#i feel like an entire layer of the story was just revealed to us in one small simple marvelous update

[whore-era]

never meant to be

☁︎ ellie x fem!reader ☁︎ summary: in which you and ellie go through the heartbreaking realization that love is never fair. ☁︎ warnings/themes: cheating (ellie cheats on current gf with you), dina is your sister, heartbreak/forbidden love, not a happy ending, familial issues | fingering/thighriding (r!recieving), use of strap, fem anatomy ☁︎ a/n: hi. don't hate me lol. sometimes i write stories like this to feel a little something. also it's 2:30 am and i have to be in class by 7:00am so this is not proofread lol. there will be NO part two. ☁︎ word count: 9,800 words aka my longest fic yet

for as long as you could remember, you were always in dina's shadow.

despite you being the youngest daughter, dina was your parent's pride and joy. she was the smartest and prettiest daughter, who never failed to win the family's attention.

dina was the 'perfect' daughter in your parent's eyes. she followed in mom's footsteps and won prom queen 3 years in a row and was crowned 1st place as miss wyoming since she was 14 in the annual pageant every year. last year, she got accepted to yale university with the intention of going to law school and becoming a criminal lawyer just like father.

your parents were set on having two extremely intelligent daughters who attended ivy league colleges and strived for an above-average career like an award-winning surgeon or a ground-breaking research scientist.

but that wasn't you. at all.

from a young age, you were always attracted to art — such as sculptures, paintings, murals, and various types of music. you had a keen eye for things more abstract, which always set you apart from your own family.

sure, math and science were subjects that came easily to you, and you had no difficulty with keeping straight A's at school, but you always knew you wanted to do something different than what was set for you.

despite being the black sheep of the family, you did find yourself envying dina. she had the bigger room, nicer clothes, a car, and always got money whenever she asked mom and dad for it. it was hard not to be jealous.

especially since she started bringing ellie williams around.

dina met ellie during her freshman year at yale, and the two hit it off. they officially became a couple this summer, and with the approval of our parents, ellie followed dina back home and agreed to stay the entire summer with her and the family.

from the first moment you met ellie, you were smitten.

it was the first week of summer, and you were relishing in all the much-needed vacation time, knowing by the time summer was over, you would be on your way to los angeles for college.

you were relaxing in bed with your copy of 'pride & prejudice', reading it for probably the 70th time. from your bedroom, you can hear a car pulling up in the driveway followed by your mother's loud voice yelling "welcome home!!", and then slamming car doors. getting up from your comfortable position, you drew the linen curtains to the side and took a peek out your window, down at the driveway.

from above, you could see mother taking dina in her arms, giving her a hug and placing a kiss on her forehead.

your eyes drift to father, and to the girl he was shaking hands with.

she was unlike anyone you've ever seen. her short brunette hair was cut short, hanging right at her neck in the style of a mullet. her slender arms revealed one tattoo on her right forearm that was visible underneath the folded flannel layered over a plain white t-shirt.

she held this charming aura about her, evident by how your father let out a hearty laugh as he gently nudged her on the shoulder. this woman must've been impressive because it was a rarity to see your father laugh, let alone when first meeting someone.

as dina grabbed the girl's hand to drag her inside the house, her eyes flickered up toward you, lingering on you for a little too long.

-

"so, ellie, tell us. what are you studying at yale?" your father's deep voice resonated throughout the dinner table.

"ugh, daaaad, please. no more interrogating my girlfriend," dina groaned out, "you're gonna scare her away, and we've only been together a month!"

"i was just asking a question, sweetie. no need to fret," your dad interjected as he took another bite of chicken.

ellie cleared her throat before putting her fork down, "uh, i'm actually in a computer science program— i'm in the works of developing my own software."

father's eyes widened, "wow! how impressive! what kind of software is it?"

"it's actually a type of software used by government agencies to store highly classified government documents, sir," ellie added, "it keeps unverified users locked out of the servers so they don't access the documents unless they recognize the IP address, and the software reports any unknown addresses back towards us to be monitored for criminal activity."

your ears would usually tune out the boring conversations held at the dinner table, but you couldn't help but be completely absorbed in everything ellie was saying and it only left you wanting to know more.

