfilling for yourself—but you liked it. You liked the way he felt in your hand, the precum that oozes out from his tip that taints your fingers—and you especially liked the way his head is thrown back while the grip in your hair tightens simultaneously.

“You could spit on it,” his shaky voice interrupts your mental dialogue as you look up at him. He cocks his chin towards his cock as you were hyper-focused on his length. You note that you barely could wrap your fists around him and that you needed the help of both hands.

“Would you like that?” You ask.

He nods.

“It chafes when it’s dry,” he points out.

You open your mouth in acknowledgement as you nod your head slowly. You remember when he had spit on your pussy, and even if it was in the heat of the moment and you were already wet enough—you liked it. But you also note that the way you’re jerking him off his dry so you rev the spit up in the back of your throat before you lean forward, allowing the glob of spit to drop down his cock.

The breathless groan that he lets out immediately shoots to your core as you peer up at him. He’s already looking at you do, and you feel compelled to shoot him a small smile. And when you do, he groans even if your hands have momentarily stilled as you raise a brow at his reaction.

“How are you still so cute,” he huffs.

You blink.

“Are you really calling me cute right before I’m about to suck your dick?” You deadpan.

He sighs, but his hand rubs a gentle circle on your head.

“It’s a good thing,” he promises, “Can’t you feel how hard I am right now? You could breathe near my dick and I’d probably nut.”

You snort, even if the compliment is super boyish and very Jungkook—you feel your heart swell. You’re both terrified and how you’re reacting to his simple words, but the cheesy grin he sends you from above only makes your stomach feel lighter and your heart soar higher.

“So how do you like it?” You ask.

It’s a little too odd to be having this conversation as your hand continues to work lazily on Jungkook’s cock. He seems to not mind, especially when his hips occasionally buck upwards to chase the feeling. He blinks in an attempt to focus on your query and not how good your hand feels around him, even if it’s in a rest.

“How about you just start with the tip?” He suggests.

You nod your head before you lean forward, and you don’t know if Jungkook feels it—but your heartbeat is beating rapidly against your chest. You’re not … scared, but you’re also a little scared. Mostly because it’s a foreign territory and you’re unsure how it’d taste (even if Yena warned you from having high hopes). But Jungkook ate relatively healthy and drank a lot of water; and worked out regularly.

You finally kiss the tip, and Jungkook just about melts, cock twitching at the contact as you stick your tongue out to take a tentative lick of the precum that oozes out from his hip. It’s not pleasant, nor is it anything to puke over. You’re partial to it, mostly because you’re super turned on and you like the way that Jungkook seems to be eagerly waiting while his other fist that isn’t in your hair grabs at the couch in anticipation.

You don’t intend to be that erotic, but you don’t break eye contact even when you envelop the tip into your mouth. It’s the widest part of Jungkook, and it’s already a pleasant stretch to your lips when you run your tongue on the underside of his cockhead.

“Y-You sure you n-need me to—ah—teach you?” He asks breathlessly when you use your free hand to jerk the base of his cock.

You hum around his length, and Jungkook groans in tandem, hips jerking upwards in response as you feel his cock briefly drag against the roof of your mouth. He’s about to apologise, especially when he leans forward, but you briefly release him to shake your head.

“I’m a big girl,” you tell him with a grin.

Jungkook chuckles before resting back. He can’t quite believe that you’re on your knees right in front of him, sucking his dick like an obedient student. It’s eerily similar to many of his high school wet dreams, and it probably exceeds them with the way you’re sucking him back into your mouth; slowly inching your way further until you’re halfway down.

Your mouth is hot, and in fact—a dream. It’s probably the fact that it’s you that Jungkook feels all his senses be elevated in a way he’s never felt before. It was the way that his heart soars in his chest while his stomach caves in when he feels your tongue swipe under his shaft.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he croons, hand carding tenderly through your hair, “Be careful of your teeth.” He adds on when he feels the scrape of them against his cock.

He didn’t hate it, but he rather enjoys the softness of your mouth without the fear of you chewing his dick off.

You look up at him apologetically, but he only returns it with a half-hearted smile—purely because your hand is working its way on what you can’t fit into your mouth just yet. You’re an impeccable learner, and Jungkook thinks that he didn’t need to guide you at all with the way you’re doing everything just right. Or maybe it’s his love-sick mind that makes everything feel infinitely better. Maybe other guys wouldn’t like it—but his heart only drops when the thought arrives. He wanted to be the only person that could feel your mouth this way.

Your tongue is working hard when it continues to slobber against his cock. And he doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, but you’re messy when you vacuum your cheeks—spit pooling at the sides of your mouth when you bob your head up and down. All Jungkook can feel is your mouth, and beads of sweat are already accumulating at his hairline while his breathing turns uneven with the only things escaping his lips are moans and groans.

You’re enjoying the way that Jungkook looks like he’s slowly losing control of himself and his tongue. All he’s doing is moaning, even the grip in your hair tightens when he unconsciously pushes your head further down on his cock. You realised that sucking dick wasn’t that theoretical as you thought it was. You were simply observant, gauged what made Jungkook’s breath hitch, what he didn’t react much to—and you knew for a fact that he appreciated the slobber.

And the spit. And the squelches of your lips meeting his cock. You did, too. It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but you were drenched just by observing Jungkook’s reactions. That only spurs you on further when you work harder, hand reaching down to cup his balls as you hear Jungkook release a breathy whimper. The sound immediately shoots to your core as you let out a moan of your own.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “You’re fucking evil.”

He’s breathlessly laughing, but you don’t let it hinder your actions. If anything, his words drive you further when you push his cock further into the cavern of your mouth, the gasp leaving his lips a sign that he probably didn’t expect that. You feel his stomach clench when you continue to bob your head up and down, and you’re giving yourself a mental pat on the back at the way you’re able to labour your own breathing through your nose. You were a natural if you did say so yourself.

“M’ gonna cum,” he mumbles through a moan, hand tightening around your hair as you take that as a sign to squeeze his balls harder. His hips jerk, hitting the back of your throat that has you briefly gagging around his cock. The visual and the sound sends Jungkook into overdrive, his balls feeling heavier by the second and in desperate need of release. He wants to apologise, but you don’t seem to mind with the way you continue to hollow your cheeks and function around his length.

“Where can I—fuck—where can I cum?” He rushes his words out, shallowly thrusting into your mouth as you hum around his cock.

He pulls out by pushing you back with a firm palm on your shoulder as your eyes widen, and when he’s shooting ropes of cum onto your face as it drips down your neck. You weren’t sure if he was supposed to cum that much, but it keeps on coming as you sit there obediently with your mouth open, in case it lands anywhere else. Jungkook’s groaning above you as he jerks himself off through the last bits of his orgasm, his hazy eyes darkening further when he spots the white that paints your face.

“I thought guys liked it if we swallowed?” You tilt your head to the side and Jungkook thinks he’s about to die.

“You’re actually going to kill me if you do that. So no. Not today.” He snorts, relaxing back into the couch as his post-nut clarity starts to hit him. He stares at the ceiling, feeling immensely satiated.

“This is like a facial at the spa,” you mention off-handedly as you climb up between his thighs, cum still staining your face. And Jungkook can’t believe it, but he thinks you look so cute painted with his cum. It’s a primal instinct the way that his eyes linger longer, feeling territorial with the way that he’s the only one that gets to see you like this.

“You’re so weird,” he snickers but you pout at him. And you do the next thing that gives Jungkook a heart attack.

Your tongue swipes over your lips where some cum remains, and even if his cock is flaccid—he feels it twitch in interest.

“Not bad. A little salty but overall … meh,” you shrug your shoulders as Jungkook gawks at you.

“You …” he trails off, “God.”

You smile up at him, all innocent as if you didn’t just give him the suck of his life—as your first time sucking dick.

“So? How was it?” You ask eagerly, leaning into his chest. He wants to ask about the cum that’s drying on your face, but you don’t seem to mind. You were so weird, but that only makes his heart grow fonder.

“Do you conduct feedback sessions after every blowjob?” He asks sarcastically.

You roll your eyes, “Do you want me to? I mean—I could offer my services elsewhere—”

Jungkook pinches your hip in retaliation, the insinuation making him growl as you snicker. He can only stare at you in amusement, especially when you’re still grinning up at him. Gone was the shy girl that proposed this, even if he noticed the flush on your cheeks and on the tip of your ears. It was insane how you took a one-eighty, but Jungkook appreciated it. He appreciated you.

“Ten out of ten. Magnificent. Absolutely life-changing. Thought I saw the gates of heaven for a second.” He teases.

You roll your eyes but a small smile appears on your face as you glance down to fiddle with your fingers. Jungkook can only stare at you, and he can’t fully describe this feeling but his heart feels so … full. So completed, even if you sucked his dick. He’s always felt this way, but there was something about you being wrapped in his arms after you had his dick in your mouth that made Jungkook go crazy. Crazy enough for him to blurt out the next thing on his mind.

“I want to be with you.” He blurts.

Your eyes dart up in shock as they widen. But Jungkook is as resolute as ever, a dopey grin still on his face.

“W-What?” You stutter.

He reaches for your hand, still slightly sticky with the slick from his cock but he doesn’t care. Not when you intertwine your fingers with his so seamlessly, so easily like you were meant to do so.

“I want to be with you. In whatever way you want to have me.” He murmurs, peering straight into your eyes.

Your heart stutters in your chest as you try to find the words to respond with. But you can’t. Your mind is still recovering from what you just did, and your heart is soaring. But there’s a part of you that’s hesitant. You knew it was unfair, for making Jungkook wait—but you were still scared. You were scared that he’d get bored of you, or what the two of you share one day. He may be ready to leave it all behind, but you don’t think you could deal with having to say goodbye to Jungkook in that way.

And it’s as if he can read your hesitation, he brings your intertwined hands to his lips before pressing a kiss to your knuckles, eyes still soft when they remain on your frozen state,

“I’ll wait,” he says softly, “For as long as you need me to. Until you’re ready.”

“J-Jungkook …” you mumble, flustered when you look away.

He nudges his nose against your cheek, pressing a smile to your jaw as you hum in embarrassment.

“I fucked up.” He says. You’re about to interrupt but he seems to have his own things to say. “I said things that hurt you. I did things that hurt you and I can’t ever forgive myself for that. I know you’re not punishing me and I never once thought that way. Even if that isn’t the case, the least I can do is wait. Not only because of what I did but because no matter what—I want to do this right this time.”

He looks up to you and his gaze is so earnest that it makes the words get trapped in your throat while you stare at him.

He smiles, soft and gentle when he rubs a thumb across your cheek.

“I’m serious about this. About you. Even if you decide that you don’t want this or that your feelings have changed … I’ll still be here.”

Jungkook takes your breath away as you gape at him. The silence he leaves you with only makes you reaffirm your stance on how you feel for him. Yet, you can’t give him an answer now. Not when your mind still remains hesitant, and Jungkook didn’t deserve hesitant. Even if he’s hurt you—he didn’t deserve your confusion. Neither of you did.

You lean into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. It’s intimate this way, the way that his cum dries on your face and that his dick is still out. It’s almost funny, but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d wait—for as long as he had to. And he’d do it over and over again, for you.

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [CHAPTER 4]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, fingering, littlest bit of dirty talk, praise!kink, soft soft soft FLUFF hours, a bit of a filler chapter before the last chapter!! 😭 I can’t believe it’s almost ‘over’... This chapter has the least amount of smut yall will ever see with fratboy!wonwoo so don’t get used to it ☠️ LMAO 🤣🤣 also... it’s been a garbage week(boring work drama) for me so I’ll answer inbox msgs and stuff on sunday, I need to get away from the internet(and people) for a day dkfjhskh 😭💕 Ya’ll thank you for so much love and support with Caffeine and Until I Met You! It means so much to me and I appreciate every like, reblog and comment I get on it 🥺💕 No I will never be ending my fratboy!wonwoo au so don’t worry about that hehe 💕 For now, enjoy this soft ch 4 and I will see yall on Sunday! I love you, have a great weekend! 💕

[mood for this chapter: more than enough - alina baraz]

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x

“So…”

Wonwoo sighs - re-shelving another Edgar Allen Poe book. “So, what?”

Mingyu tilts his sunglasses down, eyebrows raised at the older male that continues to do his job instead of give him the time of day. “What’s going on with you, hyung? You’ve been… weird.”

“Okay, define weird.”

The younger male pouts as he takes his sunglasses off, pocketing them as he leans up against the bookshelf that Wonwoo is currently still shelving.

It only takes one utterance of your name for Wonwoo to stop in his tracks - fingertips on the spine of another book as he turns to Mingyu. “What about her? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but do you like her? I mean, ‘like’ like her.”

“Is it not… obvious? That I do? Did we not all collectively have that conversation about me giving her a set of keys to our house?”

Mingyu grimaces slightly as he mentally goes through all the times he’d even seen the two of you together and he’s only able to conjure up a few select memories - none of which were anything necessarily romantic. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘obvious’, I guess. The two of you aren’t exactly the ‘kiss and hold hands in public’ kind of... people. More like the, ‘sneak off to fuck in a public restroom’ kind... Which, uh, isn’t really... romantic.”

This time, Wonwoo crosses his arms and leans up against the opposite bookshelf as he sighs.

It’d been a few days since he’d seen you and you’d been swamped in so much class work that you didn’t even have the time to come by the library or the frat house. And even while Wonwoo stood in between the bookshelves having a conversation with Mingyu, you were finishing an art project with Minghao that was due by the end of the day.

“I know. I told her it’d be kind of a slow crawl for me.” He plucks another book from the cart, staring at the glossy text as he simmers in his thoughts. “Mingyu, am I awkward?”

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

Mingyu steps forward, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder as he smiles.

“You like her and you’re trying even if you’re not used to it. You gotta start somewhere, hyung. Even if you’re a fish out of water. But that’s okay, you can ask me for help if you want!”

“When are you gonna put a ring on Wonwoo-hyung?”

You snort at Minghao’s question - reaching for a clean paintbrush as he stands across from you in the large, empty studio. “First of all, can you not say it like that? I’m not gonna marry him, okay.”

The male rolls his eyes as he steps closer to you; his own hands and clothes covered in a colorful array of paints. “So you’re saying you never imagined hyung in a suit, hair slicked back and his buff arms carrying you off into your honeymoon?”

“W--wh--n--no! No, I haven’t!” You avoid his piercing stare as you focus on your end of the large canvas instead.

No, but I dreamt about it once.

“‘Hao, would you hurry! We’re supposed to be collaborating on this and it looks… like it’s 5 different art styles.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. And anyway, I like what you’re doing to hyung. Breaking him out of his shell, y’know? He’s just shy, that’s all. Needs a little work in the bold department.”

You bite down the urge to laugh because to you, Wonwoo was everything but shy when it came to the bedroom. Although, Minghao was right with everything else. “Yeah, I know. We went for breakfast together after I, um, stayed over a few nights ago and he kinda just sat there zoned out, picking at his waffles. He’s really cute when he wakes up in the morning though. Pouty and whiny.”

Grinning at Minghao, he pretends to gag in response before taking a seat next to you.

“Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Wonwoo makes an effort to check in with you throughout the day before he heads back to his room - asking you if you’d had your meals and if you’d finished your project on time.

You’d answered sporadically as you and Minghao raced to finish.

‘I’ll eat late probably… rly gotta finish or else my ass is failing lol’

‘Just don’t forget, okay? It’s not good for you to skip.’

Wonwoo lays down in his bed; yawning as he sets his phone onto the nightstand next to himself.

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s quick to give in to the tiredness that takes over him once he gets comfortable.

When Wonwoo finally decides to shift during his nap, he finds it difficult and extra warm.

“Mmh…”

His bleary eyes adjust to the, now,  slightly darkened room as he makes out your figure tucked underneath his arm. He calls your name softly - waking you up from the nap that you’d apparently joined him in.

“Mmh… Wonwoo…” You snuggle in deeper, voice still laced with sleep. “You didn’t even budge when I came in…”

He chuckles softly as he readjusts to spoon you from behind instead; his strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your body flush against his own.

“I’m surprised you came by, sweetheart. I would’ve just stayed awake had I known you were coming over.” His voice is groggy and laced with sleep as you sigh softly in return as you blink away the sleepiness.

“How was your day at the library? Miss me yet?” Wonwoo smiles into your shoulder before he tilts his head up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Always, sweetheart. Although, Mingyu decided to keep me busy today.”

“Oh? Anything fun?”

He plays with the hem of your shirt, “Well… Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe what that was. Nosy was more like it.”

This time you can’t help but snort in response. “You too? I think some people were being ‘lil moles today.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Did you end up just coming back here with Minghao from the studio?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, to be honest but… S’been a rough day.” Placing your hand over his arm, you squeeze slightly as you pull his arm around you tighter. “Our professor came by while we were working in the studio and said our project wasn’t up to par with what Minghao and I usually submit for projects. She didn’t fail us on the spot but she said we need to redo it for less credit or take the failing grade.”

Wonwoo nuzzles your neck; peppering small kisses on your clothed shoulder. “I take it the two of you are going to redo it?”

“Mm… We spent so long coming up with a concept and now we’re both stressed about coming up with something new. I walked over here with ‘Hao and he locked himself up in his room as soon as we got here. Figured I’d come hang out with you and found you napping… With your glasses on, no less.”

The two of you share a laugh; Wonwoo’s embrace making you feel more at ease.

“Can I help you de-stress a little, sweetheart?”

You stare at the opposite wall, nodding gently as Wonwoo’s hand leaves the hem of your shirt in favour of the waistband of your shorts.

“Just want you to feel good,” he whispers. “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

He teases you softly; fingertips ghosting across your skin as you shiver. “Ah, Wonwoo…”

“You worked extra hard today too, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you for what you accomplished today.”

Your body heats up at his praise and you can’t deny that his deep, soft voice sends thrums of arousal pouring over your body just as he dips his hand into your lounge shorts. He touches you over your panties - fingertips ghosting against your mound as you moan his name shakily in return.

“I know your new idea is going to be great, baby. I believe in you.”

Soft whines threaten to spill as Wonwoo strokes you over your panties - slowly working you up as you find yourself trying to grind against his hand. “Y-yeah… ‘m p-pretty sure ‘Hao’s already working on it…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as Wonwoo continues to stroke you gently; making no efforts to rush or add pressure to his feather-light touches.

A disappointed noise falls from your lips when he starts to pull his hand out of your shorts but it quickly turns into a content sigh when he starts teasing your chest instead.

“Mm, so soft…” Muttering against your shoulder, his eyes stare off into the dark room as he massages your body. “And all mine~”

You hum in response, “We should go on a date sometime…”

“You want to? We can go this weekend. After you’ve redone some of your project. I’ll take you somewhere nice for a job well done.”

You giggle softly; images of a wedding day’s Wonwoo dancing in your mind after the conversation you’d had with Minghao earlier. “I’d like that. We should do something for the whole day.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby.”

Wonwoo’s hand flits down your body again - snaking into your shorts and, this time, into your panties as you whine. “Do you wanna cum or go back to sleep, hmm?” 

You ponder it for a second as the drowsiness equates the urge to cum on his fingers. 

“Both? I wanna cum and then sleep a little more... If that’s okay?” 

Wonwoo hums in agreement as his fingertips drag through your folds - collecting the wetness on them before he teases your soaked hole. “Only a little teasing gets you this wet, hmm? So cute.” 

“Ah, f-feels good when you go slow t-too...” 

He stores that away in his head for later; chuckling against your shoulder as he slowly starts to dip his middle finger into your cunt. 

You feel warm and content when he starts a slow pace - thumb on your clit rubbing soft, slow circles while he pumps his finger into you. 

“O-oh, Wonwoo...” 

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.” 

“Ah, Wonwoo...”

“You can cum whenever you want. You deserve it.” 

He adds his index finger - thrusting both fingers into you as you mewl and arch away from his warm chest. Your toes curl and your thighs clamp and trap his hand between your legs as you start to grind down onto his nimble fingers.

“...W--Wonwoo...” 

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, let me hear your pretty voice when your cumming for me.” 

You turn your head - cries muffled into his pillow because despite his slower than usual pace, you find yourself already on the brink of cumming with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and his thumb on your clit. 

“Mmh... Ah... Feels s-so warm... and g-good...” You mutter, eyes blinking drowsily. “Gonna c-cum...” 

He doesn’t say anything in return as he focuses on you and your pleasure; fingers scissoring and curling right into your g-spot as you clamp down onto them in a vice grip. 

Wonwoo knows when you’re about to cum when he feels your hand coming down on his forearm, holding onto him for dear life when your orgasm still hits you just as hard. 

“Ngh, Wo---Wonwoo!” 

Your walls flutter around his fingers and make it harder for him to thrust them in and out with how tight you get. 

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby~” 

His deep voice makes you whine - nails digging into his arm and body trembling as the pleasure steadily washes over you. 

“Ah, bet your face is so pretty right now too~” 

“Mmh, s-stop...” Your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment from his constant praise but you can’t deny the way it goes straight to your core and only prolongs your orgasm. 

“Don’t be so shy, baby. It’s only you and me here.” 

Wonwoo leans away slightly to kiss the crown of your head - still working you through your orgasm as you sigh contentedly in his arms. 

Various thoughts run through his head in the moment, but the one that sits at the forefront of his mind is definitely how to make sure he kept treating you right. 

Starting with your date that he would spend time meticulously planning.

‘Ah, I should ask Mingyu for some advice.’ 

[eddswrold-fandicc]

Tomtord smut

Tom growled loudly, "Go to hell, commie!"

And with that, Tom was storming away.

Tord had went into Tom's bedroom while he was sleeping, and took Susan. He returned her a whole different color, and with a strong smell of spray paint.

Tord chucked, "Oh, you should have thought about that before you threw my favorite glock out of the car window, jehova."

Tom whipped around and grabbed Tord by the collar of his hoodie, "You shouldn't have been pointing it at me, dumbass."

Tord's eyelids lowered and his voice became deeper, "You better watch yourself, Thomas."

"You better watch yourself-"

"What the hell is going on in here?! It's 2 in the morning!" Edd interrupted the two's intense glaring and spitting.

"He spray painted Susan." Tom tugged Tord's hoodie.

"He threw my favorite gun out the window." Tord pushed Tom back.

Before Tom could spring up and throw a punch, Edd stepped between the two. "That's it. You two are being kicked until you can learn to get along."

Tord stood straight, "Where are we going?"

Edd pulled out his phone and started to go onto a website. All of a sudden, the ground started to rumble and the floor split open.

An elevator appeared.

"Really, Edd? You're sending us to hell?"

Edd shoved the two hooded men into the elevator. As the door was closing Edd stated one final thing, "Come back when you're getting along."

And then Tom and Tord were being thrown into Hell.

_______________

The elevator dinged. Tord stepped out first, inhaling the scent of the burning walls around him.

Tom stepped out next, looking around, "This is stupid."

Tord ignored him and started to walk around, noticing the doors that were there before.

Tom opened the door that stated 'Jehovah's witnesses' above it. He started to walk in, but stopped when he realized Tord was following him.

"What are you doing, commie?"

"Since we're being forced to get along, might as well see where you're going."

Tom scoffed and rolled his voided eyes before continuing to walk.

Ah, yes. The blank, white room from before. Tom took a deep breath, taking in the scent of nothing. Nothing in this room but him and Tord.

"It's just a blank room. What's happening?" Tord asked behind Tom.

"Absolutely nothing happens. You just sit here."

Tord turned around, "I'm getting out of he- where's the door, Tom?"

Tom slipped his hands in his hoodie pockets, "There's only one way out. You have to wait for it."

Tord turned back around, coming closer to Tom, "What am I waiting for?"

Tom smirked, "You'll see."

Tord quickly threw a punch at Tom, hitting him in his nose.

"No, Thomas, I will not see. I'm tired of your shit. Tell me now."

Tom wiped the blood coming from his nose and returned a punch to Tord. Tord dodged the hit, and grabbed Tom's arm. He twisted his arm and threw Tom back, causing Tom to shriek in pain.

Tom fell backwards, landing on his ass. He suddenly felt weight being pushed down on his chest. He looked down and saw Tord's foot.

"Stupid son of a bitch. You're lucky if I don't kill you!"

Tord pressed down harder, "No, jehovah. You're lucky if I don't kill you."

Tom grabbed Tord's foot and twisted it. Tord fell onto the white floor.

Tom crawled on top of Tord, throwing punches after punches to his face.

Tord eventually grabbed Tom's wrists and held him still, "Stop it, Thomas. You're just being annoying at this point."

Tom squirmed on top of Tord, trying to free his hands, "No, you're being stupid! Let me go!"

Tom pulled himself as hard as he could, but Tord was stronger than he was.

Tord let go of Tom's wrists while Tom was pulling back. Tom fell backwards again, and Tord crawled on top of him, pinning his wrists.

Tom groaned, "Let me go!"

Tord was dead silent. Just watching the smaller man whither and whine underneath him. He honestly liked it. He liked to see Tom under him, whining for him to let go. Tord wondered if he could get Tom to do more.

Tom eventually settled down, panting for air. He looked up at Tord, who was smiling with amusement in his eyes. Tom shot him a nasty glare.

"Fuck you."

And that was Tord's cue. He was going to make Tom beg for him to stop, one way or another.

Tord quickly leaned down and bit onto Tom's neck, making Tom cry in pain. He licked the bite mark for an apology.

He leaned into Tom's ear and whispered, "You're mine, Thomas."

Tom widened his voids, a blush creeping on his face. "W-What?"

Tord nuzzled his face back into Tom's neck and started planting rough kisses and bites, "You heard me."

Electric shocks went through Tom's body every time Tord put his lips on his skin. Tom held his breath, keeping himself quiet.

Suddenly, a giant digital pen appeared to be coming towards them. Tord hadn't noticed yet, as he was still leaving marks on Tom.

Tom saw the pen, but didn't care. He knew Tord wasn't going to let go of him.

But instead of the pen drawing a slide like it did before, it drew... handcuffs?

The cuffs fell beside Tord, grabbing his attention. He grabbed them and quickly cuffed Tom's hands together, not letting go of one of his hands as he was doing so.

He heard something else fall beside him, so he looked over. A rope. Tord looked at Tom with a devilish grin.

"Don't you even think about it, dickface." Tom spat. He already didn't like that he was handcuffed.

Tord looked up from where the items fell, but the giant pen was gone already. He looked over to Tom, "Oh, Tommy. You don't have a choice~"

Tord started wrapping the rope around Tom's legs, then his arms, and then his torso. He had Tom tied in a position to where he was on his knees with his hands behind his back.

Tord examined his housemate, deciding not to bite his neck anymore. Bite.

"Hmm, it seems your neck is all marked. How about we go further, hm~?"

Tom squirmed in his restraints, but couldn't move much.

He watched as Tord came closer to him, looking him deeply in the eye as his head travelled downtown to Tom's groin.

Tord unbuttoned Tom's pants, and lifted his shirt.

"S-Stop touching me, asshole!" Tom squirmed harder in the ropes.

Tord placed a gentle kiss on Tom's stomach, "Not until you learn to be a good boy."

Tom didn't want to admit that he could be a good boy for Tord, nor did he want to admit that he was a bad one. Who knows what Tord could do to him.

So Tom stayed silent.

Tord kept planting kisses and bites on Tom's stomach. He noticed Tom's nipples poking from under his hoodie, "Oh? Is someone getting excited~?"

Tord took one of Tom's nipples in his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Tom inhaled sharply and jolted a little.

Tord smirked on Tom's stomach and continued to play with his nipples, giving them squeezes and tugs.

Tom dick was getting hard in his jeans, twitching and aching to be free. Tord noticed it right away.

"Oh, Thomas. Who knew you'd be getting hard for me~" Tord teased.

Tom looked away, completely red faced, "Shut up, commie."

Tord tugged down Tom's pants a little, enough for his cock to come out and play.

Tord stared and admired Tom's dick. The piercings on it, the length, and the way the tip was flushed a light pink. Tom was leaking precum, aching to be touched.

Tord kissed Tom's stomach once more before moving his head lower to Tom's cock. He looked Tom in the eye as he licked down at the base, making his way up slowly, and finally swirling his tongue around Tom's flushed tip.

Tom shuddered at the sight. The look in Tord's eye was going to give him kinky nightmares.

Tord fully wrapped his mouth around Tom's twitching cock and sunk down to the base again.

Tom gave chills and shaking breaths as a response, almost thrusting into Tord's mouth. But his restraints won't let him move. It was bugging Tom that he couldn't move.

Tord picked up his pace, sucking harder on Tom's cock. He looked up at Tom, giving him a wink.

Tom felt himself getting close. He was making small moans at this point, letting them grow louder the more sensitive he got.

Tord could tell that Tom was close, so he reached in Tom's pants to play with his balls. He massaged them, pushing them up near the base of Tom's dick, and giving them gentle squeezes.

Tom was moaning and spitting Tord's name, having his words cut off with an 'oh', or 'ah'.

Tord pulled off of Tom's cock, switching to his hand. He roughly jerked Tom off, whispering sweet words in his ear and encouraging him to cum.

"Come on, Thomas, cum for me. Cum for me, and we can finish this when we get home."

Tord looked over Tom's shoulder, and almost pissed himself. What the fuck is that? A- Is that a giant pen?

It came closer, but Tord didn't stop.

He reached his hands further in Tom's pants and rubbed his finger on Tom's puckered hole.

That set Tom off. He screamed Tord's name as cum splattered across their torsos.

"T-T-Tord, please- oh~! F-Fuck me, p-please~!"

The pen was drawing a curved line behind Tord.

Tom finally noticed the pen, but ignored it. He was in ecstasy, and didn't want it to end.

But it ended too soon when the pen swung and knocked both Tom and Tord onto the slide.

"What the hell?!" Tord called out. He wrapped his arms around Tom, keeping him near him.

The restraints disappeared off of Tom, and he wrapped his arms around Tord's neck, "It's the way out."

Tord immediately calmed down once he realized that it was safe. He looked at Tom smugly, who had a drunken smile plastered on his face, "You know, Thomas. You got happy quick with a blow job, just imagine what a fuck could do."

[softinkshadows]

drunken wrong room encounters w adultrio (x female reader)

Disclaimer: contains some lime-y content! HISOKA

The elevator at Heaven’s Arena dinged softly as its doors opened to the 200th floor. Flushed with a giddy smile on your face, your heart was full from the night’s festivities. Today you scored your 4th win on the 200th floor, and took to a nearby bar afterwards to celebrate. Being one of the only female fighters on the floor, you were swarmed with many fans; you smiled to yourself remembering  the cheers and ruckus from everyone at the bar, hands offering you yet another shot, loud hooting when you downed them all as you found yourself happily egged on to take one too many drinks. Thankfully the corridor was well-lit, if not you’d have trouble finding your way back to your room. You turned the door handle, going inside.  Did I forget to turn off the bathroom light? you wondered absentmindedly, kicking off your shoes. The room smelled a little different - sweeter? There was a scent of damask rose, but you brushed it off. You hummed a small tune as you started to undress yourself for the night, stripping yourself of your pants and outershirts (a little dirtied from the fight earlier) and laying them over the armchair at the room desk, finally only clad in a fitted neoprene tank top and underwear. You sighed a little, steadying yourself with the desk in order to stand up straight when you felt a rush of heat behind you. Strong arms pinned your hands to the desk as you felt the immobilizing weight of another body leaning against you from behind, the scent of roses now wafting heavily close. In your disorientation you felt the texture of a soft bath towel against your butt. “Eh?? Who the hell -” your protests were cut short as the strong limbs flipped you around, maintaining their grip on your wrists. “My, my, it seems like someone went into the wrong room.” A voice purred. You were spun around to face none other than the strongest fighter at Heavens Arena. His striking red hair fell in a damp tangle around his face, still dripping wet from the shower. Your eyes followed the thin trickles of water, as it fell onto his bare, sculpted torso. “Hi-hisoka!” you gasped aloud both in shock at in the embarrassment of the man who was barely clothed and leaning over you on the desk. You felt your face flush with warmth, your head still spinning from the effect of alcohol. He moved closer, golden eyes glinting with mischief, until his face was barely inches away from yours. “I saw your fight earlier, you were.. good,” he emphasized the last word, his lips curling into a smirk. The slight suggestiveness, his piercing eyes, the proximity of his body were enough to make you more flustered, as a strange heat began to pool in your abdomen. “Wait- wh-what is thi- I’m gonna kill y-you,” you stammered incoherently. Hisoka leaned towards your ear. 

“Would you like me to... stop?” he whispered, biting on your ear lobe. “A-ah!” you gasped, feeling a tinge of arousal creeping between your legs. He moved downwards to breathe lightly against your neck. “Yes...” he began, using his tongue to delicately trail your skin, travelling the length from your collarbone to your ear, “or no?” His tongue flicked your ear again. His fingers laced with yours, body pressing into you, the sensation of his tongue making you tremble as you felt the heat between your legs grow. “N-...Ye-..yes,” you struggled to form your words, your mind clouded with a feeling of confusion, irritation and pleasure, along with that heady scent of damask rose.  “Very well.” You heard a chuckle before you felt the world spin a little. Everything was a blur; you being carried bridal style - the lights and airconditioning of the corridor - another door opening and closing - the softness and familiarity of your own bed. You felt exhaustion begin to wash over you, barely making out Hisoka’s chuckled words before he closed the door. “As for a fight... I’ll do you anytime. Come to me when you’re ready, or when you want your clothes back.” ILLUMI “Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back to your room?” Leorio asked, being the gentleman that he was. It was the 287th Hunter Exam, and you managed to clear the 4th round. Now all the participants who passed were on the airship headed from Zevil Island back to the Hunter’s Association building, and you and Leorio had taken to celebrating with rounds of indulgent drinking. “NAH IM OKAY!” you exclaimed exuberantly, even though you were clearly wasted. “Thanks for, y-your hard work todayyyyyyy, Leoleo!” “It’s Leorio!!” he yelled back, irritated but stifling a laugh, before walking towards the other residential wing of the blimp.  “Room 16...17...ah 18...?” you clambered around unsteadily, before finding the door knob. The room was dark save for a rectangular window on one wall, letting in some shafts of moonlight. The bed looked incredibly inviting after a long and tiring day, especially with the physical strain of the last exam round. White soft sheets and a thick fluffy duvet heaped on the large bed. At least there were some perks for getting this far, you thought. Standing by the side of the bed, you stretched your body in exhaustion and satisfaction. “Tsukaretaaaaa~ (trans: I’m so tired~~)” you breathed, removing all your clothes in one fell swoop, letting them fall noisily to the floor. You weren’t going to bother with a shower now, you could deal with that tomorrow. Now, you just needed some quality rest before you’d be raring to go for the last exam round the day after. You pulled the soft duvet up to your chin, ready to drift into deep sleep. Next to you, on the other side of the bed, something stirred. A soft, displeased voice grumbled, “Hisoka, what is it this time...” Someone got up and was now above you, legs on either side of your waist, forearms bent at right angles and pressed to the bed to hold themselves up. “I thought we agreed...” Illumi trailed off, looking down at the person he thought was in his bed, before realizing he had made a mistake. For a moment, he was stunned. “Huh?” “Haah?” You responded, in a drunken drawl. Through your flushed cheeks, and slightly blurred vision, you saw a beautiful man with deep raven-coloured eyes. Long black hair fell silkily down to the pillow, cascading like a veil over your head. You were vaguely aware of his arms on both sides of you, and the proximity of his body to yours, but it didn’t feel intrusive. There was almost a feline lightness to his features and limbs. You were certain that you’d never seen this man before, at least throughout the hunter exam, and you were so sure that you were dreaming. Illumi turned his head to look at the discarded clothes on the floor, before turning back to you. “Ah..” He then realized the state of you resting in his bed, and his eyes wavered a little, his heart leaping just a bit faster than usual. What should he do? How did years of assassin training not prepare him for this? At this point you had made a move to sit up slightly, the duvet falling a little further around you below your chest. “Um...”  his nimble fingers picking up the duvet to cover your chest, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks. Enjoying every moment of what you were certain was a dream, you reached up to gently twine your slender fingers in his black hair. “So soft....” you remarked as you felt the strands, your eyes dazzling with awe and inebriation. Your hands made your way to his face, and your fingers moved along his brows, nose, before resting on his cheeks. “So soft~~” you squished his cheeks gently, giggling a little. W-wh-what was that? In a flash, the man above you moved away, and your hands grasped only at air. You sulked out loud a little before falling finally into slumber, letting out a small snore. At the other end of the bed, Illumi was awake, staring at the wall with a strange tingle in his chest, his ears unmistakably red. CHROLLO You’d just about had it. Seething with anger, you pressed your floor button in the hotel lift, leaning back to the wall with your arms crossed. You knew you would have to meet unsavoury people in your job as a reporter, but nothing had readied you for tonight’s event. This gala was attended by the supremely, grossly overpaid upper class, another fundraising event to line the pockets of yet another private trust. The pitiful looks they gave you, their derogatory comments...! Thankfully as part of the job you had a suite in the hotel that hosted the event, and you exploited the complimentary flow of alcohol too... You noticed your suite door ajar, and caught a glimpse of a service cart. Hmph, at least there’s additional room service too, you thought, pushing the door open to enter. The hotel maid caught a glimpse of you, cheeks red from all the wine and champagne, stumbling a little into the suite. Her eyes glanced over towards the master bedroom and back at you, turning embarrassed as if having understood something, before leaving the room hurriedly. 

“ANNOYING RICH PEOPLE!” you yelled to yourself, flinging your shoes near the doorway before collapsing on a large leather sofa. You looked out of the down to floor windows at the glimmering lights of the city, floating hazily before you. You felt one of your dress straps fall past your shoulders, and your black evening gown was already hitched up past your knees, but you didn’t really care. A sound of soft footsteps approached before you saw someone looking down at your lying figure. His black hair fell close to his shoulders, there was a funny cross tattoo on his forehead, his grey eyes piercing and inscrutable. Ah, you remembered him from the gala too, although he was alone most of the time, interacting only with a few select people. Now he had half unbuttoned the vest of his 3-piece suit, and was in the process of loosening his tie. His voice was gentle, but contained a trace of amusement. “Miss, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong room.” “NO YOU’RE IN THE WRONG ROOM!” you yelled in drunken stupor, not even making sense anymore. You sat up disheveled. “PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE ALL THE SAME, LOOKING DOWN ON OTHERS, USING PEOPLE LIKE THEY ARE TOYS AND THEN THROWING THEM AWAY. DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANY HUMANITY?” you ranted, not realizing that he had taken a seat on the sofa near you. He propped his head up with one hand resting on the armrest, his eyes twinkling and he gazed at you. Even with his loosened tie, and a dress shirt tucked out, there was something alluring about him, drawing you deeper into an abyss. You couldn’t tell if it was dangerous or just seductive. You didn’t even hear the words you were saying. “AND DAMN YOU AND YOUR GOODLOOKING FACE.” He chuckled to himself, before looking back into your eyes with his steely grey ones.  “And how shall people like me be punished?” he asked softly. You found yourself climbing into his lap, your tousled hair now falling a little out of your bun, you knees between his, as you leaned close to his face. You felt the heat of his body below yours. “LIKE THIS.” Without warning, you raised your hand, and gave his forehead a quick and powerful flick. He didn’t even blink, although his eyes registered some kind of shock. Then Chrollo burst out into a small laugh, running his fingers through his hair. So amusing, he thought to himself. Perhaps I can enjoy myself tonight.

Feeling a little mocked, you continued, spurred by embarrassment, “Y-YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS WITH PEOPLE LIKE YOU? NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY, YOU’RE JUST... EMPTY!” 

Before you knew it, suddenly you were on you back, and Chrollo’s hands gripped both of yours, pinning you down hard. Your words had struck a nerve. Surprised from the movement and his reaction, you were speechless, your cheeks now a little warmer when you realized the position you were in, your dress now hiked up almost to your waist. “Perhaps I can prove you wrong,” he whispered, leaning so close both your lips were almost touching. Chrollo knew, from all the women that threw themselves at him throughout the gala, that any of them would immediately take this chance now. He was craving a little release after all, and by this point, no one would refuse.  Then, you stared at him, face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, and stuck out your tongue defiantly like a child. With your hands pinned above you, you looked away, pouting. S-so cute! One of Chrollo’s hands flew to shield his face momentarily to stifle a laugh, and a discernible blush covered his cheeks. He stood up from the sofa and straightened out his shirt, walking into the bedroom before returning with an extra duvet. By then, you had dozed off asleep, and he glanced at your weary form. Such an amusing, vulnerable creature. He chuckled, laying the duvet gently over you. “Sleep well tonight, my dear. I’ll be with you in the morning when you wake.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Notes: I wanted to write the last Chrollo-only one for the previous situation, but somehow this floated into my mind. I found myself internally screaming when writing the Illumi portion becos Hiso-Illu just dropped so casually I’m like... sometimes I’m glad I have this brain 

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♥ ◦∘ Peter Parker - Everything Happens for a Reason ∘◦ ♥ ◦∘

A/N - I only wrote it a couple of months ago and due to the close nature of it, I haven’t uploaded it anywhere. I hope you like my first (10k) Peter Parker fic. I know that the timeline doesn’t make sense, but in all honesty, Endgame and FFH messed it up plenty so I just kinda placed this in no-mans-time. And I know the compound was destroyed during Endgame, so just bear with the fact that I’ve made it so that Strange and his wizards rebuilt it for survivors :)

Warnings - making out and shadows to sex, SWEARING, bad parenting, mentions of grief, mentions of injury and disability, angst, death of parents etc. Also, don’t read if you haven’t seen endgame because it’ll be spoiled in the first paragraph of this. 

Summary - Stark!reader x Peter Parker, post endgame. Months after the death of your father, your aunt, and the retirement of your uncle, you find yourself in a sticky situation, and to make it even worse, your childhood crush doesn’t even recognise you now. Then again, doing most of your growing up while half of the population is dead doesn’t exactly bode well for your love life nor your commitment issues. When things finally start to turn around while learning to live with a disability, will you still be taken away to live with your step-mother, or will love pan out at last? After all, everything happens for a reason. 

IT'S BEEN JUST OVER THREE MONTHS since the final battle, and therefore just over three months since you said goodbye to the only three role models you had for the most important five years of your life. Well, the three are debatable. 

Your dad had died, still holding your hand, after saving humanity like he always did, allowing the burden of the Stark name to fall onto you at long last. Your uncle Steve - tutor extraordinaire - had officially retired and moved away, and you haven’t seen him since the final goodbye, leaving you more and more doubtful every day you’ll ever see him again. And your aunty Nat let herself go, she pushed herself away from that cliff, and let uncle Clint live, to help give you a better life, but what Nat didn’t realise was that you lost them both that day, because Clint hasn’t been back since. He’s never coming back now from the trauma, the man who was more of a father than your dad ever was.

It was quite possibly the worst period of your whole life, but then again, when half of the world is destroyed before you’ve even hit puberty, you don’t really have much to hold it against.

But here you are again, stuck in your room in the semi-rebuilt compound, grounded by FRIDAY while the step monster and child are at the lake house, living happily ever after. What the issue is, you don’t know. All you did was get a piercing... and be rude to Peter. And Sam. And everyone in the building- ok maybe she has a point, but hey, you’re grieving the loss of everyone major in your life, and you can barely do anything for yourself.

It’s like five years ago all over again. Everyone you’d grown accustomed to, your friends, your mom, your idols - even if they weren’t dead, they were lost for a long time - and your crush. The one and only Peter Parker. Much to your surprise, you got over most of the deaths pretty quickly. There wasn’t much to understand - they were gone and they wouldn’t come back no matter what, so what good would worrying and crying do? Obviously, as a young girl, this was the wrong response, so this is when Pepper got her name. “Don’t be so insensitive! Those were your dad's best friends, people he worked with for years. Those people were his family, and mine, and yours.”

You scoffed at her, the way you always seemed to do. “Yeah, ok. But my mum died, and am I making a fuss? No. She died for a reason, they all did,” and under your breath, you added “I still just need to figure that reason out.”

You held back from the obvious “they were my family too” bullshit, because your dad never believed that, even when you spent most of your time at his house with the Avengers instead of him. It wasn’t that you hated your mom or your dad, you loved them both equally and spent time with them both, but when one dies and one goes missing and spirals into lord knows what after going missing in space with a blue alienoid, everything gets a little complicated and stops making sense. Spending more time with your dad was scary too, seeing the intricacies of Avengers life in a capacity which you didn’t understand for a long time growing up. That only lasted for a year before he took off and made you be a tennis ball in a flawed game between him and Rhodey. Every weekend for five years you drove from the compound to the lake house. You lost out on a lot from that, and your dad didn’t even seem phased, because he had Morgan. 

But beneath all of the hatred that had made you so rebellious since you turned fifteen, there was something deeper.

Considering how stone faced and resolute you are and always have been, considering how harsh you are about the realities and never getting caught up in mindless emotions, no matter how much you claim that your grieving time was over the second that you pushed your dad's heart away, mere weeks after feeling his pulse drop as you laced your fingers with his, no one would believe that it was all a lie.

Every night since that snap more than five years ago, you’ve done the same thing. Make a cup of hot chocolate (an iced decaf latte if it was summer), and you’d take it to bed and just cry until you could no more and simply fell asleep. You weren’t even sure why you cried, because after all there wasn’t really any reason to. The world was moving on, albeit slower than before, and your life  was about as much locked into place as it could be with Tony Stark as your father, but the crying just felt obligatory. After ten, FRIDAY always turned off in your room, that was the agreement your mom had with your dad whenever you stayed there, although you weren’t sure why it made a difference, and it just stuck, so no one saw the pointless tears, no one heard, and no one cared. The only one who ever did care enough whenever you cried had been snapped away, and now he was back, you were just another repugnant face in the crowds, or so you’d guess with the way he looked down upon you.

 “It’s ok dad,” you said with a completely straight face, your hard eyes locked onto his, your entire being completely void of emotion, “you can go to sleep.”

He squeezed your hand with his forefinger and middle finger, very lightly, and he just croaked out his final words to you, “my beautiful Sloane, so brave.” So quiet that they were only decipherable to you.

“Life functions critical,” the Irish accent rang in your ears.

Pete had already said his goodbyes, but now it was Pepper’s turn as she wiped your dad's tears away. This time you should’ve been there for each other, a support for one another, after all, they were losing him together and were in the same boat, but sometimes even grief can’t bring people together. 

“Tony, look at me. We’re going to be ok..” she pleaded. 

Your dad's eyes moved from yours to hers, a sluggish movement that took the remaining life from him. He moved his lips to form two words that broke your heart, because you knew that they were directed at all of you, and they meant so much more than anyone else could understand. Those words were his attempt at making up for being such a shit dad. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Pepper kissed him. “You can rest now.”

You didn’t even look around to see anyone else’s face , especially not Peters or Peppers, because as soon as his pulse stopped and his skin slipped from your grip, his body cold, you knew that the chapter of your life with your father in it was over, so you pulled your mask back over your face, and strutted away, as far as possible. You ignored your limp completely, because with all of the numbness, it was like you couldn’t even feel the pain. Except you didn’t disappear, no way, you couldn’t. You watched as they all knelt for him, for the man who missed all of your firsts in life, who was absent when you needed a father and a friend and a leader, and even though you were chronically broken within, every terrible emotion gnawing at you, screaming at you to just feel something and express it; you didn’t. You suppressed it all, and walked away. And of no surprise to you at all, no one followed, or even noticed you were gone.

After all, Tony Stark died for a reason, and at least this time you knew what that reason was. 

 “Miss?” Someone’s snapping their fingers beside your ear, driving you mental but also snapping you awake from whatever dream that was, reliving the scariest day of your life. “Miss, you fell asleep at the table. We’re clearing it for dinner, please.”

You roll your eyes up at him, instantly recognising Pete’s voice, but you just don’t care. He doesn’t even know who you are. So you scoff, the way you did at Pepper so long ago, and you leave without a second glance.

“Are you a relative of Nat’s? I- I heard someone was coming over to stay...” his voice yells down the corridor.

“You can’t be serious Peter. You don’t recognise me at all?”

And with that, you snatch your water bottle from the edge of the counter with your spare hand and resolutely stamp off down the corridor, your feet loosely wading in your docs with your crutch assisting you along the way.

You’re leaving soon, so you won’t have to deal with him. But you still have another year or two of high school to compete with, and with your tutor gone - your dad refused to send you back to school after the snap, so it was left up to whoever wanted the job, and Cap wanted it a lot more than he did, so you spent your weeks driving from the city to the lake house after finishing the weeks tutoring, to spend time with your ‘family’ - and now, you seriously doubted that anyone else would want the job. Bucky is too hormonal and grieving the loss of his best friend, Banner is freaking you out, Clint is off the grid from another breakdown and it’s like he’s not even human anymore, Wilson is too busy with his new training regime and fighting Buck, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what you need to learn thanks to his ditsy persona. Which only leaves Pepper and Rhodey, and which forces you to go back and live in the lake house, away from the shambles of the rebuilt compound, all thanks to Strange and his wizards.

Maybe this is what you need, because now you don’t have to see Pete and get offended every single time he forgets your name and doesn’t have a clue who you are.

That night, you skipped your crying routine, and felt no better nor worse off for doing so. You simply dosed up on your painkillers and drifted off to sleep, filled with irritation and dreams of a mousey hero.

 For the next couple of days, you’d just gone about your business and avoided the funny looks from all of the other Avengers at your foul demeanour. None of them that were in and out of the rebuilt compound ever really took notice of you anymore, and you weren’t sure that any of them recognised you anymore, not with all of the piercings and hair dye and the crutches. After all, the last time most of them knew you, you were an annoying child who watched them work and ate dinners with them, and your dinners consisted of smiley face waffles and chicken nuggets. And besides, you were perfectly able back then, and you often had little friends over, or your mom would pop in to say hi on your way home. There’s no chance of that happening anymore. Bucky had recognised you, smiled at you, and occasionally made jokes about you being crippled together, so with any issues you could just turn to him, but this Peter thing annoyed you too much to talk about it, and you didn’t know why. 

Speak of the devil-

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, standing just behind the sofa and hovering awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” you say, all of your words merging and slurring. You signal to the seat beside you yet far enough away for him not to be a bother, and he takes it.

“So h-how are you?” 

You watch him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, because you can just feel his eyes on you, namely on your tits that had suddenly appeared in the last few years. 

“I’m fine thank you, Peter. It’s not like no one knows who the fuck I am and I’m living in a literal post war, dystopian, apocalyptic world all alone. How are you, Spider-Man?”

He blanches before your eyes, and you can physically see any words die in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m good.”

Everything stills for a little while, and the only sounds are what's playing on TV and Peter’s occasional swallows, making his Adams apple Bob in your peripheral view. He doesn’t dare look at you, and you can just sense his agitation, mainly from the way he fidgets and weighs the sofa cushions down weirdly with his weird spider legs. 

It only takes half an hour for you to wear down and ask him the burning question, his presence beside you enough to make your skin tingle in anticipation and anger bubble within, not to mention the girlish sense that overwhelms you, so contrasting to your dark clothes and self-given bridge piercing. 

“Why don’t you speak to me anymore, Peter? Do you seriously not recognise me?”

His eyes fall and his face turns sallow, and he stammers over a few consonants, unable to form any real words.

“I’m Tony’s daughter.” You announce, facing him head on. “Y/N Stark.”

Only after you’ve said that do you realise that he’ll have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but you can see the cogs whirring in his head as everything is pieced together. His eyes lock onto yours, and they’re the one feature you haven’t changed about yourself in the years that he was gone.