"how exciting! glad dina found someone who's doing something significant with their life," your father complimented, "unlike our youngest."

"such a shame. you graduated top of the class this year, yet you want to attend art school." your father's eyes bore into the side of your face as you pretended not to notice his words, distracting yourself by poking at the cold piece of broccoli on the expensive china plate.

"art school is cool too," ellie complimented, "what are you majoring in?"

you picked your head up, surprised by ellie's sudden interest in your studies. you were used to everyone else asking about dina and talking about dina and would compare you to dina. it was exhausting.

"um— fine arts. i'm also minoring in graphic design," you managed to squeak out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

"and what are you planning to do with that, young lady?" your dad prodded in his signature stern voice, "you're 18 years old, almost 19, you have to start thinking about your future seriously."

you take the glass of water, and take a sip from it, suppressing that urge to cry from his words, "okay, father."

your mother places a hand on your dad's shoulder, attempting to calm him down, "honey, not at the dinner table."

he doesn't say anything else, and continues eating his dinner, whereas you lost your appetite a long time ago, and are no longer feeling in the mood to be around your family for another second.

the fork falls from your hands, creating a clinging sound against the ceramic dish. "may i be excused?" you tremble, ignoring the burning gaze from the brunette's eyes. you couldn't put into words the humiliation you felt at this moment, and you couldn't bear to look at dina's mocking smirk or at ellie's pitiful stare.

"okay, sweetie. goodnight." your mother murmured. you got up from the chair, and scurried out of the dining room, wanting nothing more but to curl up under your covers and lay in dark silence.

as you ascend up the stairs, you can hear dina continuing the conversation as if nothing ever happened, laughter and jokes ensuing in your absence.

-

the past two weeks with ellie in the house was an adjustment you had to get used to.

there have been a few occasions where you'd forget to lock the bathroom door, and bam, ellie barges in. luckily, she was a gentlewoman and always covered her eyes even though you were fully clothed. but it was extremely awkward, to say the least.

one morning, you thought the house was empty and took the opportunity to blast your favorite pussycat dolls song and belt out the chorus while shaking your hips around in the living room, only to find ellie looking down at you from the top of the stairs with an amused expression on her face.

needless to say, you put an end to your one-woman concerts and kept them in the privacy of your bedroom.

it was currently 2:45am, and you just wrapped up a painting you started this morning. the house was still and silent, and no one else but you were awake during this time of night.

feeling the gurgle and rumble of your belly, you take off your headphones and tiptoe down the stairs. with your socked feet pitter-pattering on the cold tile of the kitchen, you opened the door to the fridge and scanned the shelves for a tasty late-night snack.

"hmmm...." you hummed, "strawberries and cream might do the trick." you pulled out the bowl of strawberries and a tub of cool whip, and sat down on the tile, opening the lid, and dipping the berry in the creamy topping.

you were about 5 berries deep before you heard a voice clearing their throat, causing you to jump in your spot.

"isn't it a little too late to be eating dessert?" ellie queries. she was in a grey hoodie and plain grey sweatpants with half of her hair tied up. it was evident she probably just woke up, and a part of you felt a little guilty that you possibly were the reason for that.

unable to speak with a mouthful of fruit, you slowly shake your head left and right, eliciting a chuckle from the brunette.

"alright, no judgment here." ellie puts her hands up, "can i join you?"

swallowing the lump of red fruit down your throat, you respond, "sorry, yeah. of course," you hold up the bowl of berries, "want some?"

the girl crouches down and sits next to you on the floor, grabbing a strawberry and dipping it in the cool whip, then taking it all in one bite.

she chews momentarily before shaking her head in satisfaction, "not bad, not bad. never tried this combination before."