“I changed my name last year, I used to be-”

“-Sloane Stark.” he finishes with you. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, too lost in them after he’s been without them for so long. Something’s clicked inside, but scepticism overtakes him. You grasp your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck, all the loose ringlets in different shades tickling your neck, but it reveals a thin, pale, bumpy scar on your skin; a thin and jagged line that runs from the base of your ear to the start of your clavicle. You’ve had it since you were 11, when Peter first became a regular at the compound and you began to play together, but then an accident happened, and Peter stayed by your side as you got the stitches, holding your hand. 

Finally, he cottons on, and you can see the tears welling up in his chocolate brown orbs.

“Sloane…”

He virtually leaps from his seat and throws his arms around you, completely overcome with all kinds of inexplicable feelings. Love seeps from his body into yours, he clings to you, and even buries his nose into your hair, taking a deep inhalation before sighing in contentment. Even when the average hug time has passed, he doesn’t release you, and keeps his arms wrapped like a koala around your shoulders, his body slowly getting closer and closer towards you and for some reason making you blush. Your arms remain limp around him, and your forefinger traces figures on his lower back, but you don’t squeeze him as much as you did when the surprise of his cuddle attack first hit you. 

He eases himself away, but still keeps his hand on your arm, a gentle and warm presence. 

It doesn’t hit you for a while that it’s the first hug you’ve received in months, and the first one from Peter in five and a half years.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t snap away like the rest of us then…?” he asks shyly. 

His spare hand immediately retracts and rubs the back of his neck anxiously, just the way he used to, but only now do you understand why.

“Nah, I didn’t,” you say, “Sadly I was stuck here in this shambles of an earth, dealing with everyone else's depression and having a little sister forced upon me. I couldn’t even go to school, it was awful.”

His face falls into a deep frown and he searches your face for any sign of your words being cynical, but he finds nothing.

“W-why did you change your name then?”

You shrug, for what feels like the hundredth time in his presence, “Sloane is an awful name, it means ‘raider’ in bloody Irish. None of my family is Irish, my dad suggested the name when he was drunk, and my mum couldn’t think of anything better. Y/N makes me feel like me.”

He nods understandingly and doesn’t push the matter, so you offer a half smile and move your attention back to the TV.

“Why did you change you?” he asks all of a sudden.

The question instantly ingrains itself into your brain, and makes your heart ache. Why would he ask such a thing? Doesn’t he understand what's happened? Why does he even care? But the last thought makes you sick to your stomach, because you know that he always has cared and he always will, he promised you that the first time he was babysitting you and you got all het up over something on the TV. Maybe a part of him knew that it was you all along but he just couldn’t broach the subject, or maybe he didn’t and he thought you’d been snapped away and you simply hadn’t returned. No matter what it was,you knew that you couldn’t blame him, but as his question bounced around your brain and repeated, you had no idea what happened, but you felt any compassion shrivel up, your heart grew cold, your demeanour turned harsh, and your kind response died in your throat. You look him dead in the face and straighten yourself up, your eyes devoid of all feeling.

“My mom died, all of my idols and my family and school friends died - Scott, Buck, Sam, you - and my dad was never the same again. I was left with him and the step monster who, who for the record doesn't even like me because of my mom, and Morgan came along, so they forgot about me, and I only stayed three days a week because the rest of the time I was stuck here with a depressed Nat and  counsellor Steve, and the latter had to teach me everything I needed for the finish of middle school and my freshman and sophomore years, which was hard in itself. Dad was so depressed, he wouldn’t listen to the words I said about the other Avengers, so apart from Steve tutoring me, I basically raised myself for two years, without friends or anything, and they were two of the most important years of my life . Everyone forgot about me. I was just turned fifteen and more adept at coping in this world than any adult I’ve known. I hated my name and what came with it, and I never really liked myself, that's always been the case. I hated my appearance and I had no one to make me feel nice when you died, because you always told me that I was pretty, just like a princess, and you kept me sane. Fuck, Pete, you held me together, and all of that faded when you died, because as soon as you were gone, everything else around me crumbled.” You inhale a sharp intake of breath, and move to stand, snatching your crutches from the floor. “Long story short, while all of you were gone, I grew up. I’m 17 now, I may be different to how you remember but at least I feel comfortable now. I really did grow up peter, and you need to start doing the same. My dad is never coming back.”

And just like the days before, you scurry off back to your room and bury any inhibitions beneath your pillow, leaving Peter in the living room, completely crushed and left to mull your words over alone while he waits for May to get home.

 Five days later, and you can’t take the silence anymore. Peter practically hides and runs for shelter each time he hears you approach, you saw the footage on FRIDAY’s cams. It really upset you for the first two days, but with each shy, rushed smile and fleeting glance he takes at you, each one that makes your stomach do little flips, they just remind you how cruel you were to him, how brutally honest, when Peter needs more time to heal than you do most likely, as your dad meant more to Pete than he did to you, and if anything then that's a reflection on Tony. He wanted a son. Maybe Peter feels guilty, mabe he’s sad, maybe he just straight up doesn’t like you, but whatever it is, you don’t fucking like it, so you’re preparing for the move in two days time. Far earlier than planned. 

With each piece of clothing you fold, with each piece of metal shrapnel you toss into your jewellery box, with each eyeliner you tuck away in a bag, you run everything that's happened in the past week through your head. You called Scott up to see how he’s getting on with Hope and Cassie, you spoke to Laura - no longer a secret - who just told you that Barton is in almost as bad a place as before, just without the machetes and with a lot more crying and whiskey, you spoke to Rhodey for an update on the lake house/new home situation and put all of the plans in place, but you did shut down his heartfelt offer to be another father figure, starting with a controversial suggestion to send you to therapy or rehab for your ‘lashing outs’, and you’d made amends with Sam who was surprisingly okay with your whole new thing going on, and he said he loved your vibe and gave hair dye suggestions, making you rethink your decision to leave all over again. Bucky had taken you shopping, hoping for retail to cure both of your depressive episodes, but it didn't really help even if the long, deep conversation over milkshakes at a nearby diner did help, and he cradled your head in his lap as you told him you’d miss him more than the others. He told you that you were being stupid about Peter and that the kid really likes you, but you retorted with a scoff, saying he’d never fancy you the way you fancy him.

Ah, yeah, that revelation, the one which makes you throw a sweater full force into your open trunk, sitting at the base of your bed. With a loud groan, you throw yourself dramatically down onto the bed and savour the soft comforter for one of the last times; after all, the place will probably be gone, along with the remnants of FRIDAY by the time you return, if you ever go. 

“Where are you off to?” Peter asks from the doorway, his voice inquisitive and startling you from your angered daze. 

He must’ve seen your bags half packed in your room, lying out on your bed beside you. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes thin and bullet-like.

“I’m leaving.” You snap rather viciously, and prop yourself up on your elbows. “The Cap’n has gone, and I’ve been out of school too long to go back. The Step-Monster needs to ‘tutor me’, and I need to teach the little brat.” You’re referring to Morgan, but Peter doesn’t seem to pick that up by the looks of his furrowed brows. He certainly looks relaxed though, leaning against your doorframe. 

“Why can’t you stay here?” Peter asks and You shrug, unsure how to respond. “I- I’m sure Mr Falcon would help teach you, or- or Wanda?”

Shit, Wanda. You’d practically forgotten she existed from how much of a recluse she was now. You should probably go and check on her or at the very least have a chat with her. She was dead for five years, just like Vis, but when she comes back she’s still not over him after months? Sounds fake but ok...

“Wanda has even less of an education than I do.” You retaliate with a foul attitude and an even fouler taste in your mouth, turning your back on him when you stand, and going back to your packing. You try your best to ignore his presence, but you can just feel him hovering metres away, itching to do or say something to you.

“Well then you can stay living here and enrol in Midtown High with me. We’d be the same year now and I could show you the ropes.”

Ok now you know he’s fucking with you.

“Peter, I can’t go to midtown.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been out of co-ed for too long, let alone education, as I haven’t had any since like fucking February, and I’m too traumatised and crippled for them. How would that look eh? Y/N Stark enrolling for junior year after the death of The Tony Stark?” Peter goes quiet. “And anyway, it’s not like I have the brains, at all. I’m not smart like you, Peter. I’m as thick as two short planks. I got my mom’s brains and some of my dad's abilities. I can chuck on suits all I like, I can build shit all day, and I can play sports like no one's business; or at least I could.” Having your one ankle completely useless is a complete bummer, maybe even more so than losing everyone, because now you actually have to live with being this way. They don’t have to live. “But the second you give me a math equation, I’m gone.”

“Couldn’t you live with your mom then? Mr Stark said she doesn’t live too far out of state, nowhere near as far as the lake house.”

“My dads fucking dead Peter, he doesn’t control shit anymore” You find yourself shouting, your eyes burning into his with a fire of fury behind them. “My mom came back after the snap but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she fled the house when I turned up on her goddamn doorstep. She ain’t no option anymore, my authority is Potts.”

He gives you a sad smile but slinks away. No surprise there, last time he saw you, you were twelve years old and tugging on his trouser leg to get him to play basketball with you. You didn’t have anywhere near this level of anger, and you’d never have dared scream at him, let alone repeating the words that hit him like daggers mere days ago. 

 The next day comes too soon, and you’re just chilling , finishing up the last of your packing, and trying to ignore anything pushing you to stay. Why did your chat with Peter compel you to want to stay here instead? What is it about him that always brings you full circle, and makes you feel like that love struck child again?

From your mirror, as you’re adjusting your blouse and switching out your nose stud, you see Peter approaching, steadily advancing down the corridor. Twice he stops, and takes a step back, as well as turning and looking the other way as though doubting his decision to come into your room, but when you see his knuckles come in contact with the wood of your door, as he knocks gently, and the sound floats into your ears, making you turn around to see his meek smile with his head hung low.

“You can come in Pete,” you exhale, “I won’t bite your head off.”

He chuckles lowly and advances towards the bed. He gestures, and you nod, giving him permission and hobbling over to join him moments later. He seems flustered, you can tell me by the way he’s struggling to maintain eye contact and the manner in which his hands are convulsing in his lap. Seeing him like this makes you uncomfortable, and you can even feel bile rising in your throat. 

“Peter, I-”

“No, Y/N, please let me, I mean, I wanna talk.”

You smile and bow out, allowing him space to align his thoughts with his words, after all, you’ve known that it takes him a while to do that, but it’s necessary in any kind of emotional situation with someone as awkward as Petter; just the thought causes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach and windpipe.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, for nagging you and insisting, and for asking you those questions and trying to make you stay. I just, I really just don’t want you to leave. I was insensitive, and I should’ve recognised you beforehand.” You can feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and it takes all of your willpower to not let them fall. “I just want you to do as well as you can, and I wish you all the best, I just wish I could’ve gotten to know you better  before it was too late; ok Stark?”

His lips quirk into a smile, yet his voice breaks as he calls you Stark. It physically hurts to hear him say that, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, and he has every right to be upset and grieving, and you know you shouldn’t have shouted at him and gotten so defensive because after all he’s one of the only people you can let your guard down around. You just want to say that it’s not his fault, except you can’t find the words.

“Why can’t you stay?” He asks sincerely, even a touch of desperation there.

Your heart drops to your feet at his expression, and your next words come out as a hushed, pained whisper, your words slow and detached. “I have no reason to stay.”

He nods dejectedly, almost like he’s giving up on something, and he even moves to stand up while your eyes are glued to the way his muscles ripple with each movement, but halfway to being upright, he changes his mind and turns towards you.

The next thing you know, you feel the soft pressure of his thumb on your chin, followed by the pads of his fingers on the soft skin underneath, tilting your head up to look him in his gorgeous eyes, like molten honey in the soft sunlight of your bedroom. Just the sight of his lips slightly parted causes your mouth to go dry, but you don’t have too long to think about that, because all of your thoughts dissipate with the featherlight pressure and sweet, intoxicating taste of his lips on yours. His nose nudges your cheek ever so gently. It’s barely there, and over far too soon, it still makes your head spin. Christ, you’ve been waiting for that to happen for upwards of five years, and it was just as beautiful as you hoped it would be.

“How about now?” He inquires, a stark contrast of shyness and courage written all over his face.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll find out?”

You fist the fabric of his t-shirt and pull him towards you, leaving Peter shocked by the strength in just one hand, seeing as he finds his body hovering above yours just seconds later. He looks hungry, already ravishing you with his eyes as you kiss and kitten lick just below his ear. He holds his weight up but leaves no time to press his lips against yours, urgently, passionately. You moan a little at how desperate he is to get his hands on you, the way he knots one hand in your hair, splayed out on the pillow beside you, the way he’s senselessly grinding his crotch onto you. You don’t mind at all, especially not the breathy calls of your name he lets out when you knot your legs around his lower back to pull him closer. It's a primal desire that keeps you moving. His tongue glides across your lower lip, prying its way in, and you just let it happen, too caught up in the moment to do anything else.

“Pete, fuck…”

Your one hand slides under his shirt and runs across the ripples of his abs, you savour the way he tenses beneath your touch, the way the scars feel tenders beneath your hungry touch. You other hand threads into his soft brown locks. You pull gently and elicit the most perfect guttural groan from him.

“Y/N,” he almost pleads, and his lips move to gently suck on your jawline. 

You’re surprised that he isn't calling you Sloane, but you certainly aren't complaining. Your name from his tongue does things to you that you can’t even explain.

You dance your fingers from his hair across to his face, and push his cheek gently. Your eyes are thin, focussed on him, but Peter’s pupils are heavily blown with lust, leaving only a faint rim of golden brown around the edge. 

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps out, and your stomach coils in desire. Your face must look so pouty, so wanton, but you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

He looks like a deer in headlights momentarily, but gets over it quickly, attaching his lips back on yours and allowing his tongue to roam your mouth, savuring and swallowing every whimper and moan that escapes your pretty lips.You let your hand, the one still beneath his shirt, skim over his muscles to where his heart is, beating at a double pace, thrumming gently beneath your hand. It makes your ego inflate tenfold, knowing that you’ve gotten this flustered and needy.

Just as you’re really getting lost in the pleasure, Peter’s hand cupping and massaging your breast as his mouth works wonders on intoxicating you, you hear a rather loud cough from your doorway, and everything stops. You and Peter both freeze at the same moment, and you drop any stance, fully detaching yourselves to glance at who’s there.

“You kids should be careful, and next time, close the door.”

And with that, Bucky’s gone from view as quickly as he appeared, leaving you both with a mere glimpse at him in his sweats with a coffee cup in his hands, no doubt filled with earl grey tea being the old lady he is. 

In the heat of the moment, you’d both forgotten to close the door and turn FRIDAY off. And Rhodey can access all of the footage. Fuck. Oh well, you’ve already been caught once, why stop now?

You wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders and pull yourself up until you’re straddling his lap and upper thighs, eagerly rubbing yourself against the material of his jeans to try and get some kind of friction. He slides an arm around your waist, and you move in to kiss him, only for him to turn his head the other way. 

The moment couldn’t have been lost from Bucky’s playfully snarky comment, could it? You want nothing more than for him to kiss you again, earnestly, fervently, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance, not even when he pushes you from his lip and stands up with his head in his hands.

Apparently he doesn’t feel the same.

“Crap, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Y/N…”

He even begins to pace, that’s when you know that he thinks he’s fucked up.

“You know why I shouldn’t have done that right, don’t you?” he asks, stuttering random syllables in no specific order, but you do notice that with each pace, he paces his way closer to your open door.

“Yeah,” you lie, but you’ll work that out tonight, “I get it. But it’s fine. And I need to pack…”

He smiles nervously, and with a few careless gestures and no words, he stalks into the corridor and closes your door behind him. You can hear him lettering a long-held breath out. 

All of a sudden, you feel completely sick to your stomach. Why would he do that? It was so God damn cryptic. One second he’s apologising, asking you to stay, pashing you senseless, and the next he’s keeping as much distance from you as possible, apologising, and treating you like a child.

That’s when it hits you.

He feels like he’s kissing the old you. You grew up without him there, and in the space of what was merely a nap to him, you grew five years older, grew tits, matured, changed every aspect about yourself, and developed a sex drive; whereas he didn’t change one bit, he’s still the same peter that he was when you were an aggravating child, crushing on him from afar and trying to be like him. He feels predatory at kissing you, because all he’s ever known you as is a child, and this is all new territory, a territory he’s too scared to broach because he can’t get permission from the man himself.

Maybe that’s why your dad had to die, so that you’d never end up with Peter, and that’s Earth punishing you for some godforsaken reason.

So you just lie there, far salty tears involuntarily dripping down your cheeks as you sit there and think. Will you ever just be fucking happy?

 Happy’s set to pick you up at noon today, and after a night of scarcely five hours of sleep, you are not in the mood for anyone and their funny business, especially not Peter, and you aren’t exactly peppy for the hour long drive to arrive there with the Bimbo and the Brat. Well, at least everyone has low expectations of you, so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue when you simply scowl at them and flip them off until you chuck yourself into the car and wave them goodbye for the last time. You’re not sure if the gravity of the situation has hit you yet, maybe you’re repressing it, or maybe it simply just does not bother you, the same way that most things don’t.

You don’t even bother with your appearance, and stick to black trackies and a cropped tank top, with a mildly colourful button-down open over the top. Seeing as your docs are packed in the ‘hide from Pepper’ box, you toss on your worn down black converse and begrudgingly throw your hair up in what you hoped would be a messy bun but ends up looking more like a lopsided half-up ponytail, so you snap the hair tie and throw it away. Hey, that’s an easy way to deal with the Peter issue. Snap him in half and chuck him in the trash where he rightfully belongs after yesterday. 

All you have for breakfast is an iced coffee, and justly so, no one dares even make eye contact with you. By ten, all of your bags are out in the hallway, and not a single personal affect is left in your room. You say a quick goodbye to FRIDAY, and hobble out into the living room, where you spend the next almost two hours either staring blankly ahead of you and ignoring what’s on the screen, or picking at your crutches while you analyse the previous day with Peter. No matter how much you want to hate him, you can't refute the way he made you feel, completely under his control, so willing and malleable, so eager and hungry and loved.

 Happy pulls up at 11.55, and you begin to help him load everything into the car, but get refused after two bags and therefore two trips downstairs after you nearly fall face first and your crutches slip from your arms. The rest is down within seconds by Sam and Bucky.

You said goodbye to Wanda a couple of days ago when you popped in for a chat, but she’d still made her way out here, so you give her a quick hug and wish her well, and you see that May has made her way out to see you off, but Peter is nowhere to be found which makes your cheeks burn with anger.

“I’m so sorry for now knowing who you were my love,” she tells you, running a hand through your hair, “Peter told me all about you before it all happened, he said you were such a cutie, and I know that he would’ve made more of an effort had he recognised you.”

You chuckle softly, hug her, and simply don’t reply. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Bucky and Sam appear back at the top of the stairs and advance towards you, knocking each other out of the way in a playful battle to hug you first. Sam wins by tickling Bucky just beneath his ribs, and bear hugs you, making you feel like a baby koala. 

“Use protection next time, and please, God, shut the door.” He whispers in your ear, making you jump away, your jaw slack, utterly aghast, but he just laughs at your expense.

“You told him about that?” you accuse Bucky, shoving a finger at his chest.

He raises his hands in surrender and even lets out a chuckle before cuddling you, his metal arm somehow a comforting presence around you. 

“Of course I did, Doll. It was too good not to tell.”

You swat him gently on his chest, but instead of pulling away just yet, you bury your face in his t-shirt for possibly the last time. 

“You two kids get along, or I might have to come here and whip your asses.” you glance between Bucky and Sam, making them laugh, but they nod nonetheless and step backwards to join May, allowing you to leave. You grasp your crutches and let your arms fall through the rests, your hands slipping around the handles like second nature, and you start to make your way out. Something that resembles hope begins to blossom in your stomach, so you muster all of your courage and take a fleeting glimpse over your shoulder, but much to your disappointment yet not very much surprise, he isn’t there. You feel something within your chest physically break, and with the pain all over your body, emotional above all else, stemming from betrayal, you wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t your heart strings. Oh well, you tell yourself, and in recovery from bowing your head down in embarrassment, you hold your shoulders high with any remaining pride as you take the few steps to the door, ignoring the tears that begin to fall. Your tears are possibly the most confusing thing about this ordeal, you never cried before, not from emotion at least. 

“Stop- Y/N, wait, please Sloane…” you hear breathless shouts, followed by hurried footsteps on the linoleum. Instantly, you recognise his voice. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

You halt your steps, and prop your crutches against the wall, but are slow to turn around, and even when you do, it takes you a moment to actually meet his gaze. His eyes hold all of the hurt he’s feeling. He hardly slept, you can tell by the red rims and deep, sallow bags. The warm chocolate colour is slightly murky, something of an anger in them, maybe even a sense of loss.

You can’t track anything more, because you take one step forwards, and he begins to virtually sprint towards you, his hair bouncing as he dashes across the floor and entwines his arms around you like vines, relentlessly squeezing you and ceasing to let go. He simply just stands there, glued to the spot, holding onto you, and once more you feel the tears well in your eyes. You’ve never been hugged this way, not by anyone, so you make the most of it and gently grasp his t-shirt to draw him impossibly closer, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. He moves one hand up to knot in your matted hair, and buries your head closer into his shoulder, which you welcome, even if you’re wetting the shoulder of his shirt with your tears. You lose count of the time until you let go, just savouring the way he holds you so lovingly, and you don’t particularly ever want to let go. All of the rest of the world has disappeared. But still, you both detach yourselves just a little, and you find your lips mere inches away from his perfect lips. Without another thought, something otherworldly takes over, and you find your lips planted together in the most intimate way possible. The tip of his tongue barely has to swipe your lower lip before you grant him access, and as you do, your mind and soul proclaim thanks to the gods. He tastes like heaven and cherry pie - his favourite - and he feels even better. The way his tongue dances with yours is like a massage, second nature, and God, you never want it to stop with how crazy he’s making your mind go, let alone the flock of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. His one hand shifts to the small or your back, and you find yourself wrapping your arms even tighter around Peter until your hands touch, and you have him held in place, in the most perfect position, the one where you know he belongs.

You separate, gasping for air and gulping as much down as you can in such a short amount of time before his hands are in your hair again and he’s kissing you just as sweetly, yet hotly, as before. The sensual way he gazes at you makes your insides turn to mush in seconds, and you have to look away even before he kisses you again because you fear you shan’t be able to keep his gaze if you ever want to leave this place with your heart intact. This kiss isn’t as long, you realise that as your hands drop to his waist and stay there lightly, feeling the skin above his hips rippling beneath his tensing muscles. His body shifts, as does his grip on you, and he starts to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, just small, precious pecks that keep your heart beating with joy and longing. Just the feeling of his lips kissing away your tears as he hovers above you makes you feel alive at long last, and he makes you feel more cherished than you ever imagined you could.

“You need to go, Happy’ll start honking for you any second.” he breathes, the softness of his breath running your eyelashes and allowing your eyes to flutter clothes, his freckles disappearing from your view for a second. Then, as if on cue, Happy's horn resounds. “I’ll walk you down.”

He looks so crestfallen as he pulls away from your and passes you your crutches, keeping a safe distance. And although you both know that everyone saw, it doesn’t matter, and no one says a word, they all just observe quietly, but you can tell that they’re smiling down on you both. You can still taste your salty tears mingled together pressing on your lips, the taste of just indescribably, distinctly Peter stuck in your mouth, a taste you never want to stop tasting. 

When Peter crushes, you oblige and scramble onto his back as he carries your crutches, and the walk down the stairwell to where Happy’s parked on the sidewalk is a silent one, but it’s still comfortable. There are so many things the two of you want to say to each other, but it’s too hard to express them given that you’re about to be shipped off somewhere that he’ll probably never make your acquaintance again, no matter how much he wants to spend all of his time with you. You’re more conflicted than you’ve ever felt, so stressed, so hurt, but at the same time you’re so happy that you got to make those memories with Peter before you leave, elated that you made up with him, pleased that you got to feel him kiss you one last time. 

When you reach the concrete, Peter gently places you down on your feet, and he puts your crutches into the open door at the back of the car and proceeds to stand nervously beside you, his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. You have your head down, anxious beyond comparison, just staring at the gravel, until one of Peter's hands comes out from where it was and takes your trembling hand into his palm, his fingers slowly tangling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. He switches his gaze over to you and catches your eye. He smiles briefly before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. 

“I’ve fancied you since I was eleven,” you tell him, “That’s almost six years, that’s a long ass time.” a brief hint of humour creeps into your pained, quiet voice.

He just chuckles and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, making you smile, despite the pain of the situation. He speaks to you real soft. “I know.”

Your hand feels like it was meant to fit in his and sends a new sort of warmth shooting through your body, but it doesn’t last long before he’s helping you into the backseat of the car and reluctantly removing his nimble fingers from their grip around yours, and placing a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead for good measure, a kiss you’ll always treasure.

“Don’t,” you plead, feeling a sob suddenly choke your throat when all that’s left are his fingertips grazing yours. “Don’t let go, Peter, please.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic around Peter now, it’s like everything just completely pivoted the day he kissed you, and if you’re honest, you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to be the hateful girl you once were, just longing for him to come back. Now he is back, you don’t have to wait anymore, and he can help you be your old self again. If only he’d just hold your hand forever, and you could actually be together.

And then it hits you. You need Peter almost as much as you need air to breathe, and if he lets go, you’ll be lost, and it’ll feel like it did for five whole years, you’ll be lonely and isolated, and even in the few days that you’ve had him back in your life, that feeling has completely dissipated and been replaced with an albeit confused elation and a warmth of love. 

“I have to,” he whispers back his eyes already red, “I have to let you go. It’s what Mr Stark would want.”

He pulls away and closes the door in one swift movement, turning his back on you. You see his mop of brunette curls slip down from view when you peer out the window, hot tears burning your cheeks. You know he’s sitting on the side, his head in his hands, but you can’t look that far, so instead you listen to the soft purr of the car as it comes to live, and you let your laboured breath steam up the glass that your hands are placed on. As you begin to pull away, your final glimpse at your old home escaping you, you see Peter waving frantically and beginning to job alongside you, only stopping once you exit the driveway. Thanks to the tinted windows, you know he can’t see you, but you see him anyway and wave back before your pain overwhelms you. That happens the second he’s gone from your peripheral vision, and your chest caves in loud, wrenching sobs that’ll leave you in pain for days. 

Is this what it feels like to have your heartbroken? 

Of course it is, you know this, but all of the times you’ve felt it before, it still hasn’t felt this bad. You know that it’s happening for a reason, that God is punishing you this way for a reason, but no matter how hard you try, it just seems endlessly painful, and all for nothing. What could possibly be the reason for this?

You’re so locked in your thoughts that you barely realise that Happy has slowed the car down, and is looking over his shoulder at you, trying to bring you back down by asking how you are and how you feel. Did he not just see that display?

“If I was allowed to stay,” you slightly pant, your teeth gripping and your first clenching of their own accord, “then it could’ve been me and Peter. Just the two of us, the way it was supposed to be as I was growing up. But everything happens for a fucking reason, right?”

Happy just swallows and mumbles something incoherent before sliding the glass back over and starting up at another steady speed. You don’t know why you’re so... angry all of a sudden; you shouldn’t be angry, you should be upset and almost grieving, crying for the loss of an old home but excited for a new one. But yet, what’s the point in all of that? You’ve felt those emotions plenty of times in your short life, and you always thought you felt them for a reason, but where the ever loving fuck is that reasoning right now when you actually need it? 

Grieving has lost its effect on you by now, and your mind feels hostile from all of the thoughts whirring around. You’ve had the same thoughts every time someone died - every time you thought your dad died, when your mom died, when Peter died, when everyone else just turned to dust. Then you felt them all over again when your dad died, for real this time, but what was the point? Nothing good ever came of it… nothing except grieving for Peter. You felt the same way you do now, only now it's somehow worse, yet he isn’t dead. You grieved for him more than you did your own mother, because he cared, because he actually paid attention, because he told you that you were pretty for the first time in your life. He always treated you like a person, like an equal, even when you were just a clingy child, vying for someone's attention when neglected by both of your parents because they had better things to do. But even now, now he recognises you again, he’s treated you like an equal, maybe even put you on a pedestal after you were extremely terse and treated him horribly. He still kissed you and cared for you and loved you-

SHIT.

You love Peter. Surely that must’ve been obvious for a long time, but now you’re finally admitting it. You really, genuinely, wholeheartedly love the little shit. Your stomach churns with nerves, and your mind tells you that you’re insane, but your heart… your heart has known all along, despite how much you fought it, and it’s now telling you to go along with it. You’re so… overcome with emotions that you don’t even know where to start or how to react or even try to begin to suss them out to deal with them so you do what feels like second nature the past few days, and you begin to cry, unable to choke it down any longer.

“Turn back happy,” you plead, “Shit! I said turn back now Goddammit!”

“I can’t, Sloane, you know I can’t, bosses orders.”

His words just hurt you more, if that was even possible, and pile something new onto the burning pile of emotions battling for territory within your exhausted brain. 

“Happy, turn back right the fuck now, or I will scream until the glass breaks.”

When he does nothing, your sobs become harsher, and something in your throat snaps, forcing you to become hysterical. It’s something primal that takes over your body, a demon's force, because God knows you wouldn’t usually have this in you. You scream. It’s just a shrill sound to begin with, until your heaving chest and tears break through, and make it into a full hysterics game.

“HAPPY! TAKE ME HOME, TAKE ME TO PETER!” you screech, and you repeat the same words until you can’t breathe any longer, but even when your lungs fail you, your hands don’t. 

You clip your seatbelt undone and begin punching the glass. It starts off just to be the dark tinted window separating you from happy and the wheel that would allow you to drive home, but even though the glass begins to wobble, it isn’t enough, so you move to the windows, your knuckles and palms coming in contact with the night shaded glass again and again until they’re rattling and even beginning to crack, but the second you feel you can, you release the most bestial, guttural scream that you can muster, and punctuate it with a rough shove to Happy’s chair.

You want to stop, but with all of the loss you’ve been through, you just need this one thing, this one person, this one place to feel complete, and none of it’s happening. It’s unspeakable, indescribable the way you feel, the turf war that’s occurring all over your body driving you insane. 

“Just take me to Peter,” you finally beg after what seems like an eternity, collapsing completely into your seat, “I need him, Happy. I need Peter, please… please.”

You’re drained, dehydrated, hurt, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. You’re driving away from the only happiness you’ve ever known to live in the arse end of nowhere with two people you hate, and so a void just takes over everything that previously embodied you, and you succumb to the emptiness, your last thought being of all the tears you’ve cried over one boy, the only one you’ve ever loved, and now you can’t even tell him that. 

It was hard to grieve for someone, only for them to come back, the same way it was hard to grieve for someone who never gave a toss about you. That's what you’re finding so hard about all of this. But now, none of that matters, because he’s gone.

Two months later

The doorbell to the house rings for the third time today, driving you utterly up the wall. First it was the postie with some kind of oversized parcel for Morgan, then it was Happy, here again to help outside and be a ‘watchful eye’ while Pepper is out grocery shopping, apparently since they still don’t trust you rough to take decent care of your own sister.

“MORGAN!” You yell from your place at the back of the house, knowing that from her spot on the sofa in front of paw patrol or whatever shit she’s watching, she’ll hear, “Get the fucking door!”

“Mummy told you not to say bad words, Y/N.” She shouts back, and you can practically hear the signature Stark smirk in her words, although it should be far too early for her to actually be making that face.

That’s one thing they got right with Morgan, though, at least she calls you by your actual name instead of fucking Sloane, even if Pepper does ‘accidentally’ slip up and call you by that awful legacy name from time to time when you really annoy her, say by breaking a vase or some china, or screaming at her using all of the profanities you can think of. She’s really regretting taking you in, now, because you’re simply that much of a handful that she had Happy and Rhodey actually build a quiet room for some respite. You’re still in the rebellious phase, and you don’t seem to be leaving it any time soon, although you have let the dye in your hair grow out and you haven't bleached it… yet, and some of your piercings have naturally closed over, although that was more so that Morgan wouldn’t continually take a metal detector to your face. 

Abrupt, your thoughts escape you, and you can’t catch the thread, because after multiple attempts of Morgan’s to click open the reinforced vibranium locks on the doors (Rhodey’s suggestion), and the shifting of a stool to allow her to climb to it, you hear a shriek and some mess of words that sound like ‘Peter’. But no, that's simply impossible. You’re imagining things in your annoyed state, knowing it would’ve been a lot faster and quieter if you just made your way over there yourself. 

“It’s for you!”

Now this peaks your attention. No one has been to see you in the whole time you’ve been here, nor have you ever gotten mail. No one comes to see you, so maybe your ears didn’t deceive you.

You leap up from your seat and begin charging to the door, running as quickly and carefully as you can over Morgan's toys, but you’re also careful to not aggravate your injury. One good thing that came from your time there - the only good thing - is that you were able to work with your dad's remaining technology and do intensive physio, resulting in your mobility improving tenfold, also meaning that now you can not only walk but kind of run without assistance. But that doesn’t matter as soon as you see the man standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand, and an expression of pure delight on his puppy-like features. 

“Y-you can walk?” he blubs, his cheeks red with joy.

The flowers fall from his hands onto the deck, and your eyes fill with tears as your hands fly up to your mouth, only just containing your sobs. Your whole being is overcome with happiness like you’ve never felt before, and it seems like all of your depression since you left him has melted away, and a new you is born.

“You came back for me…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and in response, he draws his lips into a tight line to contain his smile, and nods his head at you, soft brown curls falling into his soft eyes.

“Why are you sad, Y/N?” Morgan asks, and tugs at your shirt, but you don’t even realise, because the sight of Peter coming towards you is all that you can see and feel, and you begin advancing towards him too, until you collide in a heated kiss. Everything just seems like a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, and a battle of tongues. You’re too wrapped up in the feel of him, the passion of the moment, the intimacy of the kiss, that you don’t notice that Peter’s already got you picked up with your whole body tied around him. He tastes utterly delectable, the same as before, and his tongue feels incredible as it sweeps your mouth.

“Morgan-” you pant, “Go find Uncle Happy in the yard, now.” When she doesn’t move, you open your eyes to glare at her, stunned and traumatised into silence with her mouth slightly agape. You can’t bear detaching from Peter’s lips for even a second, so your words are all rushed. “Morgan get out now, I can see him there, in the yard, go!”

The little squirt smiles wryly up at you, but does as she’s told, and scurries off into the mass of flowers and perfectly cut grass. Seeing her gone, you let out a long held breath and smile into Peter’s passionate kiss. All of the love floods back to you, and you feel whole once again. But before you can get too caught up in the sappiness, Peter is already blindly stumbling through the house and kicking the front door closed behind him. Your fingers in his hair, you guide him to the couch.

As he kisses you so tenderly, even in the heated moment, you finally understand what everything was for. Every trial and tribulation in your life was teaching you, helping build you up for this very moment, where it all makes sense.

Everything in life has been for a reason, and that reason is this very moment. The thought makes you smile, but nowhere near as much as Peter’s own smile does.

[world-of-aus]

Family Matters - (Part 3)

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Word Count:3,334

Warnings: manhandling, a surprise twist!

Author’s Note: Chapter 3! Updates for this series will be every Wednesday and Fridays! Thank you all for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging, all of that means so much to me! - xoxo

Chapter 2 / SERIES MASTERLIST

You go to flee but his hands are quicker, he grabs a hold of your biceps squeezing tightly keeping you from moving, a pained groan slips past your lips. The bearded golden blonde from before is surging forward, taking big steps as he closes the distance between the two of you. You cower in fear, your body pressing into the wall of muscle behind you, he stares down at you, a smirk pulling at his lips, “well, well, well, look what the cat drug in,” he grins, “wait till boss gets a load of you.”

His eyes move away from your fearful face to the cold set of eyes behind yours, “bring her in, don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

“W-wait no please,” you cried pushing against the solid block of muscle.

The fingers tightened on your skin causing a whimper to fall from your lips, “start moving, or I’ll move you myself,” the voice hissed in your ear, “and trust me, you don’t want me to have to move you.”

Another whimper falls from your lips as your painfully pushed forward. You follow the man in front of you on shaky legs as the broad man from behind pushes you through the threshold down to the forbidden corridor.

He thrusts you through the open French doors of your fathers office.

“She’s here boss,” the golden blonde speaks up.

You watch with baited breath as your fathers chair turns, your breath catches in your throat.

Thick, lustrous, tousled, dark brown hair framed his chiseled face, strong and defined, his features molded from granite. His eyes a deep mesmerizing ocean blue accompanied with streaks of the lightest grey throughout. Dark brows were sloped in question, lips drawn in a hard line across his face, you cowered under his stare. Strong hands pointed to the seat in front of him, “sit” he commanded.

You swallowed unmoving, his features molded immediately to one of anger, “you’d be wise to listen,” he murmured darkly. Finger nails pressed harder into your skin, indented crescents sure to be left behind, “move it,” the man behind you grunted, shoving you forward. You gasped catching yourself on the chair, the man before you had requested of you to sit in. On shaky legs you rounded the chair, adjusting yourself onto it, your fingers stark white from the grip you had on the bottom of it.

The man before you ran a hand over his face, thumb brushing over his chin as he drank you in. He cleared his throat, his hand pointing to the man that still loomed behind you, “you can go,”

His eyes were still on your shaking form, “It’s truly unfortunate to have to have met under these circumstances,” he began leaning forward on his arms, “so sorry for your loss, such a tragic thing to have occurred,” he cooed.

You sat there eyes blown wide, body shivering in fear, “w-who are you?”  

A smirk pulled at the corner of the man’s lips, “m’ sorry where are my manners,” he grinned, “the names James Buchanan Barnes, though I’m sure daddy told you about me didn’t he?”

A knot formed in your throat, face paling, a low chuckled brewed from within him, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and I might as well be looking at one from what your father informed me of,” he paused raising a brow at you, “you are y/f/n y/l/n aren’t you?”

You nodded your head numbly, “well I'll be damned, looks like your father was a liar, thief, and traitor all in one, no wonder Pierce had him on such a tight leash,”  

The room began to spin your ears ringing; James caught on, his fingers snapping off to your side, strong hands gripped at your shoulders keeping you upright in the chair. Your head lolled side to side, as you tried to clear the disorientation away. You shook your head, “please, I- I don’t” you sucked in a breath of air, “I d-didn't please”  

“Get her to the couch, now,” he demanded to the man behind you.

Hands were finding there way from your shoulders to under your arms as they lifted you up. You held onto the hands for dear life as you stumbled your way to the lush leather couch, your head falling into the cooled material beneath you.  A shaky sigh left your lips, the hidden secrets of your fathers luxurious life style was all coming to surface, and you were caught in the crossfire of it all seemed,  and you had been unaware of it all. Taking in deep shaky breaths you attempted to calm your nerves, you knew they would do you know good in this unforeseen situation.

You felt the couch dip next to you, a glass of water held out to you, you looked from the glass to the man offering it to you, “it’s water,” he murmured, an impatient sigh left his lips when you made no move to grab it from his outstretched hand, “I take it you're not as easily swayed as your impressionable father was?”

You shook your head, “please, I had no idea what my father did in this home, I want nothing to do with any of it, you can have it all, I'll sign it over to you, just please,” you pleaded.

James barked out a laugh shaking his head, “you really expect me to believe that you had no part in your father’s plan, that man was a rat, no offense,” he muttered, “your father obviously couldn’t be trusted,” he slid closer than, your frame shrinking into the cushions as his stormy eyes bore into you, “so tell me, what makes you so different?”

You didn’t know if there was any convincing this man, obviously your father had betrayed him in unimaginable ways, but you knew you needed to try if you wanted to get out of this.

“I swear I didn’t know, my father never allowed me down these corridors when he was down here, it was forbidden to me, my father would never let me hear the end of it if I was caught down here, please,” you pleaded once more, “I swear I didn’t know what my father was doing behind these closed doors.”

James went to open his mouth but was cut off, when three raps sounded at the open office doors, his eyes moved from your’s to the doorway, “he’s here,” grunted the man from earlier. A cheshire grin overtook his face, he rubbed his hands together as he looked at you once more, “shall we get started?”

Your dragged from your father’s office, to your kitchen table where many nights you had spent sitting alone with your mother over one of her specialty meals.

“ouch, you’re hurting me!” you whined to the man that had man handled you from before, as he forcefully pushed you into the chair directly across from the two other men in the room. He hovered over you a snarl leaving his lips, you cowered in fear.  

“Enough!” a voice barked out, your head shot up in fear.

James who had been previously sitting next to Wilson the man from earlier, was now looming at the table fists clenched on the wooden surface, “have some damn respect,” he hissed at the man, “or do you need to have a talk with Steve again?” He growled.

The wicked mans face fell, a look of fear  overtaking his features, “ n-no boss won’t be necessary,”

“Good,” he grunted “get out and send Steve in,”

The burly man practically bolted from his spot next to you, the golden blonde entering the room picking a spot right at the doorway, a menacing glare aimed at you.

Your head is snapping back at the sound of someone clearing their throat, Sam is looking over at you through the rim of his glasses, “shall we begin?” he questions.

“right,” he starts, “as I've already informed Ms. Y/l/n you are the co-owner of this house, and with the tragic passing of her parents, the father’s half has gone off to her in a will,” he informed Barnes, “Ms. Y/l/n has informed me that she would like to just sign over all rights to you, apparently she no longer resides in the area and does not wish to have any ties to this area.”

James turns to face Sam, his hand on his chin his brows furrowed deeply, “did you tell her about her father and what he owes me?”

Sam sighed running a hand over his head, his fingers working off his glasses as he stared back at the man annoyed, “no Buck it didn’t cross my mind, she was already shaken up coming into my office you really want me throwing that on her, she probably would have bolted the second I laid out that contract her father signed?”

You cleared your throat, “excuse me gentleman but I’m sitting right here,” you gritted out, “if it regards my father, it obviously regards me, so either of you mind telling me what it is my father signed”

Bucky turned to look at you his head cocked to the side as he eyed you, “I’m sorry,” he started, “for a second there it sounded like you were telling us what to do,” he shifted his body to fully face you now, “you don’t get to ask the questions y/n”

You could feel your fear be replaced by anger, you had had enough of people belittling you because of who your father was, and apparently how he lived his life, you’d be damned if you stayed in his shadow, enough was enough, you would not be quieted.

“Listen here Barnes,” you snarled, “I’m not sure what relation my father had with you but I can assure you I was unaware of it, I lived my life locked away in my room, aside from the times he  would send me and my mother out of the house,” he opened his mouth but you cut him off, “and another thing, I've had just about enough of you men telling me what you think you know about me, when in reality you don’t know the half of it,” you gritted out, “my father may have lived his life a certain way but I can assure you I had no part in it, and I definitely had no say when my father kicked me from this very home at the ripe age of 18!” you hissed, “so yes you can believe what you want, but I will not allow you to further disrespect me, I have in a single night lost both my parents who I have not spoken with since I was 18 that was seven fucking years ago, and I get here only to find that my dad was involved with the mafia, he owes some asshole money which  apparently he planned to collect, and oh get this you, you” you gritted pointing your fingers at him “you are the co-owner of this house again something I was unaware of.”

You were heaving with rage by the time you got all the words that had brewed inside of you, James seemed unbothered by your little explosive episode.

“you done doll?” he questioned bored.

“don’t call me d-”

His fist met the table startling you into silence, “i think you’ve said enough,” he hissed, “it’s my turn to speak, so you’re going to sit there and you’re going to listen got it?” he questioned brow raised.

“do you understand?” he questioned again when you didn’t give him a response the first time.

You nodded your head, “you see y/n you brought up a great point in your petty little rant, and that was that your father owed money to some asshole,” he was grinning devishly then, “and do you know who that asshole he owed money to was?” he questioned through gritted teeth, you didn’t answer but inside you were filled with dread because you knew the words that would come out of his mouth would not be good, “awe why so quiet now sweetheart, you had a lot to say just now, what happened,   cat got your tongue?” he scoffed, “that asshole y/n was me, and your father still to this day had yet to pay me my money that he stole because if it had been borrowed I would have seen it,” he stood from his chair, “see about seven years ago, I paid your little daddy a visit, and I told him he either pay me my money or that contract he signed after signing the one to this house, would be valid, and I would take the one thing he promised to hand over if he couldn’t comply, did daddy dearest ever tell you what it was he wagered or are we going to keep playing this victim card you y/l/n’s seem to be real good at”

You were scared again, you shook your head not trusting your voice, “see daddy owed not only money to me, but that old man also owed, Pierce and Rumlow,” your skin was vibrating in fear, the names of all the men detective Stark had mentioned were coming up. The thing is those two fools didn’t think of a way to collect seeing as he worked for them, so regardless they would get their money one way or another, thing is your father decided to play with fire when he asked for my help, and well I needed to make sure I was going to get my money back so I had my good friend Wilson here,” he said patting Sam on the back, “i had him work up a contract with your father, and in that contract it was stated that If he could not get me money after sometime, that he would have to give up whatever he had promised on that contract, and man would you believe what that old man put,”

Your hands were shaking in your lap, he leaned forward then, eyes menacing, “that old bastard promised me,” he gestured towards himself, “he promised me that if when the time came to collect and he didn’t have the money, that you,” his finger turned to you, “ you would be handed to me.”

Your face paled, you father wouldn’t do such a thing, he was a mean man, but there was just no way he could be this vile.

“t-that c-can't be,” you replied shakily, “my father would never”

“oh no?” he questioned, “then I guess you didn’t know daddy to well,” he muttered sliding a file towards you.

Your shaky hands reached for the file, you opened it looking over the contents, a shaky sob left your lips. Your father had actually done it, he had actually signed you off to this man if he wasn’t able to pay him his money. You shoved the file away from you looking up at the two men with watery eyes, “please, you don’t have to do this, I'll,” you chocked back a sob, “I'll find a way to fix his mess, just please,”

“now wait just a damn minute,” Bucky cut you off, “you father may have promised you to me, but I'm not sleazy like your old man,”

You wanted to sigh in relief but you knew there was something he was holding back from you something he wasn’t telling you, and from how your day had been going you were sure it wouldn’t be any good either.

“now I'm going to need you to just sit a second longer, and my good friend Sam is going to explain something to you, and trust me when I say it is in your best interest to take into account everything he is about to explain to you,”

Looking to Sam you waited, the dread coursing through you, “Now Ms. Y/l/n when Mr. Barnes initially found out what you father had signed over if he was to have to come collect, I can assure you he was angered at the audacity your father had to sign your name on that line,” he eyed you, “Mr. Barnes still has a means to collect, but he’s chosen to go about it a different way, it’s in regards to this house,” he added.

“he can have it; he can take whatever he wants pl-” Bucky sent you a look efficiently cutting you off.

“as I was saying, Mr. Barnes met with me months prior to all this with the beliefs that you were no longer in the picture and his original intention was to just collect the house when your father had given him word that you had passed tragically one day,” he paused, “upon hearing of your return recently and that it was actually you in the flesh, Mr. Barnes decided he wanted to change the means of your fathers contract,” he sighed rubbing at his temples slightly, “Mr. Barnes has asked me to inform you that he will settle your father’s debt IF and only IF you agree to take owner ship of the home with him-”

“I can do that,” you cut him off.

Sam sighed, “please let me finish,” he muttered, “you would be taking your father’s ownership, but you must also come home, and you must stay here in this home,”

You were taken aback, “excuse me?” you questioned, you were getting upset again, “you can’t possibly do that, you can’t make me agree to any of this this is-”

“Now Ms. Y/l/n it would be in your best interest to agree to this, there is no other way,”

You scoffed looking over at Bucky, “how is there no other way, you can’t just force me to come home, and make me stay here,”

“Steve, Sam, would you give me and y/n a couple of seconds” Sam stood wordlessly following Steve out of the kitchen. Bucky rounded the table, “Look y/n, you can either do it this way, or I will collect the way I originally intended and I can promise you doll, you don’t want me to do that, I'm offering you a home, safety from the goons your father worked for, and a worry free life, this would all be yours at no cost to you, so long as you do as I say, and all you’d have to do is sign,”

“y-you can’t ask that of me, I don’t have to agree to any of this, I'll go to Detective Stark”

Bucky threw his head back in a howl of laughter, “sweetheart, I'm not asking anymore,” he replied the smile vanishing from his features, “I've been done asking, now” he spoke again his voice much lower, leaning in closer “I'm going to have my men come back in and we’re going to get this contract signed, I'm honestly doing you a favor here, you have nobody left, mommy, daddy, all your family is gone y/n, there’s no one for you to go back to, no one for you to run too, so it would be in your best interest to be the good little girl we all know you to be and sign that name of yours right next to mine on that contract,”

You swallowed, you were terrified of the repercussions that might come if you didn’t agree, and he was right, you had nobody left, so this couldn’t possibly be any worse. A shaky sigh left your lips, “fine, I'll sign,” you murmured lowly.

Bucky was grinning wolfishly, “that’s my girl,”  

You moved away from him glaring, “I'm not your girl” you hissed.

“the contract say’s otherwise,”

You cocked your head at his words, but weren’t able to question him as he beckoned for his men.

Sam, Steve trailed in, Detective Stark following in behind them, Bucky grinned at your confused expression, “w-what is he doing here?” you whispered.

“oh Detective Stark?” he questioned a smirk pulling at his lips, “he’s here as a witness,”

Chapter 4

Family Matter’s Tag-list: @broco8 @spideyxxboi @scuzmunkie​ @person-born-winchester @jennisahoe @rougeone0911 @ilovesupersoldiers @loveofmychips

[honeys-fiction]

HEYY! Can I please have a pirate dabi x siren reader thank you. 💕💕💕

Hi! This one took me a bit to spin, but I hope you enjoy it!

-Honey

Warnings: Slight angst depending on how you read it, hinted soulmate au, mentions of drowning and gore

Pirate Dabi x Siren Reader

You were beginning to understand why your kind hated pirates so much. Ever since you were a small child (no larger than a cod, no less), your parents warned you about ships that reeked of blood, whose masts bore the dreaded Jolly Roger. By the time you were old enough to strike out on your own, your head had been filled with stories of sirens whose songs were somehow ineffective against the sailors, who then speared or captured their predators. 

But that information did little to help you when food in most regions became scarce. Most common vessels were hesitant to travel alone, and it was much harder to lure men overboard when more than one ship was present. It wasn’t uncommon these days for ear plugs made of cork or wax to be found on board. Your prey had become wise to your kind’s tactics. 

That left you starving. The ships who filled their crew’s ears were able to fish more freely without worry in large fleets. What large fish you could survive off of were harder to come across, and what smaller fish were left weren’t large enough to satiate you. If humans could get smart, you could too. 

Your most successful strategy of late was to tie the fishing nets that trailed behind the vessel to tap fish as they went to the bottom of the ship. It was easy to snag the rope along the barnacles that grew on the waterlogged planks. Then, you’d wait for them to send someone down to free the nets, following them deep beneath the waves to avoid detection. Occasionally, they’d just cut the nets loose and move on. But if you did it enough times, they would be forced to free their remaining nets in hopes of returning home to make a profit. You’ve gorged yourself of plenty of individuals who were tasked with freeing the nets.

Unfortunately, that leaves you in your current predicament. You had gotten cocky with your recent successes, that you didn’t take into account the fact that eventually, they’d catch onto your trick. 

You barely gave the ship a once over as soon as you saw the nets that trailed along the sides of it. Your stomach growled, leading you to hastily approach the nets. What you didn’t see was the damned black flag flying proudly atop the highest mast, and just how shallow the nets actually were. Your vibrant scales were all too visible to eyes that were already searching for you.