"really? i've had this snack for years, ever since i was a little girl," you smile, "it was my dad's favorite snack growing up..."

your voice trailed off as you reminisced about the earlier years when life was easier and you didn't have the pressure of worrying about college or career aspirations. all you and dina worried about was grilled cheeses and finding your bratz doll's missing feet.

ellie spoke again, "were you close with your dad growing up?"

you bit your lip, the sweet taste of strawberry and whipped cream present upon the skin, "yeah. we were," you laughed dryly, "we used to watch those cheesy law and order SVU shows all the time."

"yeah?"

"mhm," you hummed, "they were always entertaining to me. he thought that it'd eventually influence me to become a lawyer like him. he always said that we'd become the dynamic duo or whatever and that we'd kick ass in court."

ellie sat intently, watching you, listening to you as you told her this memory. from the moment she first met you when she got here, she knew you were quite the opposite of dina. dina was type A. she was occasionally uptight, a bit boring, and not really fit for ellie. ellie was chill and was a 'go by the flow' person, which was one thing dina hated about her. don't get her wrong, ellie liked dina, and she liked how dina was funny and smart, but she didn't really see them lasting long-term.

it was shitty. it was shitty how ellie didn't see herself being with dina for that long, and it was worse that ellie didn't have the guts to tell her.

but, for her own selfish reasons, ellie didn't want to tell dina, not yet anyways. she gravitated toward you and often found herself staring at you for a little too long during meals at the table and thinking about what you were doing in the next room over while dina was cuddled up in her arms.

ellie knew this was a bad idea. she could not get attached to her girlfriend's sister. it was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

but ellie was only human. she couldn't help her ever growing curiosity.

"you didn't want to be a lawyer?" ellie asked.

you shook your head, "hell, no. looks stressful and boringgggg," you sang out.

ellie laughed, "yeah, can't disagree with you there. dina tells me it involves lots of reading."

"yea, i'm good." you giggle, "what about you? have you always known that you wanted to work with computers 'n stuff?"

"i guess. i was always a 'nerd' and all that bullshit. loved watching sci-fi movies and shows and i'm also a huge gamer so—" ellie began, "i can't imagine myself not doing anything else other than techie shit."

you nod, putting another cream-covered berry in your mouth, "that makes sense. at least you're passionate about what you do."

"yeah, i guess," ellie snacks on another strawberry, "how 'bout you? you're an artist?"

you cover your mouth to muffle a laugh, "i wouldn't call myself an artist. but i do love painting. it's all i ever want to do."

"then it wouldn't be too much if i could ask to see some of your art."

your eyes widen, and you nearly choke on the fruity snack. "what?" your voice almost comes out sounding shocked.

"yeah, i mean, i'd love to see some of your stuff," ellie looked toward you with a sly smile.

"um, no," you laugh, "my parents haven't even seen some of my work."

you were hesitant to show anyone any of your artwork, and only allowing your best pieces to be kept in the security of your personal portfolio, only to be viewed by colleges for applications and such.

"aww, c'mon. i wanna see."

you huff, "maybe."

ellie smirked, "i'll take what i can get," she continues, "besides, think of me as....an art critic."

you let out a giggle, "oh yeah?"

the night progresses and you and ellie get lost in conversation, talking until 4am about life and whatnot. ellie was an easygoing person to talk to. she never seemed to judge you for any of your own opinions, and it felt like she was actually interested in what you had to say. it felt like you've known her for years, even though it's only been a matter of weeks.

you could already see the rays of orange peeking up from the navy, blue sky. it was already early morning.

"we should probably head back upstairs," you suggest, nodding your head towards the window, "the sun's gonna rise....and dina'll wake up soon."

it was like clockwork. dina woke up every morning at 6:30 am, never earlier nor later. you definitely did not want her to catch you and ellie here, alone and together.

for a moment, ellie forgot that she was here with dina. it was fucking terrible and she felt guilty, but she really liked spending the night talking with you and she knew she needed to do it again.

"uh— no, yeah, of course," ellie stood up first, holding out a hand to help you up next.

you took her warm hand in yours and hoisted yourself up until you were stable on your feet.

"thanks," you murmur.