The moment you gripped the edge of the rope, a larger net whose opening was tied with weights was dropped on top of you. Within moments, the rough texture of the net threatened to tear your scales from your body and strangle you the moment you moved. All you could do was struggle and hiss as the net was lifted from the water. 

They dropped you harshly against the wood of the deck, various sounds of triumph echoing around you at your appearance. You growled, tail thumping against the wood threateningly. If they weren’t careful, you could easily crush their fragile bones under the powerful muscles of your tail.

“My, my! I apologize, I thought I taught my crew to treat our guest better,” a deep, weathered voice crooned. A man, whose large hat and stature made it impossible to see the top half of his face, stepped out in front of you. His towering frame was intimidating, somehow dwarfing yours. 

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am called All For One, my real name is of no importance. I am the captain of this lovely ship. And you are?”

You hissed as he stretched a hand towards you, claws raking into the deck. He pulled his hand away with a chuckle. “I understand that we are different species, but surely you don’t treat your fellow sirens so rudely?”

He turned to a scrawny man with unruly grey hair, no doubt his second in command. "Have her taken down below deck, I bet we can make a fortune off those scales of hers."

You shrieked as men began moving closer to you, tail whipping out at their legs. However, all that did was further restrain you in the mass of tangled rope. It was all too easy for them to pin you to the deck and restrain you completely. Yet, through the mass of sadistic smiles and raggedy appearances, one pair of eyes caught your attention. You'd only caught a glimpse, but what you'd see nearly made you pause your struggles. Vibrant blue eyes gazed at you through a part in the mob of men struggling with your thrashing form. There was a strange pull that stung your chest as soon as your eyes met. They seemed solemn, a look so out of place it distracted you from resisting. 

With a harsh shove of your head into the weathered wood, you were out cold.

When you came to, splintering wood replaced the sky where you lay in a heap on the floor. They had taken the liberty of laying you in a shallow dip of metal built into the flooring. It was rusted slightly from the salt water that was barely two inches deep. If the metal clasps that kept you firmly rooted to the floor were anything to go by, you weren't the first siren they'd caught.

You could barely lift yourself off the floor into a seated position. Craning your neck as far as you could, you looked over your tail for any signs of missing scales. It was a little worse for wear, a few of your scales were loose, most were covered in scratches and dirt from the deck. If they were really going to skin you, they hadn't started yet. 

A door opened somewhere in the room. You winced as a bright light from the crack of the hatch blinded you momentarily. The spines on the back of your tail rose as you hissed, baring your sharp teeth to your potential assailants. But only one man entered, and the sight of him completely disarmed you.

Those same staggering blue eyes from above deck once again took your breath away. Their vibrancy reminded you of beautiful, clear tropical waters. You swore you could swim in the depths of his eyes. 

With the oil lamp in his hand and the lack of humans beating you into submission, you were able to get a better look at him. His hair was black as night, yet from the crimson roots you could tell it was dyed. His face was marred with ragged, rough burns. He had a few piercings, and wore mostly black. He was a little taller than some of the humans you'd eaten, but you weren't sure if he was even worth eating. It looked as if he'd missed a few meals.

He eyed you with a seemingly bored expression. 

“S’matter? Not what you were expecting?” His voice was raspy and harsh, as if he hadn’t drank water in days. 

Your eyes narrowed into slits, a low hiss thrumming deep in your chest. He rolled his eyes, setting the lamp on a small nightstand near the doorway. He held a bucket in his free hand, tossing its contents over your drying form. You would have screamed if it wasn’t fresh ocean water that hydrated the portion of your skin and scales that rested above what little water lay below you. He crouched in front of you with his hands resting on his knees. You appreciated the motion, as it allowed you to watch his every move without having to fear a sleight of hand. Not like you’d be able to do anything if he did decide to harm you, the chains keeping you tightly to the deck left you defenseless. 

“Listen,” his hand went to rub the back of his neck, a low sigh of frustration leaving him. “I hate this as much as you do, and since I’m nearly dead anyways, I figured we could make a deal.”

You cocked your head. That wasn’t anything close to what you were expecting from this encounter. A pirate going against his crew? Nearly dead? It was hard to believe.

“What kind of ‘deal?’” You were hesitant to accept any kind of deal from him, but if he was being sincere, it was better than getting your scales peeled off. 

He hummed at your willingness. “Obviously, I haven’t had a good relationship with my employers. Since I’m out the door any day now, as soon as that sadistic bastard makes up his damn mind; I wanna make life a little harder for him.”

“You’re doing this out of spite?”

“Pretty much. I’ve been working on this for quite a bit now, helping you is the final nail in the casket. So? You interested?”

You were certainly intrigued. What kind of horrors had this man faced to turn to a siren to help get back at his own crew? For all you know, this could be a trap. Yet, something about those eyes… The clouded, dull pools of blue with a slight spark of something rippling across its surface… 

You didn’t think you could’ve said no even if you tried. 

“Okay,” you answered with suspicion. “I’m listening.”

From what you could tell, a day had passed since the man you came to know as Dabi told you his plan. If he could start a fire somewhere on the far side of the ship, then all you had to do once you snapped the weakened chains, courtesy of Dabi before he left you that night,  was slip through the hole he’d create with one of the bombs he’d pilfered. Then, since they would be too distracted to wear earplugs, you’d sing to them, luring as many as you could into your territory. As for Dabi, he stated he didn’t care what happened to him after that. Whether he died on board or drowned or perished in the explosion, he couldn’t care less.

The strange tug in your chest from before had returned when you spoke to him the night before. It was a strange feeling you couldn’t quite place, but you thought his eyes seemed...nostalgic. That stinging feeling in your chest only intensified when he left, turning into a pang that nearly kept you up all night. 

Your nails scraped the metal beneath you in anticipation. Any minute now, and you’d hear the crew begin to panic as a fire started above deck. And then, hopefully, an explosion that would release you back into the sea. You examined the link in the chain he’d pried open. He’d done it to all the chins that bound you. All you had to do was pull them, and you’d be free. 

The more you were left to wait, the more you began to wonder. Were you really okay with Dabi dying? Would you really be able to leave him for dead at the hands of a furious crew, or to drown in the ocean? You didn’t have an answer to any of those questions. You’d only known him for a little over a day and already you didn’t like the thought of him leaving.

A loud shout echoed throughout the ship. Followed by a series of what sounded like gunshots and curses that trailed to the other slide of the ship. You flexed your tail, preparing to spring free from the chains. Something fell into the water on the other side of the wall to your left, and then the wood splintered with a great bang. You would have been too stunned to tug yourself free if you weren’t expecting it. Sea water began to flood the hole in the hull, making it all the more easier to slip through the side. 

You felt as if you just had a breath of fresh air, sighing as salt water rejuvenated your poor skin and scales with sweet, sweet relief. Swiftly, you swam to the opposite side of the ship and lifted your head above the surface. The front half of the ship was consumed in flames, and the back half was slowly beginning to dip below the waves. The night air began to sting with smoke and ash. Pirates were screaming and shouting, shots firing in the dark. Remembering your deal, you produced a sweet gentle melody. 

After a few moments, the first head leered over the gunwale. The sailor looked dazed, gaze clouded by your song as he all but fell over into the water. He was then promptly crushed by a falling mast that had caught flame, sinking him far below the surface.

The next couple managed to stay a float longer, but all that fell were eventually drowned by the water they unknowingly inhaled. If only you weren’t consumed with worry for the scared man, you would have eaten well. 

Minutes went by since the last body fell into the murky depths, so you fell silent. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for, you’d done your part. There wasn’t anything left for you here, not among the accusing crew, nor amidst the final throes of a ship going down. 

You then saw a familiar back hit the gunwale. Jet black hair hung ragged against his scared neck. Dabi Appeared to be talking to someone on deck, a pistol gripped loosely in one hand. You wanted to call out to him, but before his name could leave your lips-

Three shots rang out in the cold, dark night. The back of his white tunic was splashed with red and torn by three separate holes. He keeled over backwards, seemingly in slow motion, falling motionlessly into the sea. 

You couldn’t help but cry out, diving down to him. Blood was already pooling in the surrounding water where he drifted. Hooking your arms under his, you tugged him a ways away from the vessel where you wouldn’t be spotted. 

“Dabi?! Dabi!” You shook him, holding his cheeks between your scaled palms. He was still breathing from what you could tell, each breath growing more shallow than the next.

“H-hey doll,” he sputtered, eyes drooping open. “How nice of you to hang around…”

Tears filled your eyes, making him smile sadly. 

“Come now, don’t cry on me. We both knew this would happen.”

You shook your head, sobbing as you watched the color drain from his face.

“It’s strange… but I get the feeling I knew you before.” He coughed, blood spraying into the water. “Not that it matters now, but…

“I’m glad that it was you,” he smiled weakly, “that helped me take em down…”

His eyes fell close, head slumping forward. Clutching him tightly to your chest, you began to weep, wails echoing across the sea. Despite how final his last moments felt, you couldn’t stop your mind from going a mile a minute, trying to think of some way to prevent the inevitable. But as the beat of his heart began to slow against your chest, a thought struck you.

There was a process to turn a human into a siren. It had to be willingly on both ends, but if you could just get him to that place-

You gripped him tightly to your chest, dipping back below the waves and swimming swiftly towards your destination. With any luck, you could save him from his wounds. 

[amethystpath-writes]

P2 A Sculpture and Fate

Part 1 here

******

Briella had never run so quickly in her life. She didn’t care to look behind her to see if Vince followed; her mind was on one thing- her sword. Or, more accurately, her father’s sword which she stole before running. He wouldn’t have minded. Briella’s father was the one who told her to run for her own safety.

Did she know how to properly wield a sword? Well, no, but it couldn’t be that hard. And anyways, she knew how to fight normally. If she could disarm Vince, send his own sword flying, she could take advantage- hopefully. He would never expect her to be able to fight; most soldiers wouldn’t.

Why was Briella even bothering with the sword? She should run. But who was she to think Vince wouldn’t just follow her as soon as she made it out the door? Or, as soon as she got the sword. Vince didn’t say she would have preparation time if she found a sword before the thirty minutes were up. So, what was she to do? Briella didn’t trust that she would actually be able to disarm the man who hunted her. Could she convince him further not to kill her?

What would that reasoning look like? Vince was furious that Fate decided who he should be with. He hated the connection he felt because it was one he didn’t feel for himself. It was forced. So why shouldn’t Briella show him they could make it work? True, she wasn’t much a fan of Destiny, either, but she could learn to love a soldier. Most girls fancied them anyways, right? She would have preferred a girl soldier if any…either way. Vince was handsome and…and strong. Determined. A little hot-headed, but Briella could wean him towards a more delicate life.

Glancing behind her, Briella watched the door. Vince hadn’t stepped inside the doorframe, thankfully. She almost wished he would- that way she didn’t have to wait with a tight chest before proposing this idea. There was no way she would walk out of this building on her own, not knowing a predator was outside, waiting to pounce. How many minutes did Briella even have left?

As if on cue, Vince hollered from outside. “I am not so sure you are going to find a sword in time!”

Why not? The sword was in here somewhere. Even if Briella didn’t still plan to use it, she still wanted to understand this statement. She should have found the sword in this home already if it were here…Briella ran to the open doorway. “What did you do with- that’s unfair!”

Vince stood just paces away, an object glinting beneath his hands. A sword. Briella’s sword. “You are running out of time,” he said, and gestured to the sky with a twitch of the head. The sun was lowering.

“And what? Am I supposed to wrestle my sword out of your hands?”

His response was a wicked smile, one that churned what little contents lay in Briella’s stomach.

“Vulnerability, remember? You won’t- won’t be proving anything to Fate if I do not even have a weapon to fight with.” Vince must have stolen the weapon in her home before surprising her outside. “Actually, no. No, I want-” she squeaked as Vince raised his sword. The sharp edge was…too close to Briella’s neck. She took a step back, back, back until her backside met a wall within her home- if she could call it that. It was more of an emergency residence that was falling apart in the woods. The house wasn’t very comforting when she was backed into it by sword point.

“I am going to kill you- vulnerable or not. It was fun to watch Fate panic while it lasted, though. Should I begin a count-down?”

Briella felt very hot suddenly. Her face was warm in the cheeks, her ears heated, the blood rushed to her fingers which were splayed on the wall behind her. She thought about lifting a hand, gently pushing the sword away, but an image of her hand being impaled flashed across her mindful eyes. A plea escaped her lips at the thought of both her hand being pierced and the sword slashing the skin across her neck. “I want this to work,” she spewed and instantly squeezed her eyes shut. That probably didn’t help. “I know why- why you are…upset. You want to be in-” Briella drew in a breath as Vince pushed the blade further.

“There are those tears.”

Something round and warm touched Briella’s cheek. She dared to open her eyes, only to see Vince’s outstretched arm retreat. A drop of water glinted along the bottom of his finger before falling onto his tongue. “Salty. So you are human.”

“Of course, I’m human!” It was a whisper-shout. Fully yelling was too risky with a blade at her throat. She might just cut herself open if she did that. “W-we have common ground, Vince.”

“Sir Vince.”

“Right,” she said out of breath, “right.” Composing herself- at least as best she could, Briella continued, “We have common ground, Sir Vince. We are human- that’s all. We are two humans who can walk in different directions if we wish.” The sword dropped the size of a nail, causing Briella to gasp. Still, she continued. “We don’t- don’t have to see each other ever again. I can leave. I can leave my village, leave our lord’s region, even.”

“If you leave,” Vince said, “in any way at all, I want it to be permanently. And the only way that is guaranteed is if you are-”

“Dead,” Briella finished. “Why? I could have killed you the same that you want to kill me, but I didn’t. I ran, Vin”- don’t use his name- “I ran, okay?”

Vince’s throat bobbed. “You were going to come back.” Another bob. “I don’t want you to come back.”

Briella nodded, just barely, just enough that Vince could see she was listening and paying full attention. “Why? Do you think fate will stop pulling at you once I am dead?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” The sword shook in his hand. “By killing you, I sever the string that binds us.”

Briella argued, “No, it will only make it stronger. Destiny exists whether we want her to or not. My grandmother died in battle.” She swallowed as the sword on her neck continued to shake. It bit at her with every quiver. “My grandmother was killed and when she was, my grandfather walked- not rode- he walked to the field which she died on and he buried her. Every year since he has visited her.”

“What does that story matter? They were together. Of course, he would mourn her.” Even as Vince said it, the sword was dropping further, not enough that it wasn’t a threat, but enough that Briella knew she was getting somewhere.

“Because,” Briella explained, “they hated Fate, too. My grandmother nearly killed herself in order to escape it. My grandfather saved her life and in the moment he saved her, she realized Death was a worser fate than allowing herself to love who Fate assigned.” Her voice was growing stronger and stronger, less afraid of being murdered in cold blood. “I know it sounds like a silly story from the gods but…can’t we try to be normal, Vince?” This time he didn’t correct her. “I’m not saying you have to love me. What I am saying is that we should at least try to live life as openly as we can.” If nothing else- “If you kill me, you will feel an endless grief, one that cannot be vanquished by visiting the place you slayed me.”

The sword fell to the floor, and Briella released a heavy breath. She could almost cry. “Pack your things if you have any. The weapon is mine until I trust you not to kill me in vengeance.”

“Does that mean you have regrets?” Stupid, she thought to herself. Absolutely stupid. Why did she think asking a question like that after finally winning was a good idea?

“Don’t push it.” Vince laid the blade on his shoulder flatly. “We leave in five.”

******

Part 3 here

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-how is this like the second or third request that I’ve turned into a long ass series? Why does this keep happening? A/n2- I have zero medical knowledge, so hopefully the stuff I wrote makes at least the tiniest bit of sense.)

Masterlist   Protective Service Masterlist 

Warnings- Angst, the slightest hints of NSFW (teasing)

Chapter 9 Learning To Let Go

It was strange, John thought as he walked along the shore, his feet sinking into the soft sand and the chill of the salty wind breaking through his layers, the moment was unsettlingly familiar. It was the middle of fall and the water had started to grow colder as the evenings progressed, so they hadn't gone in, but still Helen had wanted to visit the beach one last time before winter descended upon New York. They'd spent the afternoon walking right past where the waves met the sand and she'd even collected a few colorful seashells that she thought would make the perfect keepsakes to pepper the shelves in their home. She hadn't gotten much though, and internally, John had noted that he should take her somewhere like Hawaii or Bora Bora on their next vacation, so she could get some nicer ones. 

As he walked, he grew nearer to where Helen stood near his beloved car. She was smiling and for a moment it felt like it had been a while since he'd seen her smile, her beautiful smile. He'd missed it. Though, he was overly aware of the fact that he shouldn't have, considering John had seen it not more than fifteen minutes ago. The entire ordeal felt surreal.

As John approached her, he suddenly felt like something was missing, like he’d gone through the motions before though with one detail absent. “What’s wrong John?” Noticing his bewilderment, Helen broken is dismal thoughts. 

“I….” John’s head snapped up to meet her worried gaze, those honey colored notes in her dark eyes standing out beautifully, “I don’t know,” finally he was standing next to Helen, leaning against the tailgate and instinctively taking his wife into his arms. “Something feels different.”

Helen nuzzled her head into his neck, wrapping her slender arms around his waist, “Well, that’s because everything’s different,” when he looked down at her, more confused than before, Helen knitted her brows, bringing her hand up so fragile fingers would ghost his bearded cheek, “Don’t you remember baby?”

“Hel……” He leaned into her touch, his breath hitching upon finding how cold it was, “I don’t understand,” John swallowed thickly; panic rising up as bile in his throat, “What’s going on?”

“You know John,” abruptly, Helen pulled away, detaching herself from his embrace and starting to walk away, “You know what you have to do.”

Immediately, he started following her, but despite his efforts, John couldn’t get any closer than within a couple feet, “No Helen, I don’t. What’s going on? Where are you going?” They walked and walked, but didn’t seem to be going anywhere, not really; the car never grew further away while the rocky formations in the distance never drew nearer. 

Turning, she smiled wistfully, tilting her head to the side so her brown tresses would sweep over her shoulder, and for some reason unbeknownst to him, her little gesture brought tears to his eyes, “I’m already gone, John.”

And that was when he remembered.

She was already gone. Long gone. Helen, the first woman he’d ever loved, the woman who had brought light to his shadowy depths and stilled the storm that brewed within, was dead. John had watched her wither away; seen smiles through immense pain, seen as she got thinner with each passing day and finally, seen as she’d taken her last breaths as the doctors turned off the machines. 

The memories had a stifled sob parting his lips and tears creeping out the corners of his eyes, “Helen…..” John pleaded, as if saying her name would breath her back to life. But it wouldn’t and John knew that all too well, “I miss you. I need you.”

“I know, but you don’t need me darling,” She kept her distance, and John ached to touch her, just one last time, even if it wouldn’t be near enough, “You’re doing so well; you’ve found happiness again. You just need to slow down and let yourself feel it.”

“What do you mean? With Y/n?” At the mention of her name, Helen’s eyes sparkled knowingly, not really in answer, but more so in permission. “I can’t do that to you Hel, she’s……she’s nothing like you.”

Her eyes were cast out to the boundless blue by then, and Helen seemed to let his words sink in before speaking again, “Isn’t that the best part?” There was now this hollowness in her voice, as if she were far away, “And you aren’t doing anything to me, I’m not here, remember.”

“You’re right in front of me,” his voice broke as he objected, knowing the truth but still having a hard time accepting it, “You right here,” reaching out, John’s eyes went wide as his fingers went right through her. 

Helen’s expression fell at his pained look, though, the only heart that broke was his. “No, I’m not.” Quickly, she licked her lips as they formed a frown, “Not anymore. And you know that. But you’ve found someone that is, so don’t hold yourself back. Fight for her, the way you’ve fought for everything else. Let go, John,” for the first time in a while, she was just a breath away, though, her presence brought no warmth. And that was when he realized that the person that stood before him wasn’t even Helen, not really, it was a dream, a figment his mind had conjured up so he could finally have the closure he needed, hear from the first keeper of his heart that it was okay to give it away again. 

“I can’t,” he whispered tearily, his hands hovered over her shoulders, knowing it would kill him if he tried to touch her again, only to be met with nothingness, “I don’t want to forget.”

Again, she was smiling, her confidence in him as vast as the sea washing their feet, “You won’t. I promise.”

He promised himself.

“You won’t forget. So stay John,” and just like that, as if she’d never been there, Helen, or at least, the image of her, was gone, evaporating before his very eyes.

“Stay John,” another voice pierced his mind, not coming from one place in particular, almost as if he were hearing it from all around, “I can’t lose you, so please stay.”

It had been a long time since Y/n had cried in the presence of another, though, she supposed it didn’t really count if the other person was unconscious. The doctor had told them that John wasn’t quite out of the woods, and he wouldn’t be until he’d woken up. Thankfully, he was still breathing on his own, waving the need for any specialized equipment. He wasn’t comatose either, but would definitely need time to recover from the blood loss. 

All in all, most of it had been favorable news and the greying doctor had assured her that John was otherwise healthy, so there was no need for too much worrying, unless he developed a fever favoring infection or a clot that they hadn’t caught. Still though, Y/n worried anyway and past the hour where dawn awakened the darkened sky, she’d stayed at his bedside, maintaining a tight hold on his hand while her gaze was trained on his insensate from, hyper aware of his soft breaths and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, a large bandage covering a section of his abdomen. There was an I.V hooked up, running to the hand that laid flat at his side, and the doctor had left a small variety of medicines to be administered whenever John awoke. She’d be there, she’d give them to him.

Winston and Charon had left shortly after the doctor had, encouraging her to come with them so she could get some rest, she’d been awake for nearly twenty uninterrupted hours by then, but Y/n had refused. There wasn’t a chance in hell that she was leaving John’s side. He’d almost lost his life protecting her, the least she could do was lose some sleep over him. 

“Stay John,” the words were barely a whisper, breathed close to his ear and Y/n pressed her head to his, occasionally raising to lay the softest, most feather light of kisses to his forehead, carefully avoiding the bandage over his gash, “I can’t lose you, so please stay.” There was so much that she’d pushed down, ignored, in favor of not coming off as being vulnerable. But from the moment she’d seen him bleeding out on the ground, she’d instantly regretted it. He had to know, John deserved to know.

“Please stay,” Y/n repeated, tears hot on her cheeks and dripping onto John’s hair splayed out like a raven halo on the pristine white pillow. The words thoughtlessly tumbled out of her mouth, “You were right, I am selfish and I am so hurt that I don’t know how to do anything else but hurt other people,” borrowing against his cheek, Y/n sniffled noisily as she continued, “But you were wrong too,” painfully, she reminisced on the night two weeks ago when John accused her of not caring about anyone but herself, “I care about you, so, so much. You’ve made me feel things that I never have before, so how could I not?”

After a moment of hesitation, Y/n turned slightly to pressing a chaste peck to his cheek, feeling John’s scruff tickle her lips. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want to make this right with you,” Y/n desperately tried to swallow the lump in her throat, barely able to put the thoughts into words, “This- you,” faltering, she corrected herself, “You, in the past few months, have meant more to me than anyone else ever has.”

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she’d spent talking to John, or by extension, how long they’d been there like that; the thick curtains had been pulled shut darkening the room. The heavy ticking of the clock for a long time had been the only sound accompanying her words, each shift signaling that another minute had passed with John’s recovery seeming further out of reach. Her eyes had started to burn while their lids felt heavy, but that didn’t stop Y/n from warding off sleep as she whispered formerly guarded secrets into his ear. It had been hours since they’d gotten to the Continental, but when she said that last thing, it seemed to finally stir something in John’s drifting consciousness, bringing him back to her. “I…..” his voice was raspy and John’s lips barely moved, “I can…..I can hear you.”

Springing into a straightened position, and Y/n lifted one of her hands from his, leaning forward to cup his face, the pad of her thumb grazing his cheek as hope illuminated her eyes. His were still closed, but Y/n could see his lashes fluttering; struggling to open as she could feel his fingers twitching ever so slightly. “John?” Huffing and suppressing a relieved, tender smile, “You can hear me? Do you want me to get the doctor? Do you need anything?”

“Just....” He didn’t seem like he’d completely regained control of himself, but it was enough to prove that John wasn’t too far gone, “Just stay.”

“The doctor said that you need to take these,” Y/n was standing at his bedside, still dressed in what she’d been wearing the day before, the blood stains on her navy colored blouson dress downplayed by the dark shade, shaking some pills out of two different bottles. He’d been awake and coherent for a couple hours by then, and graciously, Y/n had taken the time to help John sit up, stacking some pillows behind him for support.

Intently, he’d watched her, buzzing around the room and trying to stay busy but definitely not wanting to leave. John had heard everything she’d said after his lucid dream had dissipated; everything about how she cared and how much he meant to her, and he found that it was enough to vanquish any anger he’d harbored before then. Still though, he and Y/n hadn’t really spoken since he awoke, John wanted to though. They needed to. “Can we talk?” Even if she was actively avoiding his stare, John tried to angle his head to meet her eyes, wincing at the pain in his abdomen. 

Finally, when she looked at him, it was to offer the medication with one hand and a glass of water with the other, “About?”

“About everything you said,” he explained matter-of-factly, trying to gauge some meaning from her unreadable expression.

For a minute, John was expecting Y/n to deflect brashly; offer some hasty line about how he’d heard wrong or that she was just saying something she didn’t mean. But the words never came, and instead, she just pushed her hands closer, “Take these first and then we’ll talk.”

“Blackmail?”