"yeah, no problem."

ellie didn't pull her hand away, and neither did you. it was like your hands were two pieces of a puzzle, fitting perfectly in the spaces of each other's fingers.

realizing what was happening, you quickly pulled your hand away from hers, "uh—"

"fuck, sorry," ellie stammered, "i'm getting— um— awfully tired."

good excuse, ellie thought to herself.

"it's fine, no worries. let's head upstairs," you lead the way up toward the stairs with ellie alongside you. you stop in front of your bedroom door and ellie stops in front of dina's, her hand lingering on the doorknob.

"yeah?"

"um— just wanted to say goodnight, ellie." you smile at her, and she returns the favor.

"goodnight." ellie whispers, and you both head inside.

with dina still fast asleep, ellie crawls into bed next to her. she pulls the blanket close to her body, and turning away from her sleeping girlfriend, a small smile makes its way across her face as her mind drifts to you and how you were just a few feet away, a wall being the only thing separating you both.

and as you crawl into the comfort of your own bed, you couldn't help the wide smile that curls upon your lips as you thought about ellie, and how badly you wanted to talk to her again, ignoring the fact that she was probably laid up against your sister's body, holding her close.

it was an unfortunate thing — the slow formation of the connection between two people who were right for each other but were bound by the fate of knowing deep inside the chance of them being together was just not a possibility.

-

ellie could not get herself to fall asleep. she's been here for weeks, yet found herself tossing or turning in bed, never sleeping soundly for more than 3 hours at a time.

it happened again tonight. she fell asleep at 11:00pm, and here she was, wide awake at 3:00am.

she never knew how dina could do it— how she could make her body sleep at the same time, and stay asleep until morning.

ellie blamed it on the idea that her body wasn't adjusted to being at dina's house with her family. she thought that spending her summer vacation with dina's family would be fun and that it would be a good getaway from all the stress at school.

but ellie fucking hated your dad. from the first night she met him, she hated how he talked down to you. he was an asshole. it was obvious to ellie that he favored dina, and she knew it was only because she was following the same career path he was on. ellie didn't agree with how he felt about you at all, and desperately wished she could say something to him, but she thought it'd be best to not interfere...for now.

sighing, ellie took the covers off and quietly walked towards the door, slowly opening it and gently closing it.

she didn't know what the hell compelled her to walk over to your bedroom door, but before she had any time to even consider her actions, her fist planted three soft knocks on the surface.

ellie thought you must've been fast asleep by now, but a small part of her hoped that you would still be awake.

you swung your bedroom door open, unsure who would be knocking on your door at this hour, but was relieved to see it was ellie, "oh, hey."

ellie's eyes trailed up and down your body, taking you in and letting her eyes rake over the way your sleep shirt hangs loosely off your shoulder and how your cotton shorts stop mid-thigh.

she had to force her eyes back up on your face, and she was beating herself up for even letting her look at you that way, like a piece of meat.

"uh- er- sorry, i was just—" ellie stuttered, "i couldn't sleep."

you nod slowly, and step aside to let her inside your room.

god, this was such a bad idea.

after letting her inside, you close the door and lock it. walking back over towards your bed, you plop down on the mattress as ellie awkwardly stands in the middle of your room.

"you can sit down, you know," you giggle, and ellie shrugs and chooses to sit on your swiveling desk chair.

silence fills the air for a moment before ellie speaks up first.

"were you busy?"

you shake your head, "nope, was just reading a book."

"ahh, okay," ellie was silent for a moment before speaking again, "sorry again, for uh— bothering you."

"you didn't bother me," you laugh, "i'm usually up around this time anyways, jus' doing whatever."

ellie nods and turns the chair to face your desk where she sees your black leather sketchbook. her fingers open the book to a random page, and it was a sketch of a cat napping on a window sill in incredible detail.

the sound of pages flipping caught your attention, and you immediately jump to your feet as the realization hits you.

"hey! my sketchbook!" your hands quickly try to snatch the book from her hands, but ellie was faster, and got up and held the black book up and out of your reach. to your loss, ellie had the advantage of being a couple inches taller than you were, which made it extremely difficult for you to get to your book.