Quirking the slightest smirk, she rolled her eyes playfully, “Maybe.” Chuckling, John relieved her of both, swallowing the pills down with a few mouthfuls of water, letting Y/n take the glass and replace it on the nightstand before she sat. “Okay,” she sighed, pushing off her shoes with her toes, letting them fall to the floor with a couple of soft thuds as she curled one leg under herself. “I meant every bit of that,” her eyes softened, a genuine affectionate gleam in them, “I do care for you,” Y/n reached over, laying her small hand over one of John’s larger ones, “You……I shouldn’t have made you think otherwise, I’m sorry, and I understand if you don’t feel the same.” She knew it wasn’t her place to expect much, not after the way things had gone between them, with her going hot and cold whenever she felt like it.

Studying her thoughtfully for a minute, John turned his hand over beneath her, the warmth of their palms radiating. “I do feel the same,” he reassured, “I guess you’re not completely to blame; I’ve been so worried that being with someone else would make me lose what I had with my wife. Like I’d be betraying her somehow. But I realize now that I wouldn’t be, that it's time to let her be a memory,” Gently, John gave Y/n’s hand a tug, urging her to come sit on the edge of the bed. When she was finally there, she leaned in, neither of them faltering before sharing a sweet, dare he say innocent, kiss. Like butterfly wings fluttering against each other. It was so untainted and free of any suggestive undertones, the kind of kiss that was meant to say, ‘I choose you.’ “Are you sure this is what you want?” John probed when they broke, his thumb roving the soft skin of Y/n’s knuckles.

Blinking quickly, she pulled away some more, briefly averting her gaze before meeting his eyes again, “I think so.” It was hardly a concrete answer, but coming from Y/n, it meant something, It was far more than indecision, it was the most she could give him; the shreds of herself that she could piece together and offer to him, while he did the same for her. 

“Okay,” he nodded, daring to offer her the first glimmers of a grin, lacing his free hand in her messy tresses so John could pull her in again, “Good,” his lips sealed on hers again, that time deeper and with more passion. 

Y/n scooted closer, her knee sinking into the mattress while she pressed her free hand to his chest; steadying herself. Tilting her head, she granted John greater access, intent on getting even closer until she made an uncalculated move; her thigh rubbing harshly against John’s bandage. He emitted a pained groan, jumping in surprise. “Shit,” she swore under her breath, looking between them to ensure that he wasn’t bleeding, “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” she giggled sheepishly, pulling away from John and moving to stand, undoing the silk knot on her dress as she sashayed away, “We’ll have to take a rain check.”

“Right…..” John was far too busy staring as Y/n undressed to pay attention to the words leaving her lips. Even before their short time together in the kitchen, he’d found himself envisioning the way she’d looked undressed; all supple, unblemished skin, smooth curves that were made to look small in his large hands and perfectly delectable with her pert breasts and perfect ass. That time, the sound contained in his throat wasn’t one of agony, “What are you doing?" He smirked as she tossed her bra to the side,  hooking her thumbs in the waist of her panties next. 

"I'm gonna take a shower," Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, snatching up a towel from nearby as she sauntered towards the bathroom door, throwing him a taunting backwards glance. It was alarmingly clear that the mood had shifted, and John was all for it. 

"Need some help?" He inquired, not even thinking of his injuries.

Wrapping the towel around herself and effectively depriving John of the salacious view, Y/n turned, leaning on the door frame, "As fun as that sounds, you're not supposed to get that wet," she nodded to the bandage on his left side, "And you should get some rest. But I promise, when I'm done, I'll help you clean up real good," and with a wink and a giggle laced with mirth, Y/n spun on her heel, leaving John in heady anticipation.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[yoonpobs]

know your worth | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: swordsman!yoongi, fluff, mini angst

warnings: heartthrob yoongi basically, some mentions of sexism, eventual smut!

words: 4, 599

summary: as the chosen one, you've never believed in yourself. enter yoongi

“Your limbs are too flimsy. You’re meant to slice the sword—not swing.” Tone laced with nothing unyielding authority, Yoongi reminds you why you’ve thought about slicing his head off with the sword.

“I heard you the first time.” You grit out.

You turn your body as you jump into an elegant twirl that provides you with the momentum to slice the hundred-year-old sword through the air, position stopping right in front of Yoongi who has nothing but a vacant expression on his face.

“Clearly you weren’t listening enough. You’re still swinging. Tense your arms.” He scolds, tapping your elbow provokingly with the edge of his thousand-year sword. A gift from the previous master himself.

“I am.” You spit.

Your body feels loose, and not in a relaxing way after a calming massage but instead with the echo of your muscles telling you to stop. Hours of practice cooped up in the chambers of the temple seemed futile when you didn’t see an end to your practices, especially given the man who leaves no room for imperfection was the one who kept you on your feet.

With one last push, you tense your arms as hard as you can to ensure that your grip on the sword is tight enough so that when you do slice the sword in the air, you’re able to stop it just enough for him to be satisfied.

Your own standards be damned.

“Stop.”

His curt voice breaks you out of your final effort in appeasing his exceedingly high standards and you freeze in the middle of your ministrations, limbs giving up on your intentions as you droop and let your knees greet the floor.

You’re panting when you hear his feet shuffle right in front of your bent figure, the shadow of his silhouette looming over you as the constant reminder of your failure, the lack of satisfaction that you were able to provide to him.

“Stand up.” He commands.

You want to defy his orders because it’s been hours since you’ve stepped foot into the temple to learn from one of the swordmasters today, and months since he was the one that was appointed to you when the town first found out you were the worthy one to bear the hundred-year-old sword.

When you first found out about your predetermined future, you were baffled, to say the least, because your entire life was spent by your mother’s side curating apothecary for the village folks, occasionally boiling dumplings to be distributed to the poor in your area.

You’ve lived a life nothing short of ordinary, and you were the poster image of mediocre. There was nothing to you that screamed worthy or unique enough to be chosen as the next apprentice. The town you lived in awaited only two things each year, Lunar New year and the announcement from the deities above on who was the next person in line to carry the legacy of your townsfolk’s.

You never paid any mind, purely because you were busy with other things and that you cared for the people around you rather than the chatters of aunties and uncles that would place bids on their sons to be next in line—the title indefinitely guaranteeing a lifetime of fortune.

So when your name was announced as you packed the last bits of dumplings to be distributed, every person in town was bewildered, because you weren’t of royal blood, nor were you in connection with any one of power. You were nobody.

And a woman.

The first time a woman has been called as the chosen one in all the years of history that your town has been aware of and it’s this … nobody.

You definitely felt like an outsider when the council brought you to the temple, secluded far away from your town to ensure that you were immersed in your training and not get distracted by anything else but your duty to fulfill.

Your imposter syndrome only became worse when you somehow ended up with someone as unbearable and unforgiving as Min Yoongi as the person who was meant to determine whether you were fit to represent your town in a year's time.

Were you really worthy?

“I said stand up, _____.”

His deep voice breaks you out of your trance as you make your way up on shaky knees, wobbling as you grip the sword tightly in your fist while you avoided his formidable gaze.

“Why did you stop when I didn’t tell you to?”

He knows the answer to the question, you’re sure he does. You’re sure under the exterior of all the coldness that ebbs away on his skin, the slight wrinkles that come with experience surely held wisdom and observational skills that would rival an average person. He knows.

You remain silent, knowing not to engage in another argument with him.

Amongst all the apprentices that Yoongi had the favour of training, you were by far the most … interesting.

One, because you were a woman, which was already different from every other person that enters the halls to learn from him.

But mainly because you seemed to doubt yourself a lot more than someone who was chosen by the deities should have.

The people that walked through the entrances of the temple usually carried some form of confidence with them, and dare Yoongi say—cockiness, which is why he turned people away when they let their egos get to their head.

The deities choose the worthy ones, but only the worthy ones are chosen by Yoongi.

You don’t know that because all Yoongi is to you is your superior, someone who pushes your body till it breaks and until you can’t breathe. But what you don’t see is what he sees in you. The fight of a woman who cares for her people. Who understands human nature far better than any chosen one has ever felt.

You also were oddly mouthy. It wasn’t … bad. But interesting. Never had Yoongi have an apprentice that was as ballsy to call him an asshole amongst other colourful nicknames as you were. But you were far from conventional.

Maybe that’s why Yoongi calls you out.

“You want to curse at me.” Yoongi muses, his tone far from accusatory but more as if he was stating the obvious.

You snap your head to look at him, eyes narrowing at his figure who holds the sword of his behind his back firmly. His onyx, cat-like eyes pierce through your expression that races with every time he blinks at you, and you try to convince yourself that the race of your heart is because of your intense practice rather than his gaze.

“I want to do a lot of things to you …” You mutter under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

You don’t realise the double-meaning behind your words until you see Yoongi cock an eyebrow at you.

Your ears burn at the honest mistake, but you don’t fight to take the words back because Yoongi had a way of making you feel small with just his stare.

“And that is?” He pries, twirling his sword with precision and ease as he glides his long fingers against the body of the blade; your eyes trained on the clarity of his actions.

“Let’s start with slicing your head off, yeah?” You grunt.

Amusement dances in Yoongi’s irises as you avoid his heavy-lidded glare, feeling all the more flustered when he takes a firm step towards you, the heat of his body apparent against your own even if you were the one that was sweating.

“Would that help you with your technique?” He cocks his head to the side, tone anything but joking.

You look at him carefully as you observe for any sign of a taunt, but he just gazes at you with his blank stare that frustrates you till no end because while you were an open book with your expressions, Yoongi was just as mysterious as when you first met him.

“I dunno. Will you stop yapping at me if I say yes?” You retort.

Instead of replying, he grabs your wrist in a swift motion, causing you to yelp at the sudden touch.

His hand is hot against your skin, a big palm engulfing your wrist that looks small in comparison to his hand. You feel the roughness of his palm that came from years of practice and familiarity with the sword, and you gulp when he drags it to his neck—eyes never leaving yours.

“W-What are you doing—?” You stutter, but then he grabs the sword in your other hand in a moment of weakness and brings it to the hand by his neck as your eyes widen.

“W-Wait—Yoongi—”

Yoongi doesn’t leave room for you to hesitate or pull away when he voluntarily brings his neck alarmingly close to the sharp edge of your sword.

“Slice.”

The hand that isn’t holding the sword to your trainer’s neck falls limp to your side as you gape at him when you note that his words and expression are dead serious, not an inkling of fear on his face at the prospect of you potentially slicing his head off.

“What? No! Are you crazy?” You try to retract your hand, but his wrist returns to grab at it.

Your face is forced to stare at his when he levels a hooded stare at you, making your heart beat faster, flustered at the proximity of your bodies.

“The motion, ____.” He calls your name, and even as it falls from his lips you feel less worthy; like a stranger in the temple.

“If you swing—you’ll kill me. If you slice above my neck, I live.”

The gamble he offers you is petrifying, and it’s even worse because it’s his life on the line—not yours.

Yoongi always had unorthodox methods of training you but never had he put himself on the line like this just so you would learn something.

“I-I’ll fix my motions—I swear! But I’m not going to … I can’t do what you’re asking me to,” You tell him firmly.

Yoongi’s head leans closer, skin barely touching your blade when he pulls your wrist closer as you see the indent of the sword against his pale skin.

“I tell you what to do. Not the other way around.” He reminds you.

You know there’s no room for argument anymore because if you weren’t going to do anything, you were sure Yoongi would take matters into his own hands.

You wanted to call him crazy for trusting someone like you with a sword as sharp as yours against the delicate expanse of his neck, but you were both flustered and scared at what were to happen if he came closer.

“Why would you do this?” You whisper.

“I’m not skilled enough to do this Yoongi …” You tell him, hand shaking around your sword as you feel a lump form in your throat.

Suddenly, you feel the grip on your wrist loosen; and you’re afraid that your words serve as a reminder to him that he’s wasted nearly a year on a hopeless case like you; that he was disappointed in all the time he’s dedicated to training you for you to be unable to carry out a simple slice of the sword.

“I said, slice.”

His stare is cold, eyes blank, and lips pursed when he repeats himself.

You blink up at him, and if he notices the way your eyes are glassy; he doesn’t comment. But you know his expression is one of patience, but there’s only so much that he can take and wait for, and you didn’t want to test him anymore.

So, you slice.

You slice, and bring the sword back to your side, chest heaving and heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. You don’t want to look at Yoongi, terrified if you’ve hurt him.

You stay still with your eyes shut, sword limps in your arms until you hear the shuffle of feet right next to you, and your sword is retrieved from your grip.

“Good.”

You open your eyes and only then do you realise that you’ve foolishly allowed tears to fall.

“You’re okay.” You breathe out, observing the fact that his neck is clean—barren of any scar and red.

“Would I risk my life to train an apprentice?” He asks.

You open your mouth to answer but snap it shut when he places your sword next to his against the wooden frame. He gestures for you to sit, and you hesitantly do, mulling over his words as he mirrors your position, right across from you.

“You could do it. So why didn’t you do that earlier?” Yoongi asks a question where he expects an obvious answer.

But you didn’t know. You didn’t know why you weren’t able to slice earlier when you were able to put on the spot with Yoongi’s life on the line.

You think of an answer, but it burns your ears—and you would never dare utter it to Yoongi. A man who feels and breathes nothing but his work.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, awaiting your response as you swallow your words.

“I don’t know.” Is what you settle for.

Yoongi sighs, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his forearms that show the strength he’s trained for over the years that he’s been a thousand-year sword-bearer.

Yoongi had always been cold. A little disinterested and definitely detached from any sentiment that people would usually offer to their apprentices. It seemed that he was only interested in making sure that you weren’t going to embarrass his name after months of relentless training with you.

It’s always been a hard truth to accept, especially when he’s the person you spend most of your time with; nearly twelve hours a day, and the person you want to see you.

But you’re just … his apprentice. A foolish one, one that fails to show the true glory of a trainer like him.

“You do know, ____. Think.” He leans forward, hands placed on the floorboard in between the two of you as he looks straight into your eyes.

You bite your lip, afraid to tell him why. Afraid that your answer will only push him away rather than please him.

“I-I don’t know Yoongi.” You say softly.

Yoongi blinks then lean back—distancing himself from you.

Your eyes dart to the side, avoiding his stare because you were sure you were going to break if you saw the disappointment that mars his expression.

“Then let me tell you.” He finally says after a moment of silence.

Your eyes widen when your head snaps back to look at him.

You’re terrified that he sees through you. That he recognises the dopey look you give him when he isn’t looking, or why you sometimes get distracted, or your palms sweat for a reason that isn’t because of how hard practice is—that he sees your heart, and he’s here to snap you out of it.

“It’s because you’re worthy.” Yoongi whispers, hands reaching out to grab your own, and suddenly you’re pulled onto his lap.

You gasp, attempting to balance yourself as you find a position that doesn’t strain your thighs and one that isn’t mortifying.

“Y-Yoongi … what—”

“Do you know why you’re here, _____?” He asks, eyes searching for your own.

His expression is still the same. It’s still very much Yoongi, but it’s softer, more mellow. Like he wants you to not be afraid of what’s to come.

“The deity’s chose me …?” You say hesitantly, voice soft and hesitant.

“It’s because I want to keep training you.” He tells you.

His confession knocks the breath out of your lungs as your eyes widen. Your hands that were locked between his starts turning sweaty, and you want to curse at yourself for displaying obvious signs of nerves when Yoongi is debatably the most observant man out there.

“But I’m slow … and I can’t nail your techniques like a true sword-bearer … and I argue with you—”

He interrupts you with his own set of words, accompanied by the soft look from earlier.

“And that’s okay. You’re not here to be judged by my pace or standards. It’s not fair for you and you won’t get anywhere if you want to nail my techniques my way.” He whispers.

You blink, feeling your heart constrict at his honest words.

“B-But you’re always yelling at me.” You pout.

Yoongi wants to rub his thumb between your furrowed brows, but he knows that you needed to be trodden lightly with and that he was sure you were going to faint if he did anything more than just have your hands in his own.

“And that’s because I see what you can do ____,” He tells you, “You’re always giving up because you think you can’t do it. That’s what frustrates me. That you can’t see how great you are at sword-bearing even when your body fights against you to continue.”

You stare at him in shock when he releases your hands to only reach up to grab your cheeks, forcing you to stare at his face.

You’re sure your face is burning, and you can’t even avoid his gaze because he’s dead-set on making sure your eyes stay on his when they chase yours that run away.

“Look at me, ____.”

You reluctantly avert your eyes to his, and you see every pore up close, you see the gentle whip of his long eyelashes and the pout of his lips that look too inviting.

You briefly see his gaze drift to the bottom of your face, where your lips are, and you feel your heartbeat erratically against your chest.

Yoongi looks good when he trains you, eyes scrunched and focused as his black hair remains tousled when he demonstrates positions for you to mirror. But he looks breathtaking up close. The usual blankness of his face looks less intimidating closer like it was your blank canvas to paint—a face where you were in charge of what was to be expressed on it.

“Stop doubting yourself or your skills.” He tuts at you, and you burn under his attention.

“I want you to continue fighting the way you have always fought here. The fire that you have in you? Yeah, don’t let that burn out because you’re more than just the chosen one _____. You’re … you’re talented. No one can convince you but yourself, so I need you to start trusting yourself more because once you’re done with training it’s just going to be you against the rest. I won’t be here to remind you anymore.”

You’re stunned to silence with the honesty of his words. You know that Yoongi doesn’t say this, in fact—it’s the first time you’ve heard such earnest words from the man himself throughout the long months you’ve spent training under him.

Even the other residents of the temple have told you that Yoongi wasn’t the most expressive person, and even if they didn’t tell you—you weren’t blind to how he treats you or people.

The way he looks at you makes you hope, and it’s a dangerous feeling given your position and how weak your heart is compared to a man like Yoongi.

You snap out of your daze and push him off, scrambling to your feet as you grab your sword to leave—tears in your eyes because you feel like a fool for thinking anything more than what he’s offered you.

Yoongi had been nothing but honest with you … and you weren’t in the right to ask of anything else.

Who were you to?

“____.” He calls out when you reach the entrance, and you feel his imposing presence behind you.

“I’m sorry Yoongi but ��� I can’t.” You tell him shakily, gripping the frame of the door, back faced to him.

“I won’t force you, ____.” He says, curt.

You turn around, heart dropping at the change of his tone. When you see his expression return to the blank expression that he usually has, you have to stop yourself from being disappointed. Realising that what he told you when he held you; was probably to keep you on your feet and determined.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You exasperate.

He furrows his brows, attempting to read you. But your heart is confused and so is your mind.

“I’ll train hard. I know that …” You clear your throat, attempting to level your words out.

“I won’t ask for more. I’ll do better.” You say firmly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything but pulls you closer by the elbow until you’re pressed against his chest.

“I don’t think you get it, ____.” He says slowly.

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s faster with his response.

“What did you think I meant just now when I told you to stop doubting yourself?” He asks.

“Yoongi, what are you—”

He shushes you with a finger to your lips, and you blush at the touch.

“Answer my question.”

You sigh, slapping his finger away from your mouth to glare at him. But Yoongi simply offers a small shrug of his shoulders in response.

“Look. I know I’ve been slacking off and this is you trying to be nice … which I appreciate, a lot. Really. I do. I know you don’t do …” You gesture to your bodies, “… all of this. So I’ll work harder. You don’t need to—you don’t need to walk on eggshells with me.”

Yoongi blinks.

Not once, but twice.

You gulp, afraid you’ve said too much but you’re helpless against his tight grip on your body so that you’re unable to run away, away from his gaze that you still can’t read.

But then he laughs, and you’re confused at the sound because Yoongi rarely ever displayed any emotion but stoicism when he was with you, and you think you’ve heard him laugh a total of three times throughout the past few months you’ve trained under him.

“Why are you laughing?” You pout.

Yoongi looks at you fondly and sees a fighter but also a woman, a woman who is yet to understand social cues or affection may be because of the way you were brought up—but also maybe because of how Yoongi is by nature.

So instead of explaining in words, where you can misinterpret it, he reaches for your chin gently to turn your face to him so that you see his gentle gaze—and he kisses you.

On the lips.

You’re too shocked to kiss back, your arms staying awkwardly by your side until Yoongi slides a hand down to your hips and squeezes them that you reach your arms around his neck.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel his lips against your own, soft, hot and gentle. It was everything like how you dreamt of when you selfishly allowed yourself to indulge in your fantasy—it was now served as a reality and it was so much better than you could ever have thought it to be.

The kiss was so … Yoongi. He wasn’t rushing, he savoured every taste of your lips against his like he had all the time in the world like he spent years planning this very step with calculated precision because Yoongi was not the type to half-ass anything.

It’s until you feel your lungs fighting for air that you pull away, mesmerised by the string of saliva that connects your lips and the swollen pink flesh of Yoongi’s.

“W-What—”

“This is me, ____.” He says against your lips, as you feel your heart race against your chest.

“I believe in you.”

Somehow, you understood. Those four words were enough for you to know where his heart truly laid, and where he stood with you.

“I just … wow,” You breathe.

But then, with all your doubts overcome with joy, you throw all shame out of the window and pull him by the collar until his mouth is on your own again.

This time, with you leading the kiss, you kiss harder even with the inexperience. Yoongi was your first kiss but you knew that you wanted him, that your heart was his even against your better judgment.

You feel him lick into the seams of your mouth, hands reaching down to pull your hips flush against his pelvis, backing you up until your back reaches the frame of the door.

All you feel is Yoongi. You smell him, the slight tinge of perspiration with the scent of nature that surrounds the temple. He tastes just like everything you’ve been waiting for and more, and he only proves how much he was yours as you were his when he grabs your hand to interlock it with strands of his dark hair.

He leaves open-mouth kisses against your lips, breathing heavily with want when you let out small whimpers of desire.

“You really know how to put on a show, huh?” He whispers.

You grin up at him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, offering him a tempting smile that he grins fondly at.

You’re just about to slip his shirt off when the door slams open.

“Yoongi! ____! We were—”

Before you can even yelp, you shove Yoongi off of you until he drops on his back on the floor, a loud groan reverberating through the walls of the training room as you attempt to straighten your unruly appearance.

You were sure that your lips were swollen and that you were flushed with the way your lips made a home out of Yoongi’s, but you hoped that the three men by the door were dense enough to not catch what was going on.

“A warning would’ve been nice, yeah?” Yoongi grunts, glaring at you when you snap your gaze away from him to offer a meek smile at Jimin, who is all but grinning maniacally at you.

You feel like you’ve committed a crime, but in reality—there was no restriction in making out with your trainer … nor were there any when it came to dating but you knew the mirth that danced between the eyes of the men and you weren’t looking forward to what was to come.

“Sorry to disturb, hyung. It seems that you were … occupied.” Jungkook speaks up, snickering when he catches a glimpse of Yoongi’s shirt halfway off, exposing the firm slope of his abdomen and chest.

You absentmindedly ogle his body, heat surging through your body until you remember that there were people who would call you out.

“Noona, your …” Taehyung gestures to your cheeks and you mortifyingly reach for your cheeks only to feel the heat.

“What did you guys want?” Yoongi grunts, pushing himself off the ground and hastily buttoning his shirt as he takes a position next to you, his presence more engulfing now after you’ve had your taste.

You see Jimin’s eyes dart between the two of you quickly, a cheeky smile adorning his face before he speaks up.

“Dinner’s ready.” He tells you, pushing Taehyung and Jungkook out the door.

Only when he’s halfway out does he say:

“It seems like you had yours already.”

When they’re out of your vision, you groan, burying your head into Yoongi’s chest; absolutely mortified at the two of you being caught.

Yoongi rests a gentle hand on your lower back, and another reaches to hold your chin gently.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers against your lips.

You feel giddy when you walk into the dining hall, his hands intertwined with your own.

[afictionaladventure16]

Upon the Sweetest Flower (Chris Evans x Daughter!Reader)

Chapter 6

Upon the Sweetest Flower Masterlist

Previously on Upon the Sweetest Flower... 

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping

Word Count: 2,031

~ THEN ~ 

The local theatre was always packed on Friday nights. Families came for family movie nights, couples came for date nights, and sometimes people just came to enjoy a movie by themselves. Your father tried his best to make time for you when he was home from filming, he knew you were growing up and knew this time, especially during your teen years, was special. So, he’d take you to the movies, then to dinner and home for family game night. But this particular night was different, while you stood in line alongside your dad to get tickets, you could not help but notice a kid from school. 

But not just any kid. No, this kid was part of the popular group, he was also your lab partner and you’ve been crushing on him since the beginning of the semester. You watched as he stood off to the side of the ticket booth alongside his buddies. There were four of them in total, one of them played varsity football and the other two were wrestlers. They had been friends since middle school, but over the summer, Jacob, the one you were crushing on, had a huge glow up. Everyone noticed. He had gone to the gym all summer, training for varsity football to play alongside his friend. That’s when you began to take more of notice towards him and being his lab partner was a huge plus. 

“Y/N?” You snapped out of your thoughts and looked over at your dad. 

“What?” you asked with a slight annoyance in your voice. 

Chris gave you a confused look before shrugging it off, “pick the seats, hon,” he said softly as he gestured towards the screen. 

“Right,” you let out a deep breath. Your dad always let you pick the seats, but they were always the same, in the way back of the theatre and in the middle. Your dad never complained about your choice of seats. You stepped back for your dad to pay for the tickets, you glanced over to where Jacob was; thankful to see that he was still there in the same spot. 

“Y/N!” Quickly snapping out of your daze once again, you turn towards your dad. He had a disbelief expression on his face, gesturing you to follow him. You rolled your eyes and walked with him towards the concessions stand. “What is up with you today?” He asked sweetly as you stood a couple of feet away from him. 

“What do you mean?” you crossed your arms across your chest, every so often glancing towards the group. 

“You’re standing so far away and you’re constantly zoning out,” he stated as he pulled your arm gently to get you closer towards him. 

You groaned and yanked your arm away, “dad, stop. You’re embarrassing me.” 

“Embarrassing you? Sweetheart, what is going on? You never act this way,” Chris finally noticed you glancing towards the small group. His eyes watched your eyes gaze towards the young man and it all made sense. He let out a chuckle, although, to him, his heart was breaking. His baby girl was growing up and he couldn’t stop it. All he could do was embrace it. “I see what’s going on,” he stated catching your attention.