"these are amazing! let me just look through them a little bit longer—" ellie says, flipping through the pages of all the sketches you made, "holy shit— is that— is that me?"

your eyes grow wider, and you could feel the sweat seeping out of your pores, "give that back!"

you jump and try to grab the book, but ellie has this annoying smirk on her face as she holds the book high above her head, knowing you wouldn't be able to grab ahold of it due to your shorter stature.

"ugh, seriously?" you whine, flushing red in embarrassment, feeling like she just read an extremely personal section of your diary. in a way, your sketchbook was your diary.

"let me take a picture of my sketch and i'll give it back to you, deal?" ellie attempted to negotiate with you, but you narrowed your eyes at her, really not wanting her to have any evidence of your sketch at all. but she doesn't seem like the type to take no for an answer.

luckily, you were quite the trickster yourself. it's a youngest child thing.

you huff, "fine."

ellie smiles with pride, and as she lowers her arm to put the sketchbook down, you act fast and seize the book. but before you succeed, ellie snatches it back, and suddenly she's falling back onto your bed. you fail to steady yourself, following suit and landing on top of her, your forehead thumping against hers.

"ouch."

both of your eyes meet, and for a second, everything stands still. you and ellie don't move, afraid that whatever happens next, it'll end up with you both in a compromising situation.

"i— uh—" you sputter, "sorry." you quickly scramble up to your feet, getting off of her, and standing back to create some distance.

the absence of your body made ellie feel cold, but she pushed that feeling to the side and stood on her own two feet, handing you your sketchbook.

"thanks," you take the book from her hands and stuff it in the top left drawer of your dresser, where it usually is anyways.

"you know, those were really good," ellie mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "especially the one of me."

heat rises to your face once again, "it was from the day i saw you in the driveway— when you first got here with dina."

she nods, "i can tell, 's really good though. i swear."

you blush, "thanks," you think of something quick to change the subject, wanting to stray away from your sketch of her, still reeling in the embarrassment of her finding out.

"wanna watch the office?"

4:58am

you know what? imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, so i thank you.

"god, i love dwight so much, dude," ellie laughs, throwing a chip in her mouth as she watches jim's character pull out the bobblehead and place it on his desk.

identity theft is not a joke, jim! millions of families suffer every year!

michael!

oh that's funny— michael!

you let out a sleepy giggle, cuddling your pillow. you and ellie had been on your bed with the show playing on your laptop for an hour already, while she munched away on a bag of chips you had in your room.

ellie turned her head to check on you, and she could tell by your heavy eyelids that you were about to knock out in any second, "you sleepy?"

"mhm," you manage to hum out.

she smiles, in awe at your cute, sleepy state.

"go 'head and sleep. i'll finish up this episode and let myself out when it's over," ellie murmurs. she unfolds the blanket that was sitting at the edge of your bed and places it over your body.

"you sure?" you ask, nearly half asleep.

"mhm. i'll be gone by the time you wake up." but you knew you didn't want ellie to be gone when you woke up and ellie didn't want to go either.

as the show continues to run, you close your eyes and fall into slumber.

you weren't sure what woke you up, but you did. you hear the sound of 'the office' theme song playing, causing you to stir slightly, but you were surprised by the pressure present around your waist.

you sit up a bit, and you see ellie fast asleep, with her arm wrapped tightly around your waist, spooning you.

you look at the clock next to your bed and read the time: 6:23 am.

the air is sucked out from your lungs. dina is gonna be up soon.

"ellie! wake up!" you whisper quite loudly in her ear, shaking her awake. she doesn't wake up, and just groans, pulling you back to hold you again.

ignoring the butterflies going rampant in your belly, you attempt to wake her up again, "ellie! please, wake up," you shake her arm, "dina's gonna wake up in any minute."

ellie's green eyes open, and for a moment she's glad it's your face she sees when she wakes up, until the realization dawns on her.