You looked at your father with wide eyes, “y-you do?” 

He nods, “I used to be your age once. I did the same thing when I had a crush on someone.” Chris knew he was worse, though. He would do the same thing, but he’d also be a bit worse than what his daughter was doing. But he would never tell her that. “If you learned anything from Uncle Scott, it would be how to flirt with boys.” 

“Dad, what are you trying to get at?” You questioned, your eyebrows perched up. 

“Do you want a slushie?” Your dad asked as he took his wallet out. 

“Of course, what I usually get.” 

“Alright, I’ll meet you inside the theatre in five minutes?” 

“W-what?” you were confused as to what he was doing. 

Your dad gestured towards the group with his eyes, “have fun,” he said with a wink. You watched your dad walk away to the concessions stand, his focus on the menu probably trying to figure out what he wanted to get. Letting out a shaky sigh you turn around and slowly make your way over Jacob. He spotted you when you were a couple of feet away, his eyes lit up and a smile stretched across his face. 

“Y/N!” He called out as he stepped away from the group to greet you. His friends didn’t seem bothered by his actions, they smiled softly before carrying on with their conversation. “What brings you here? O-other than the obvious,” he gestures towards the movie posters, causing you to let out a small chuckle. 

“I’m here with my dad,” you glanced over at your dad who was still in line. “He wanted to see the new Star Wars movie.” 

Jacob gave you a small nod, “just saw it with the guys.” He held up his hands, “I promise, I won’t spoil anything! But it’s a definite must-watch. You bring tissues?” 

“Tissues?” You asked in a surprised tone. “Who dies?” 

Jacob chuckles, “I’m just pulling your leg.” He gave you a small wink before clearing his throat. “So, you like Star Wars?” 

You chuckled, “how could I not when I have that nerd” you gestured towards your dad, “for a dad.” 

“So, you would be down for a Star Wars marathon?” Jacob nervously cleared his throat, scratching behind his neck as he glanced over to his friends. “I’m asking because my family is doing a Star Wars marathon in a couple of weeks and I usually invite the guys over and they invite their girlfriends and well if you wanted to come then you’re more than welcome to, but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. That’s totally up to you, but it’d be nice to have you there-” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his nervousness, “I’ll be there.” Yet you weren’t sure if you should take the nervousness in his voice, the way he rambled on as a sign that he was into you.  It was something you definitely had to ask your mom or maybe even Uncle Scott later on. You glanced back over to where your dad was, he was making his way over to the theatre room. 

“Jacob, come on!” You heard a small girl’s voice, you turned around towards the doors and saw a young girl around the age of eight glaring at Jacob. She was clearly annoyed and clearly his little sister. 

“Crap! Um, I’ll see you at school?” He asked you. 

You nod, “of course! See you later!” You waved goodbye as he walked out of the building, but not before giving you a small smile and a wave. Once he was out of sight you let out a small squeal of glee, rushing over to the theatre room where your dad was waiting for you. Once in the room, you made your way up the steps to the back of the room where your dad was sitting watching the previews. He was already eating the popcorn he bought when he spotted you, giving you a small smile as you sat next to him. 

“So, how did it go?” He asked as a smirk played on his face. 

You blushed slightly before grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing some of it in your mouth, “good.” 

“Good good? Or just good? Or good, but not good and I should go out there and find this boy and beat his a-” 

“Dad!” You hissed in a hushed tone, glancing around, thankful that there really weren’t that many people in the room yet. “It was good, okay? Just good.” Chris just let out a small chuckle. “He invited me over his house for a Star Wars marathon.” 

“Like a date!?” Chris asked in disbelief. 

You rolled your eyes, “No, not a date. His friends and family will be there.” At least, you didn’t think it was a date. To you, it was just an invitation to watch movies… oh god, was it a date? Soon enough people began to pile into the room and your attention was drawn to the screen. 

~ NOW ~ 

You woke up with a jolt, bumping your head onto a hard surface. The sound of a motor running pierced through your ears as you tried to take in your surroundings, but it was too dark to see anything. A handkerchief was tied around your face to cover your mouth. Zipties on your wrists, in front of your body, limiting your movements. You felt around as best as you could, feeling the rough edges and carpet like flooring, you knew you were in the trunk of a car. Memories slowly began to resurface. Mr. Firth isn’t the man you thought he was and you had to escape. Your eyes began to sting, never imagining yourself in such a situation. Quickly, you began feeling around for the yellow string that will help you escape the trunk. “Come on,” you muttered to yourself as you searched around for it, but after searching every nook and cranny you had no luck. “Fuck,” you exclaimed. 

Your mind wandered; how long had you been asleep? Were people looking for you? How far away is he taking you? You had so many questions, one most importantly, why? 

Why did Mr. Firth choose you? Why was he making these decisions? You knew the way he looked at you, the way he chose you to speak certain lines. Lines you wished you had never recited, you just knew something about him was different. The way his eyes were filled with joy when you recited “death lies on her like an untimely frost” foreshadowing the events that would follow only in mere minutes, had he known then what he was planning? Was it then that he confirmed his plans in his head? You may never know. 

The sound of police sirens pierced through your ears, your heart leaped for joy. You were getting out of there. You felt the car slow down before coming to a stop with a small jolt. You tried your hardest to focus on the muffled voices that sounded like a radio, the voices slowly fading out. Mr. Firth must have turned the car radio down, giving you the advantage to listen. It felt like minutes before you heard anything, a muffled voice of a police officer asking the routine questions. License, insurance, and registration. Then there was some muffling, a small conversation, but you couldn’t make out the words. 

The officer glanced at the license before glancing back over at the man sitting in front of him, “I swear, you look familiar,” he couldn’t pinpoint it. He just knew this man from somewhere. 

“I’m a high school teacher, probably seen me around the community events, football games, you know,” Mr. Firth replied as he smiled at the officer. Trying his best to keep his cool, but deep down his plan wasn’t going accordingly. His heart was beating rapidly, he was glad the officer couldn’t see it for it was a dead giveaway. Mr. Firth glanced over at the review mirror, just behind the backseats is a body. A live probably still unconscious body and it isn’t his first body. 

The officer’s radio went off, “reports of a possible missing girl a couple of miles east from Sudbury high school. Family is located in a nearby neighborhood, calling in nearby officers.” The officer sighed, knowing well that he can let this small violation of a broken tail light slide. 

“Dispatcher, this is Officer Hopkins, I am in route,” the officer handed Mr. Firth his information back. “Consider yourself lucky,” he began to say. “Fix that tail light whenever you can, alright?” 

Mr. Firth gave the officer a small nod, “Will do, officer.” The officer gave him a nod before running back to his car. You felt tears begin to well up in your eyes, you were so close to freedom. So close.

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[alonelytinywriter]

Forced

Anonymous ~ do you write smut? because if you write smut you should write another villain!au w/ All Might x fem oc where he breaks into her house and fucks her in every hole available and doesn’t let her cum the whole time and cums in her so much her tummy expands and he fucks her right into her womb and it’s just lots of noncon and him making her do whatever he wants her to do. please don’t use my user name I don’t know how to make it not show it. Thxs you!!!!!

*Flames red, fans self, and cracks knuckles* You got it baby, and no problem, name removed! I hope you like it Darling. It’s my first real attempt at writing smut and hopefully it’s what you had in mind. You’re, uh, you are age appropriate for such requests, correct? *Harshly raises eyebrow in judgement* Also, I’m pretty sure that there’s an option around your username that asks if you want to be anonymous? I could be wrong? *Edit - So, it turns out that I didn’t have the Asks set up properly and you couldn’t ask anonymously, and I am so sorry!* 

Warnings: Mature 18+. Smut. Non-con. Shameless, indulgent, request inspired, filth. Real rapey folks. Anal play. Nipple play. Throat fuck. Vaginal Sex. Orgasm control/denial. Daddy kink (implications). Super unrealistic descriptions of how everything works out with the size difference. (Please never look at John. K. Peta in Google. Just. Just don’t.) A mess of curse words. Lots of cum/cum inflation. Cervix penetration. Kidnapping. Graphic descriptions of everything mentioned. It’s fuckin’ filthy y’all. Ye have been warned.

 Yandere! Villain! All Might / Original Female Character

Playlist - The HU (Mongolia) Radio ~ Pandora

Name: Kauri Zenigata ~ Birthday: July 7th ~ Age: 24 ~ Hair Color: Blonde ~ Eye Color: Blue ~ Gender: Female ~ Height: 5′1′’ ~ Quirk: Usagi ~ Occupation: Pole Dancer

Appearance: Kauri is a short girl of a relatively slender build compared to the other girls who work at the gentleman’s club, who has notably large rabbit-like feet as well as two large white ears on her head. Her appearance is rather rabbit-like in general: she has a very fluffy tail at the base of her spine, the tips of her fingers have soft pink pads rather than fingerprints, her eyes are large and coltish; she also demonstrates some rabbit-like mannerisms, like hopping instead of running in life or death situations and thumping her feet against the floor to alert others in her area to danger. Her hair is light blonde, and is very long, although the curls cause it to fall no further than her waist. ~ Most, if not all of Kauri’s clothes outside work come from the thrift markets around town, and she’s managed to collect a rather large closet filled with Mori Kai fashion - loosely fighting layers of garments such as floaty dresses and cardigans. Her clothes all come from natural fabrics and tend to be  hand-made or vintage accessories with nature themes.

Quirk: Usagi (Rabbit) ~ Kauri’s Quirk gives her both physical attributes and abilities of a rabbit. This gives her heightened leg strength, allowing her to jump and kick with extreme force. She also has excellent hearing thanks to her rabbit-like ears, and possess animal instincts that alert her to nearby danger.

Power - 4/5 ~ Speed - 5/6 (S) ~ Technique - 2/5 ~ Intelligence - 3/5 ~ Cooperativeness - 5/5

~ Forced ~

~ Kauri Zenigata arrives home after working an exhausting night and barely manages to wipe away the heavy stage makeup from her face and change from the barely there underwear she wears for her work into a pair of plain black panties and a tank-top of the same color. The moment her head hits the pillows her body melts into the mattress and everything goes dark behind her eyelids. She doesn’t feel like she’s been asleep long at all when she feels a heavy weight holding her down and she wakes up to find a looming shadow above her, a single hand pressed into her wrists while a second stroked and touched her body. He’s already talking when she wakes and when she listens to the words her blood runs cold.

 ~ “ -little angel. So perfect. Such a dirty little slut. You like it, huh? Dressing like a slut and dancing in front of all those men? You’ve been asking for someone to fuck you for a long time. Gonna wreak that pretty little pussy of yours, baby girl.” Even if his voice hadn’t been instantly recognizable the piercing blue eyes cutting through the darkness certainly were, and Kauri’s situation came to her in a rush.

 ~ She was no longer wearing the clothes she had fallen asleep in, she realized, and there was something hard and stiff rubbing against her stomach; after a fleeting moment of confusion, Kauri realized that it was his dick rubbing against her pussy while the tip leaked pre-slick above her navel. Long and thick and so hard she could feel every vein as they passed over her freshly waxed slit, his shaft was nearly as large as her forearm. “No! No, no, no -” Kauri begins to scream, and she suddenly regrets living in such a remote part of town. It had seemed so nice, not having any neighbors for three blocks in any direction, but now, with Japan’s Number One Villain forcing her back into the mattress, pressing his obvious erection against her, it suddenly seemed as if she might as well be on Jupiter. “No!”

 ~ The laugh that leaves All Smite is booming. “Come now, darling. You work at a gentleman’s night club. You can’t tell me that you haven’t expected this - haven’t expected what would happen to you if anyone ever thought to follow you home.” All Smite begins to laugh again when Kauri starts to cry, huge tears pooling against her lashes before falling into her pale hair. Words of denial and refusal continued to fall from her lips, but they were incoherent between the hiccuping sobs that escaped with every breath, her body nearly vibrating as All Smite leaned forward so that his teeth could scrap across the sensitive skin on her neck and chest.

 ~ Kauri’s voice rose to a wailing cry when he pulled her to the edge of the bed and bent her at the waist so that her hips were pulled up into the air. His mouth latched onto the smooth lips of her pussy and sucked - hard. His teeth followed after and Kauri’s voice continued to rise and fall as All Smite abused the soft slit before him. Drawing back, All Smite felt the girls legs shaking where they rested against his shoulders, her back pressed against his chest, and he smiled wolfishly. With one hand, he held her in the air by a single ankle, and with the other he spread her swollen, bruised, beautiful pussy lips wide, her slit bare before him; a second later his lips and teeth latch onto her clit, making Kauri’s legs to go stiff and her entire being to go hot - hot - her hips began to thrust against his tongue, a wave a pleasure rising up in a white hot pulsating tide that was seconds away from washing over her -

 ~ And then All Smite removed his mouth, stopping all stimulation and the moan of frustration that leaves Kauri’s mouth is absolutely filthy as her pussy clenches around nothing in a dry imitation of an orgasm. “Oh, no, baby. Good girls don’t cum without their Daddy’s permission. You’re so small, you know. Like fucking with a little girl.” All Smite let Kauri fall limply onto the bed, her head hanging from the edge. His fingers slipped into her mouth and he forced them in and out after commanding her to suck. Kauri, who very much so wished she was brave enough to bite the villains fingers as a way to show him that he didn’t own her, began to openly weep as All Smite continued to speak. “Oh baby girl, so fucking small. Like a little doll. Gonna fuck you up and take you home so I can do it all over again. Gonna ruin that pretty little pussy of yours, and fuck this cute little mouth-pussy until your lips are swollen and you can’t breath without my dick in your throat.”

 ~ All Smite removed his fingers from her mouth, wet and glistening with her saliva, and found her nipples, pinching hard enough that Kauri’s mouth opened into an immediate yelp of pain. The sound was cut short, however, when All Smite pressed his hips forward, burying the head of his dick into her mouth. “If you bite me, I’ll break your neck, little girl.” And Kauri believed him. It didn’t matter how fast she knew she could be - how strong - All Smite could break her in a second if he wanted. But he hadn’t. Not yet, at the very least if you didn’t count the bruises Kauri could feel forming on her wrists and neck.

~ “Mmmphh!!” Kauri’s hands flew to All Smite’s thighs, pushing away, trying desperately to breath past All Smite’s length when it hit the back of her throat and then continued. Thrashing, Kauri’s hips rolled across the bed despite All Smite’s hands on her lower back, and he groaned, “Ahhh, c’mon, don’t struggle. That’s it. Swallow baby.” All Smite pulled back when only half his dick was buried in her throat, his glacier blue eyes flashing for a moment before he smiled, teeth wicked sharp in the darkness of the room, and then he thrust forward, encasing the length of his dick to the base. With Kauri’s nose buried against the fine golden hair just above the base of his cock, he began to snap his hips forward, while one hand slid to focus on her abused slit while the other pinched and pulled her puffy nipples. His words began to assault her ears as he continued to fuck her throat, muttering vile, degrading things when her pussy began to produce slick. He gathered the wetness and began to pool it upward, rubbing against the small star bud so close to the entrance of her pussy. For a moment - only a moment - All Smite pulled back, his dick resting along the side of her face, and she wondered why until All Smite slipped two thick fingers into her ass, slamming them to the last knuckle with no warming before scissoring them inside her, stretching her open. “Didn’t want you to bite my dick off when I did that.” All Smite muttered against her back as she shrieked, before nipping at her bottom with his teeth, causing her to convulse.

 ~ All Smite began to against her wet heat once again, even as he thrust his fingers into her again and again, ignoring her pleas to stop. The pleasure was back, spreading through her pussy and making her clit feel as if it were on fire, the throbbing unbearable as she felt the pleasure spike as All Smite rubbed at the swollen button of flesh. The fingers in her ass were pumping into her vigorously, making her backside burn like ice as the pain mixed with the pleasure from her clit. The mixture was overwhelming and she began to whine low in her throat. She was close - so close - almost - All Smites fingers found her clit again, pinching this time, causing Kauri’s faint moans to change to a hoarse scream as the pleasure turned to pain and the orgasm was forced away once again. All Smite wasted no time in pressing his dick back into her mouth, thrusting forward hard and fast all at once, the whole length of him in her throat before she can take a breath.

 ~ I . . . c - can’t . . . breathe . . . Kauri’s eyes rolled upwards, vision blurring into a wall of golden light. The throbbing in her clit was beginning to rise once again as All Smite rolled the bud between his fingertips. “Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, baby girl. That’s it!” All Smite’s roar drowned out the sound of Kauri’s feeble cry around his cock when he abandoned her clit just as she retched the edge of yet another ruined orgasm and instead threaded his fingers through her hair, forcing the whole of his penis into her mouth and throat as thick ropes of cum erupted into her esophagus. His fingers massaged her scalp and ears as his hips continued to give sudden, jerky thrusts, holding her down with his length still buried in her throat. Kauri could see black spots beginning to dance before her eyes, could feel of him pulsing inside her neck, blocking her airway. Her head began to spin and her hands, which had been pressing against the villain’s hips, fell to the bed, fingers dangling limply towards the floor. “That’s a good girl. But what’s wrong, your heartbeat feels faint. Doesn’t it feel good baby girl?”

 ~ Kauri couldn’t be sure, but she thinks that she passed out with his shaft still forcing her throat to stretch, because the next thing she knows, she’s laying with her back against the bed instead of her stomach and All Smite is smiling down at her in a way that makes her stomach curdle. His fingers pinch and pull her nipples, massaging her generous breasts as he spoke softly to her, his voice nearly inaudible as he seems to speak with himself over her small body. His fingers soon moved from gently tugging and pulling at her rosy nipples to twisting them and pulling against them so the weight of her breast hug from their tips making Kauri cry out.

 ~ Something jingles loudly in All Smite’s hands, but before Kauri can give the sound a second thought something cold and heavy and tight wrapped around the base of each nipple and the pain that seemed to engulf her breasts made her scream high and loud, her voice breaking at the end as she scrambles to move away, to protect herself from more pain. Her leg jerks from his grasp and a moment later her foot - large, furry, and strong - hits his chest with enough force to make All Smite’s breath rush from his lungs. Glaring, All Smite easily slips a hand around a singe hips the moment she manages to move to her hands and knees, the weighted clamps attached to her nipples pulling against the sensitive flesh painfully, and he yanks her back in one fluid motion. Kauri screams again when her weight is forced onto her chest, rubbing and pressing against her nipples so that her screams continue as he easily forces her over his lap.

 ~ “Where do you think you’re going, baby girl?” All Smite’s voice cracks as he begins to fondle her ass, spanking her ever time she seems to become too comfortable with his touches. It was after his hands fell upon her ass in a quick succession of blows that Kauri lost count of when he slipped his fingers between the folds of her pussy to find it absolutely soaking wet. “Holy fuck, are you - are you liking this?” All Smite asks, mocking her with the tone of his voice and the fingers that skimmed the surface of her swollen clit, making her entire body tremble. The immediate, feeble ‘no’ that leaves Kauri’s mouth causes All Smite to smile, his hands already pulling her up so that she was sitting across his lap, the head of his dick resting against the bottom of her sternum while her hips strained to spread far enough to allow his thighs between her own.

 ~ When All Smite moves to position Kauri over the head of his shaft by lifting her as if she weighs no more than a kitten, the swollen tip leaking pre-slick across her already soaked entrance, her voice raises in level once more. Her voice raw and rasping, Kauri begin to struggle against him once more, shaking her head. “It won’t fit - too big - you can’t - no.” She knew that her words were disjointed, that they didn’t make sense, but as she felt the large head of All Smite’s shaft begin to force its way into her body, Kauri swore she could feel her pelvic bones creaking. It hurt, hurt, hurt, and All Smite wasn’t stopping, not when her nails scrapped across the skin of his chest and forearms, not when her back arched in an attempt to throw herself from his hold, not when she screamed so loudly her voice broke and suddenly became nothing more than a rasping squeak. He had only managed to force the head of his dick inside her entrance and already it felt as if he were splitting her in two. Her neck felt weak and Kauri couldn’t seem to hold her head up as All Smite rolled his hits into hers, chuckling when she stiffened and whimpered, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. 

 ~ “Still awake down there, baby girl?” All Smite chuckled, pulling back so that  the swell of the  tip of his shaft rested against her folds. Her hands were slack against his chest and it seemed as if her eyes might be rolled into the back of her head. “Hey, c’mon now, you’ll want to wake up for this next part. It should be . . . Plus Ultra.” All Smite laughed, the old saying from his high school days rolling from his tongue easily as his hands gripped her hips tightly then, giving her no room to move as he pressed his hips forward - and then he surged upward and Kauri wailed as his length sunk into her heat. 

~ “You’re breaking me! I”m breaking - you’re going to break me - I can’t!” All Smite laughed and told her what nonsense that was - “After all a woman’s pussy’s meant to have a baby and as flattering as that is, my dicks no where near the size of a baby.” - and then he was moving, the length of his dick showing through the bulge in her stomach each time he thrust. Kauri continued to wail, unable to help the sounds escaping her mouth as All Smite bounced her on his lap. With her back pressed against his chest it was easy to reach the swollen bud between her legs and he rubbed it aggressively as he began to bounce her, and her nails dug almost painfully into his wrist as her walls began to flutter around his shaft. He waited until the fluttering stuttered and her breath caught before he pulled his fingers away. The orgasm was further halted by his other hand pulling one of the clamps on her nipples sharply and suddenly so that it pulled from her skin with a loud snap. “I told you, only good girl get to cum and you’ve not proven that you’re a good girl yet, have you?”

 ~ She lost the second clamp when All Smite denied her yet again and her thoughts were beginning to go fuzzy around the edges. She didn’t scream when the nipple clamp was painfully pulled from her body, but she did begin to sob when All Smite pulled his dick from her pussy with an audible pop and a rush of fluid down her thighs. Her pussy clenched painfully at nothing and All Smite turned her so that he could watch as she trembled in his arms. “Fuck baby girl, gonna cum soon and fill that pretty pussy of yours with my cum.” 

 ~ Pulling her up he dropped her down again with no warning, and he groaned as he felt her battered cervix give beneath the pressure and the last few inches of his shaft slipped inside as he moved impossible deeper into her slit. “Wha - !? Uahhhh! No! Nooo!” Kauri wailed. All Smite’s hands wrapped around her waist and he smiled. “Do you feel that baby? Feel your womb getting pushed up? Your so stuffed with my cock that I can feel your ovaries.” Kauri’s face flushed violently and she shook her head when All Smite’s fingers danced across the skin of her belly. “No! Stop it! Don’t - you can’t do this! You can’t! You can’t!” All Smite laughed through each word by pulling back till only the tip of his shaft lay inside her before pushing forward with as much force as he possible could. His fingers found her clit again and he rubbed with a single minded intent and for a moment, a fleeting moment, Kauri thought he might finally allow her to tip over the edge but then he leaned down close to her ear, “Fuck, baby girl. Fuck, I’m . . . I’m gonna cum! I’m - I’m cumming!”, and he pulled his finger away and left her teetering at the edge once more, her voice a breathless whine as her body shook on his dick.

 ~ Kauri could feel the rush of liquid as it filled her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as All Smite continued to swipe his fingertips against the swollen bud that was throbbing painfully between her legs. She was cramping, the pressure from the villain’s cum trapped within her pussy causing the swelling of her stomach to grow. The shape of All Smite’s dick became less pronounced and then disappeared all together while he continued to pump into her slit, each thrust filling her with more and more of his essence.  “Such a good girl.” All Smite crooned into her ear, his hand rubbing across her belly, which was swollen to the point she seemed nearly four months pregnant. “Such a good girl. If you keep being good I just might let you cum when we get home. I can’t wait to fuck you again. Such a good girl.”

[yyxgin]

hi are we friends yet because ♡ i have decided to come to you whenever some stupid bts shit goes through my mind and today i offer you: a drabble in which the boys invite you (a close friend mayhaps?idk i didn't think this through) to visit them on tour and you have to share a bed with a member who isn't exactly fond of you but you end up cuddling and he goes all soft for you when you wake up?only if you want to!!you don't even have to write it you can just respond 'yes 💞' and i'd say thank

hi hello we are best friends now,,please come to me with all the bts shit i'm willing to write everything. anyways here it is,,you did not specify the member so i wrote it w seokjinnie (i'm living for this au btw,, its so over-used but still good lmao)

pairing: seokjin x fem!reader ; genre: idk man, angst? and than fluff? seokjin hates you and then he does not ; words: 1.5k ; warnings: mentions of alcohol, maybe curse words i'm not sure, jin is a meanie >:((

Kim Seokjin wasn't exactly fond of you.

So when he found out that his band mate Jungkook insisted on bringing you, his best friend, to visit them on tour for a week, he was furious.

„What do you mean y/n is coming? You won't be able to focus, she'll only distract us from work.“

His excuse was a poor one, but it made sense. The bad thing was that his younger brother was quick to sweep off any of these reasonings off the table.

„Seokjin hyung, she's my best friend. I promised to take her with me some day and she always wanted to visit Spain. And it's only for a week.“ his pleading was a pain in the older's ass. He always gave in for his little one.

Why didn't Seokjin like you? Well, that's an interesting question.

You were quite childish in his eyes, being the same age as his maknae. He never saw you as a grown woman, you were always a little girl for him. The age gap wasn't that big, but to Seokjin, it seemed like a good enough reason for him to have second thoughts. You two haven't really talked to each other that much, but he felt like your personalities just did not click well. So with that, Jin has made his mind. He didn't hate you, but he was more happy when you weren't around.

„You guys were so good!“

These words were the first Seokjin heard when he came back into the waiting room at the stadium. He rolled his eyes as he took a seat on the sofa and tried to catch his breath.

„Thank you!“ Jin watched Jungkook as he took you into his arms and span you around.

„Especially Jin, Epiphany really made me tear up a little. Your managers made fun of me when they saw me.“ you giggled and took a seat next to your best friend on the sofa.