"shit, shit, shit," ellie curses, getting off your bed and standing up, "i have to go."

and she exits your bedroom, leaving you alone in your bed only with the memory of waking up in her arms.

as ellie slowly and quietly enters dina's bedroom, she's relieved by the sight of dina's body still fast asleep. she gets back in bed and turns away from her, trying to calm her fast heart rate down.

on cue, dina's alarm clock goes off at 6:30 am sharp. ellie can feel dina turning and shutting off her alarm clock, and then she scootches closer and wraps her arms around ellie's body, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"morning, babe," dina whispers, and ellie shuts her eyes, pretending she's still asleep.

ellie lets out a mumbled 'morning' sounding groan and nestles her face into the pillow. she feels dina get up from bed and head into the bathroom to begin her morning routine, leaving ellie alone, wishing she had you wrapped up in her arms instead.

-

two days had gone by and you barely talked to ellie, sharing nothing but longing glances and brushes of fingers when you handed her a plate during meal times.

you didn't purposely intend to avoid ellie, but your mother had filled your agenda with errands for your 19th birthday party this weekend. you had to go talk to the caterers, talk to the florist, get fitted for a dress, buy new shoes, send out invitations— it was all so tedious and tiring, but you didn't want to make your mother upset by disappointing her.

the contractors were currently setting up the house with decorations and such for the party, and ellie was outside in the backyard with father, helping the rest of the workers set up a stage and other things needed.

you hated hot days, especially ones like these, where the air was scorching and dry. but you couldn't complain today, ellie was in a tight, white tank top showing off her muscular biceps and arms. you couldn't help but stare a little longer, trailing your eyes over the beads of sweat that would roll down her neck.

thank god for hot days like this one.

"honey, will you please do me a favor and bring out this tray of refreshments to everyone outside please?" your mother handed you a tray of cold drinks and fresh fruit.

"of course," you smooth out your sundress and take the tray from her hands, walking out of the kitchen and through the open doors leading to the backyard patio.

you walk over toward where they were working and set down the tray, "here are some cold drinks everyone."

your father and the workers mutter a quick thank you and take the offerings, sipping on the chilled drinks and talking amongst themselves.

however, what ellie needed wasn't a cold refreshment or a fruity snack. in fact, the only thing she could think of that would help ellie in this heat right now was you.

she couldn't tear her eyes away from the way your tits looked, the way the fabric hugged the soft, pillowy flesh. she definitely couldn't look away when you walked back towards the house, only wishing she can run her hands over the smooth skin of your thighs, grabbing on your ass.

the way you made ellie sweat was incomparable to the sun's radiating heat.

"excuse me, i'm gonna use the bathroom," ellie muttered, making her way back inside the house.

as you neared the kitchen, you overhear your mother's conversation with dina.

"yeah, we'll be leaving a little early. i have stuff to do back on campus," dina's voice remarks.

"oh, that's too bad. i really like having you both here," your mother pouts, "when are you and ellie leaving?"

"the day after the party," dina replies, "it'll give us time to rest and pack up."

your heart sank in your chest. ellie was leaving? and so soon?

you ran back inside the house, jogging up the stairs, not wanting dina or your mother to see the tears watering in your eyes.

"sweetie? you okay?" your mother yells out from the kitchen.

"uh, yeah! just need to get something from my room!"

you make a bee-line to the bathroom and shut the door behind you, looking at your reflection in the mirror, and letting yourself break down in tears.

something like this was bound to happen. you knew ellie wouldn't stay here forever, and you would be leaving for college. but why did this hurt so bad?

you hear the bathroom door open, and you quickly wipe your eyes.

"e-ellie?"

the brunette was surprised to see you in the bathroom at first, knowing you did have a habit of leaving the door unlocked sometimes, but that all went away and concern washed over her as she noticed your tear-filled eyes and red, stuffy nose.

"hey, hey, hey," she whispers as she takes a few steps toward you, "what's wrong?"

you blink a couple times, a tear falling down your cheek. you hesitated to answer her question.

"you know you can tell me anything, right?" ellie coos, her hands soothingly rubbing up and down your arms.

you nod, and bite your lip, thinking of how to word your response correctly, "d-dina said you both were leaving after my b-birthday."

ellie softens and an evident look of disappointment appears on her face, "yeah, we are."

you wipe your nose, looking up at her with glossy eyes, "it feels like you just got here and— and—" you sniffle, "you're leaving already."

ellie's heart soars understanding that you were upset because she was leaving. "i know and i'm sorry," she snakes her arms around your waist, pulling you close to her, "i wish i met you sooner."

ellie wished she met you first, she would actually have a chance at giving you both a shot without the guilt of betraying dina.

you bury your face into her shirt, the scent of her perfume wafting in your nostrils. god, there was just so much to do and so little time.

you pull your head back to get a good look at her face, to memorize her features, and sear them into your brain.

your eyes fell to her lips, and before you could even form a single thought, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against hers.

ellie instinctively pulled you closer by your waist, kissing back, moving her lips slowly with yours.

you slowly try to pull away from her lips, but she brings you back in for more, her grip on your waist never releasing.

"ellie," you breathe out, but it comes out sounding more like a moan, "w-we can't," you whine, "d-dina's here."

fuck. she stops, and pulls away from your lips, leaning her forehead against yours for a brief moment.

ellie plants a small kiss on your forehead, before letting you go and exiting the bathroom, leaving you alone once again.

-

"happy birthday, dear," the lady greets, leaning to give you a kiss on your cheekbone, "19 is such a fun age, don't take advantage of it, alright, hun?"

"sure," you hum, smiling back as the lady retreats back to the party, getting lost in the sea of people.

you had no idea who she was. actually, you didn't know a lot of the people here. a bunch of them were your father's associates from the law firm, some of your mom's book club members, and dina's friends from high school.

it was your birthday party, but your parents never turned down the idea of hosting a celebration if it was an excuse to mingle and network.

you head upstairs toward the balcony and step outside to the cool, summer night, leaning against the railing. you took a deep breath in, briefly closing your eyes in an attempt to gather your thoughts and clear your head.

"not enjoying the party?"

the sound of the voice causes you to spin in your spot, and you're met with ellie standing at the doorway. she was dressed in a white, collared dress shirt that was slightly unbuttoned at the top, with black slacks. her hair was down, in her signature mullet. you could tell she'd been drinking, as her eyes appeared dazed and she seemed more relaxed.

"uh— it was getting hot and stuffy in there," you tore your eyes away from her, "i just needed some air."

ellie sauntered over, standing next to you and placing her arms against the rail. her eyes raked over your body, drinking in how absolutely gorgeous you looked in your dress.

"you look beautiful tonight."

heat rose to your cheeks, and luckily the blush you wore today camouflaged the deepening crimson fading on your cheeks, "thanks."

"you always look beautiful, but you know, it's your birthday tonight and i had to remind you."

it was possible that ellie's words just fell from her lips because she was slightly inebriated, but it was true. ellie thought you were the most beautiful thing this earth could offer. you were the closest thing to heaven on earth.

but ellie couldn't have you, and without you, she was in her own personal hell.

you cleared your throat, attempting to wave off the tension in the air, "are you enjoying the party?"

she shrugged, "yeah, it's okay. i mean— dina's been introducing me to all your dad's friends and shit, trying to show me off like some kind of fuckin' trophy or something." she lets out a harsh laugh, "have you met my girlfriend ellie? she's a computer science engineer at yale! she's already done work for google and apple! isn't that so cool?"

ellie mocks dina's voice, and you can tell she has this slight bitterness to her. but you couldn't blame her for how she felt, dina only cared about the superficial things.

"oh...i'm sorry," you turn your head to face the view, "she's always been like that. trying to compete with everyone else and prove that she's better."