„Yeah, sure.“

Jin's tone of voice made your best friend glare at him. His words hurt you a little, but you weren't going to show it. You weren't a little girl anymore.

„We are getting drinks! Y/n, you're coming, right?“ Jimin asked you and pierced you with a playful look.

„Of course I am!“ you laughed.

Everyone liked you. Not Seokjin. It was weird.

But as the boys catched their breathes, changed and ate dinner, all eight of you made your way into a packed club in Madrid to celebrate the success their toor has been so far.

If you weren't there, they wouldn't be getting drinks right now. But it was your last night here, so they wanted to make sure it was a memoriable one. It made Jin's stomach twist. Are you really a kid that needs to be entertained?

„Promise to not get drunk.“ you said to Jungkook in a low tone.

Jin's ears pricked up on the sound of your voice.

„I won't.“

„Promise. I don't want to take care of you tonight.“ your scolding made Jin smirk.

Jungkook was known to be a literal baby when drunk and everyone knew this. It was understaneable of you not wanting to be his care-taker for the last day of your visit.

But Jungkook did not keep his promise.

And so when it was past 3 am and everyone was drunk out of their minds, it was your job to get them to their hotel. You were sharing a room (and a bed, you two really didn't mind) with Jungkook and you really wanted to sleep, because the night has been everything but fun to you.

Everyone got drunk. You did not. But neither did Jin.

He saw you struggling to carry your best friend. Altough he thought that this whole drinking session was for you, it seemed now that you didn't even enjoy drinking. Seokjin furrowed his brows as he came up to you and helped you with the heavy beast your friend was.

„Let's go. I've sent the rest of them in a cab to the hotel already and another one is waiting for us in front of the bar.“ his voice was low and considerate, but loud enough to cut through the loud music.

You shamefully looked to the ground and nodded. Why were you acting so bashful?

You eventually got to the hotel, so now it was time to go to your room and get him to sleep. Jungkook, on the other hand, had a different idea.

„I want to sleep with Jimin tonight.“ he offered.

„No, Jungkook, we are sharing a room.“

„But I want to sleep in Jimin's room.“

You knew there was no use in trying to convince him. If you'd bring him to your room, he'd only get up and try go get to Jimin's room, which would cause only more trouble. So you nodded along and with Seokjin's help, you tried to walk him to Jimin's room.

Once the door behind him was closed, you were left with Jin. It was strangely quiet.

„Umm… thanks for the help. You can go to sleep now. Sorry for bothering so much.“ you let out and shyly smiled at your companion.

„Well, I'd love to, but your best friend just went and took my bed, so…“

The realisation hits you. Everyone was now in their rooms, all the beds were taken. The only bed free for the two of you to use was the bed you were supposed to share with Jungkook.

„Oh, well, you can sleep in my bed. I'll take the floor.“ you said and began to walk to your room on the other side of the hallway.

„What about Jungkook's bed?“

„Well, we were supposed to share. So, it's the same bed.“ you were red in your cheeks. The sight somehow made Jin chuckle.

„How practical.“

He didn't say anything else as he walked into your room. The bed was big, there was no trouble with two people sleeping there and not running into each other's bodies.

But even after this realisation, a confusing sentence left Seokjin's mouth. „It's fine, I'll take the floor.“

„No!“ you let out, suddenly wincing at the urgency in your voice. „I mean, no. It's my fault, so you take the bed. You need to sleep in a comfortable place, you are a performer, you can't wake up with a sore back.“ you explained.

It was good to hear from you. The words didn't sound only polite, but considerate as well, making Seokjin look at you in a slightly different way. „Sleep in the bed too. It's big enough." he muttered.

The blush on your cheeks deepened. „No, I can't…“

„For the love of god, just do it. I want to sleep already and I'm not in the mood for bickering.“ he snapped.

The tone of his voice cut through you like a knife. He sounded so annoyed. You hated feeling annoying. You didn't reply.

So after a few minutes, you found yourself sharing a bed with Kim Seokjin. It was strange. And weird. And it definetly made your heart race.

Jin's heart? Fine. But his conscience? Bad.

„Sorry for snapping.“ he said into the quiet room.

„Oh, it's okay. You have every right to be annoyed with me.“

„Do I?“ his question caught you off guard.

„Well, I know that you hate me.“

„I don't-“

„And it's fine, really. I tried really hard to get you to like me because what Jungkook's friends think of me means a lot to me, but it seems like I did something that made you dislike me, so…“

Your back was turned to him, but just the sight of you curled up in the corner of the bed made his heart broke a little. The realisation hit him. You knew all along how he felt about you, but he never thought about how it made you feel.

Did he really have a valid reason to dislike you?

The room is quiet for a while and you thought that Jin has already fallen asleep, when his voice called you again.

„Did you really cry during Epiphany tonight?“ he asked.

„Yeah.“ you chuckled.

Jin doesn't know what moved in him or when it happened, but he had a sudden urge to hold you. Like he wanted to erease every moment he's been horrible to you with just a little touch.

So that's what he did. He hugged you. And you let him. Hell, you've been dreaming of it for a while now.

The last thing you heared before falling asleep in his arms is a heartfelt, guilty and honest apology.

„I'm sorry.“

And when the morning comes, Seokjin wakes up and watches you with hazy eyes. Your skin is illuminated by the morning sun and your face looks cute when you are sleeping. He woke up with you still in his arms and something about that thought makes him bubble up inside.

When the morning comes, Kim Seokjin can think only of one thing: How could he ever hate you?

[unholyplumpprincess]

I Need It Rough

Here’s for @clefaiiiry for the idea of Crypto/Mirage and Crypto being frustrated and needy and getting his pretty little face fucked like he deserves.

Summary: Crypto is frustrated at a match gone wrong (IE he didn't win) and seeks out the comfort of his partner in a more...non traditional manner. Elliott, ever the most deserving of Best Boyfriend Of The Year Award, face fucks the hell out of him to help fuck out his frustrations.

(Older content)

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog :D

Minors and ageless blogs DNI or you will be blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Crypto/Mirage

Warnings: NSFT/18+, rough face fucking, uhhh fucking out frustrations?, fluffy aftercare, dom mirage??? On MY blog??

Words: 2.4k

__________________

Loud mouth. Smooth talker. Doesn’t shut up.

A lot of names for Elliott could come and go as they pleased. He knew what he was, and he knew what his voice did for many. Especially his fans. He liked to show off, be glamorous as he pleased. But, most importantly, he liked how his voice made a certain someone squirm.

Crypto had been a new legend added to the roster through unforeseen challenges. In fact, Elliott is sure they hadn’t even BEEN seen. Regardless, he’d been welcomed into the top Legends crew like one of their own. Even if there was some curiosity about how he even got there.

It took a little while to break through any of his layers. Even Elliott, who came off as the most least feared of them all, couldn’t quite crack his hard exterior easily. Because even if he came off friendly and inviting, Crypto had made it clear that Elliott was just as to be feared as any other legend. He was there for a reason. His smile and laugh were not the reasons his kill count was so high.

~Rest under the cut~

Becoming partners- now that was even unforeseen by Crypto. He had no interest in finding a partner, let alone falling for another legend. That in itself was dangerous, it drew too much attention. The media curious about who had Elliott all lovestruck.

Thankfully, Elliott could keep his mouth shut sometimes. Kept it a mystery. Some people speculated it to be the ever-fearsome Bloodhound, some even guessed at Wraith but when he chuckled and lightly brushed it off that theory was shot down entirely.

Crypto smirked every time he saw headlines. ‘WHO IS DATING THE LOUD MOUTH LEGEND?’ Tempting enough to reveal himself, almost.

Almost.

No one expected it to be Crypto. Why would they? He was a stranger in their midst, yet an enigma easier to solve than Bloodhound, he had a pretty face. It made it easier to climb the ranks of popularity online, something he still kept tabs on even if he didn’t run the drones streaming the game live for others now.

His mother would be proud knowing he’d landed her favorite. Elliott ‘Mirage’ Witt. However, he kept that out of the letters. No need for more exposure and concern.

When it came down to it, Elliott was a lover of higher expectations. At least for Crypto, who had been used to the idea of loving someone coming with a price. It did, but telling little bits about himself and going slow was not too bad of a price. Especially when Elliott was all smiles, dimples, and a smooth voice telling him that of course they could go slow.

It didn’t affect their work in the matches either. Whether against one another or on a squad, there was no hinderance.

Except, of course, when Crypto found himself in the top five. Edging closer to the sweet taste of victory only to fall to a newcomer who was keen on focusing the hacker down. A few shots to the back and a familiar pain only to find himself awake in the med bay with the words ‘SQUAD ELIMINATED’ on the screen in front of him.

It meant frustration. It meant need. It meant desires he couldn’t handle until they became too much and he’d rather scream or be used.

The latter was more appealing.

The dorms set up on this planet were nice. It was like a little community for the more experienced legends and those newcomers from all over who wanted to participate in the blood sport and work their way up to being champions. The qualifications for it all were something Crypto was glad he didn’t have to go through.

Elliott’s dorm is much like his room on the dropship when they were all being sent to Talos. It’s covered in fanart of himself in the living room, his color scheme most prominent here. There’s a few cardboard cutouts from various sponsors, different gear to promo, his kitchen has quite a few drinks and mixing tools for said drinks, something that makes Crypto smile a bit when entering. Elliott wanted to take his bar with him, essentially.

Rolling his neck and shoulders, Crypto sets about shrugging out of his coat, folding it neatly onto the couch. He’d come straight from the med bay. Stressed and frustrated. Knowing that Elliott was going to do an interview after meant that he had time alone to think. Best do it in Elliott’s dorm which felt like home.

Having long since abandoned his shoes at the doorway, he’s left in his tight black pants, matching shirt, and jewelry. Running a hand through his hair and letting out a low groan of frustration before fishing his phone from his pocket. It was wiped of any data, wiped of anything except one number that embarrassingly had a little gold heart next to the name ‘Idiot’.

He hesitates on texting him. Elliott loved the limelight, loved the glory, the cameras, and most importantly loved the afterglow of a match well done. Crypto feels himself hesitate, feeling almost selfish for asking him to come now.

It took awhile to work him out of his shell. With lots of kisses to his knuckles and Elliott promising that he was more important. He finally works up the urge to hit send and is relieved when it is read not 30 seconds after.

It takes five minutes of waiting. Five minutes of patient waiting.

At some point Crypto had gone to the bedroom. Setting a pillow on the floor and dropping to his knees onto it. Waiting patiently near Elliott’s bed as his head bowed, ears perked and waiting for the sound of the door to click open.

He hears Elliott laughing before he hears the door. Hearing his voice call out, “Yeah! We’ll get drinks later, kay? I’m gonna rest for a bit!” All chipper and cheerful before the door slides shut and the lock is clicked into place.

Crypto swallows thickly. Letting his tongue wet his lips as he keeps his head down.

He hopes he looks good, in the back of his mind. Legs splayed out just so on the pillow to outline his lower body. Hands resting on his thighs and head bowed. Showing off his body, trying to look inviting and not like he was digging his nails into his pants in frustration. Need.

He’s in tune with the sound of boots. The sound of gear being tugged off in a not-so-hurried pace. He nearly snarls, but he waits. Just be patient, fall into your space, relax. He tries to encourage himself like Elliott might, but it isn’t the same.

When Elliott finally comes into the room, he’s dressed in his boots and pants. Everything else tossed off and his curls left down from his goggles. Crypto raises his head to look up at him, steeling his jaw and feeling the metal of his jawline seem to heat up with his body.

Elliott looked a pretty picture. Eyes soft, a smile on his lips that read cocky but the dimples gave him that charming look, and a glisten of sweat about his skin. His torso is exposed, toned and fit with a dark happy trail leading from pierced navel down into his pants. Gold adorns his pecs from piercings through his nipples and Crypto longs to tongue at them.

“Hey, beautiful,” Elliott coos softly. As if calming a feral kitten. Carefully coming over one step at a time until Crypto’s shoulders relax, falling just as Elliott’s warm, calloused fingers cup his cheek. “Look at you. Already ready, huh?”

Crypto hums in response, soft and almost irritated. Nuzzling at his palm and nipping at his fingertips until Elliott nudges his thumb at his full lips. Crypto accepts, suckling on the digit and fluttering his eyes open halfway to look up at him.

Dark brown eyes look back down at him with an intensity that leaves him shuddering. “There you go, baby.” Spoken softly, almost possessively as he presses his thumb down onto Crypto’s tongue. Forcing his lips to part and drool to threaten to spill.

“God, can’t wait to ruin your pretty little mouth.” Elliott murmurs, as if to himself if he didn’t smear the saliva onto Crypto’s lips with his thumb. Wetting them as he pulls his hand back to begin working at his fly.

Crypto grunts, turning his head as if he was going to be difficult. A bratty scenario, trying to make Elliott rougher. It works like a charm when one hand winds in his hair, yanking his head back to face the trickster. He exhales sharply through his nose at the sudden pain, hissing as he’s come face to face with Elliott’s cock.

One hand in Crypto’s hair, the other wrapped around the base of his cock and lazily stroking, he looks quite the picture. Crypto tries to avoid eye contact, turning his gaze with another huff only to get Elliott to gently smack his cheek with his cock. “Come on, baby boy, open that sweet mouth up. You w-want to text me all urg- urging- ugh- in a hurry? You’re going to get it.”

Crypto almost smiles at the stutter. Watching Elliott squint his eyes for just a moment to focus on getting out of the tick. He normally could keep his voice controlled in moments like this, but if he focused too hard on sounding smooth, it came out harder. Just like that.

So he does smile, a bit more of a smirk. Eyes flickering up to meet Elliott’s, challenging him.

“Fine.” Elliott hums in response.

Fingers twist and yank Crypto’s hair fluidly. It makes him gasp out, lips parting enough for Elliott to slide the head of his cock in without risk of biting. “See? That so hard?” He coos out, watching as Crypto’s fingers scramble at his own thighs before he reaches up to hold onto Elliott’s instead.

It’s smooth sailing from there as Crypto gives into soft treatment.

The rough hand in his hair turns to soft pets. Stroking his hair back from his face by warm fingers. Another hand cups underneath Crypto’s jaw, stroking with a thumb at where metal meets flesh. Carefully feeding him inch after inch of Elliott’s cock.  

A beautiful thing, if you asked Crypto. Elliott was about seven inches, a nice size without being too thick or too much with an upwards lean. Some freckles dotting the base where he kept the curls there trimmed and tidy. The head was almost a supple red when aroused, peeking from foreskin that made it glisten and shiny if it wasn’t just from Crypto’s saliva.

It’s with trained practice he relaxes his throat. Fingers flexing on Elliott’s thighs and humming in discomfort at first. “Shh, you got this, baby. Take your time.” Elliott speaks so softly. Still petting at his hair and moving the hand from his jawline to rest in his hair as well to massage at his scalp.

It does the trick. And only in a few moments does his nose press to Elliott’s pelvis. Allowing him to take deep, slow breathes and inhale his scent as his fingers grip tight to his pants.

“Look atcha’, babe. Fuck- wish you could see how you look right now. Such a good boy.” Elliott sighs out, gently rocking his hips to get used to the wet tightness of his throat. How Crypto’s teeth scrape along sensitive flesh without biting.

Crypto, in turn, looks up at him with this sort of lazy submission in his eyes. Humming in response to being told he’s good as his hair is pet behind his ears and his temples given a soft massage with thumbs.

It was a warning. He always knew it was. Knew when to force himself to not focus too hard on it as Elliott slowly pulls out before pushing back in with a low moan that sets Crypto’s skin alight from how good he sounds.

It’s repeated. The same motion. Until Elliott can go faster. Until he’s truly face fucking him and Crypto’s hands no longer plead and scrape at his thighs, rather just holding onto him for dear life as he feels him press into his throat again and again.

When he becomes light headed, Elliott pulls out. Keeping the head on Crypto’s tongue that lolls out as he takes needy breaths. Pressing sloppy, wet kisses over the head and shaft with a hoarse, “Please-” Whining from his throat until Elliott takes him again and uses his mouth just like a toy.

Elliott is full of it. Full of that smooth talking, loud mouth that people don’t get to see. “You look so good, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, just like that Crypto-”

“What a good boy. You look so beautiful on your knees.”

“Bet you’d cum on my boots if I’d let you.”

He’s full of it, praise and dirty talk. Crypto’s too hot in his own pants, trying to grind against nothing for friction. The taste and scent being too much- it's all too much to his sensors.

Elliott shoves in one last time, grabbing Crypto’s hair and keeping him down on his cock. “Swallow.” He pants out, a whiny moan leaving him as he cums. A beautiful noise to match his furrowed expression. Curls hanging in his face as his fingers shaky even as they pet Crypto’s hair as the man swallows every drop. Even if he does make a small face at the taste.

There’s a pause as Elliott lets Crypto milk him dry with small lavishes of his tongue and soft suckles. Slowly pulling out and letting him lick at the head like nothing more than an obedient pup until Elliott laughs softly, breathily.

Dropping onto his knees, Elliott cups his jaw, bringing him in for a deep kiss. Tongue exploring and licking over Crypto’s tongue in reply. Tasting himself as both men moan in reply to the feeling until Elliott parts with a wet sound.

Crypto’s eyes are glassy, lips parted and flushed just like his cheeks. His pants are straining, his hips canting into nothing as Elliott brings him into an embrace. Caressing his hair and his back, petting over his skin until he calms down enough to nose into Elliott’s neck and come down.

“Thank you,” He murmurs out, voice hoarse and shaky. Nosing just below Elliott’s ear until his partner pulls him back to place a soft kiss on both cheeks, then his forehead.

“You’re welcome...Let me take care of you this time around?” Elliott murmurs too sweetly, nuzzling their noses together as if he didn’t just face fuck him into a stupor.

How could he say no?

[psychemeanscure]

PART 13{ A part with a one whole of Jang Taeyoung. Yayks! Enjoy reading y’all~}

“Good day, Mr. Jang.”

“What’s good in a day when I can only see your ugly face Mr. Kim.”

The prosecutor groan in defeat indeed. It was his third day to be summoned on interrogation and as usual had to deal with the annoying interrogator who just only getting on his nerves every time with its lame question which even too obvious to be needed explanation. Thus with a bored breath he insults. “Can we just start your uninteresting play so I can go in peace, Mr. disloyal prosecutor?”

But seems like the latter got used to it already that he only got a smirking shaking of head instead of its irritated retractions that usually leads him to face its attacking hand who can’t even push through because of his threatening defense from the one-way tinted mirror, voice connecting to an in-charge officer behind it.

“Oh no, no, no. You would rather not do insults until today Mr. Jang, especially now that a solid headache will get you busy for the time being.”  

A different counter he heard from the prosecutor somehow. ‘What lame evidences this disloyal dog has to bark again?’ as a simple thought slip into its mind but not too long to laze him later. “Oh yeah? Let me see then, Mr. Prosecutor.” Thus the latter starts then.

And before Mr. Kim could finish his set of litany?

He was already laughing tremendously. He never gone wrong of his instincts with the Prosecutor indeed. “What the hell! That’s it, Mr. Prosecutor? The last time was because of a certain connection from a gang syndicate who’s no longer existed, and now about an old news of SIESTA drug which people involved was long gone? Come on sir, don’t you have more to give to excite me other than this? I’m getting sleepy already.”

Piercing eyes starts to bore from the prosecutor as it only takes a second for a shift of expression. Dropping the document, it holds with vigor. “Okay. Since none of this wavered you still Mr. fearless guy. I might just share the last card instead. Are you ready?”

It caught his interest indeed as a twitched brows came after him. “And what is that, Mr. Kim?”                  

Thus its clasping hands initially rest on the table after purposely turning off the button for voice over, facing him with confident arrogance. “Zilo Alcaziar. I’m sure it rang your bell, pretty isn’t it?”

His thoughts say it is, yes. He was not surprise either since he knew she’s obviously the one who tip it off, so he only waited sternly in silence to his proceeding sentences. “Son of the greatest gambler Veeros Alcaziar who’s apparently became your business partner. A treacherous partnership or shall we say, with Sung Eunyoung?”

A flick of his brows came in then as he leans a little forward as if to make sure he wasn’t ghost out by his own instinct. “Come again, Mr. Prosecutor?”

Something’s off and he can feel it. From the mere mention of her name he knew there is. If he’s truly working for her, he would rather not involve her name in any means. Unless...  

“Who told you that?”

His cold words right then only to be responded by a success laugh from the prosecutor as it leans as well enough to create a whisper to his face. “Sung Eunyoung. Who else would it be? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor you Mr. Jang. I tell you, she’s one hell of a b*---“

“I’m asking, who told you filthy dog?”

 The latter has been dragged closer onto him definitely as he forcefully grabs its necktie. Nevertheless, its confidence still unbothered by his actions. “Why? You cannot believe it? You’ve been accustomed to her? Oh my, you shouldn’t have trusted her too much Mr. Jang. Look what happened to you. Seems like she became your weakness as well.”

It even starts to tap his shoulder following another words that may surely stirred him. “Let me give you an advice, Mr. Jang Taeyoung.” Its first word which he intended to halt after a closer lean by his ear. “If you go on a hunt down, it’s always the other as the best option.”

And he confirmed it. Finally, as he grips its necktie tight enough for choking, earning a panic grant he expected. Burning eyes fixated to the stubborn dog, gritted teeth resurfaced. He speaks. “I might be reckless in some way but I’m not stupid enough to understand that, moron. Now if you don’t want to die right here right now, then better answer my f*cking question. Eh?”

The prosecutor was struggling, no doubt. Unfortunately for him, his assaulted angle isn’t obvious to the officer in-charge’s CCTV monitor that it looks like he was the one dominantly threatening him, given its bending body block Jang Taeyoung’s move and the voice over button he turn off under the table. “A-ahck. Wa-it. Mr.—Ja-ng. A-ahck.” Had no choice but plead to him. But Jang wouldn’t dare. Why would he? Instead, he chokes him much tighter. With surrendering tap with his gripping hands, it gives in.

“A-alca-ziar. V-vee-ros A-alca-ziar.”

It only takes a second then before he let go. Hearing the gasping sound of Mr. Kim who is still trying to catch his own breath the moment it sits back to its chair. “See? It’s easy Mr. Prosecutor. Now tell me more.”

“W-why should I?” still half catching air prosecutor that only made him decide for another assault. “Why? So you would not be getting more like this?”

“A-Argh!”

Earning another grunt as he vigorously steps on its shoe under the table indeed. “F*ck! Fine. Fine, alright.”

So the rest follows as one thing’s for sure.

This game they were playing is one hell of a dangerous pit ride.

~  

*Beep*

“Bullsh*t! Screw you, woman. Tss. Whatever. Why am I concerning you though? You even expose me anyway. Ugh. F*ck off!”  

Tossing his phone with irritation by a nearby couch from her unanswered calls as he glances his own portrait which she also saw last time. Passing his own banters on it as if it was a different person to scold that he even points a finger with assertion. “This is what I’m telling you sucker. On so why? Why did you have to get sti--- F*ck! The hell will I admit either.”

He shifts into firmly punching its side wall when he decided to stand up, appearing like a strict lecturer. “This is all because of you, woman! You, Sung Eunyoung. I swear you’re going to p—sh*t! why can’t I even cursed you! See, Jang Taeyoung? You’re in fault here. F*ck!”

His proceeding soliloquy indeed for he can’t help but to clench a jaw out of frustration as he moved by the glass window. And with a hard slam of palm on it and a following voice of his assistant, he’s obviously pissed.

“What?!”

The deafening reply he did that made the latter being surprised yet only takes a second to regain composure. “Zilo Alcaziar is in the VIP lobby, Boss.”

Its simple word which gives him a scorching deep breath as well. Cursing another headache, he needed to deal with. Thus he responded a piercing nod to his assistant before leaving him again.

~

“Brother!”

The thrilled greeting from Zilo which only came back from entertaining itself to talking with female receptionist by the counter. Unbothered by his impatient glare trailing its every move till occupying a seat across him. “I was informed that you’ve been waiting on the lobby only to find out you’re actually lurking for bitches instead? Tss. You are wasting my time then.”  

“Oh come on brother. As if you didn’t miss it either. Like hey, you’re a single man again. Right? Unless you can’t move on with sister. I bet you do.”

A frown came to him then. Groaning with irritation. “Can you just shut up, or am I going to pull your tongue in a second. Why are you here anyway?”  

His straight banter just to be responded by a nonchalant behavior of the other as it even leans comfortably with the seat it occupied. “What do you think?”

“And what is that?”

“Tss. Of course brother, I’m here to continue as your ally.”

Thus a silence came after. He was halt by the thought, yes but not long enough to give the young Alcaziar a stern look. “I’m not in the mood for joking Zilo.” His threatening words then just to be responded by its shaking of head. “Brother I know you’re tempted, don’t deny. Besides, watching your situation right now I’m the only one you’ve got. Punch me if it isn’t true, eh?”

Truth. He’s the only one he got. He’s been calling the investors of the Casino Hotel, trying to convince at least half of them to side him and obviously got declined. Majority of them aren’t even answering. Hell that Sung Eunyoung’s power, who else can he control when she already got them all. Dammit!

“What makes you decide otherwise then, brother?”

“Because as you said, I’m fighting against my father and I truly am. So why not give it a try. I’m getting bored anyway. Father with sister and you with me. Isn’t it glamorous? We’re fighting each other’s past comrade. I can actually imagine the results. Wohoo.”

Zillo was even whistling while gesturing a blow like a bomb on his hand, arrogantly gullible of his own idea. Right there for some reason, the prosecutor’s advice pop into his ears. ‘Guess the disloyal dog makes sense after all.’

His thoughts finally decided. He’s considering the challenge indeed that for the last time after their talk ended, she called her once again yet for the nth time she remains unanswered. If it this what they call war, then war it is.

“Let the best venturer win, Sung Eunyoung.”