"yeah, i fucking hate that."

silence falls between you two again, and the elephant in the room couldn't be more obvious. it's been two days since the kiss in the bathroom occurred, and neither of you had even acknowledged it since then.

ellie would occasionally find herself thinking about the way your lips molded onto hers, and how she'd risk her relationship with dina just to experience it one more time. hell, she'd break up with dina.

it was hard for you to think about ellie without having the guilt bubble in your belly. you couldn't get ellie out of your head at all, and frequently spent those late nights fantasizing what it'd be like to be in dina's position, as ellie's girlfriend.

but, those feelings of shame always came to the surface and you tried to suppress them, pushing them into the dark corners of your mind, but as the day's progressed, it got harder and harder to do.

even being next to ellie made your body feel like it was on fire, and the urge to kiss her again was coming full throttle. you had to leave before you did something you both would regret.

"umm, i'll see you down there," you quickly sputter out before turning your heel to leave, but you felt ellie's hand grip your arm, stopping you.

"wait."

you force yourself to look at ellie, and your eyes connect with hers. your heart rate picked up, and suddenly the oxygen left your lungs. it was insane how one person could make you feel like this— like you could die if you were to let go.

"i—" ellie was about to let her heart speak for herself, and she was going to tell you everything. she was going to put her heart on the line and risk everything, for you."

"ellie! elllieee! where are yo— oh! there you are!" dina appeared at the doorway, a wide smile on her face as she finally found ellie. "where were you? i have to introduce you to this guy who works for this video game company! come on!"

before ellie can say anything, dina grabs her arm and drags ellie away.

the party happened and ended. you blew out your candles and cut the cake, and soon enough all the people left by midnight. dina was fast asleep on the couch in the living room downstairs, as the expensive, bubbly champagne had officially defeated your older sister.

your parents were asleep. dina was asleep. the only two people awake in the house was you and ellie, a deadly combination.

ellie was in the next room, intoxicated, and thinking about what her next moves were. she was leaving tomorrow and she knew that soon enough that you would be leaving for los angeles too, for college.

the thought of you possibly meeting someone new during college made her skin burn. ellie wanted to be that person for you, to be the one who made you laugh, to be the one who you called at the end of the day to tell her all about what happened in class, to be the one who gave you butterflies and made your heart flip.

fuck it, ellie thought, and the next thing she knew she was walking to your room and knocking on your door.

you swung the door open, and ellie swore she could've died and gone right to heaven. you were still in your birthday dress, but your hair was down, and you just looked like the most beautiful thing she'd seen in a long time. it was impossible that you were a real person.

"....ellie?" you spoke softly, and the sound of your voice knocked her out of her thoughts.

"huh? yeah— uh— fuck. sorry," ellie stammered, "can— can i come in?"

"sure."

you could smell the mixture of whiskey and her sandalwood perfume radiating off her body, and it was an addicting combination. you just wanted to bury your face in her neck and sniff her, as creepy as that did sound.

you sit down on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs, and ellie leans against your wall, with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her black slacks. she was still in her outfit, but the top of the buttons of her shirt were opened much wider, revealing a bit of skin.

silence falls in the room, and there was tension in the room. the room was beginning to feel humid and hot, and a small bead of sweat rolled down your temple.

ellie's eyes raked over you in your little dress, and how the dress bunches up just enough for her to get a peek of the sweet skin of your inner thighs, a paradise she's been dreaming of.

she wasn't sure if it was the little bit of alcohol still left in her system, but she could feel that familiar heat bubble in her core, making her feel even hotter.

"so, i was thinking, and i realized that i didn't say 'happy birthday' to you," ellie spoke softly, "i didn't even get you a gift."

your eyes widen, and you let out a small laugh, "it's fine, don't worry about it."

"nah, you've been so good to me, and— i mean— the least i could do is buy you something or take you out for dinner when me and dina come back for winter break."

your smile falters. when me and dina come back. the words echo throughout your head. me and dina. come back.

shaking your head, you try your best to respond without choking up, "i-it's okay..."

"what? don't be ridiculous-"

you cut her off, "it's f-fine, ellie," you breathe out, "i'm gonna head to bed now."

a pang hits ellie in the chest, and a look of hurt washes over her. "w-what? but i-"

you couldn't contain the jealousy that simmered in your belly, and it was partly due to the specialty cocktails you had tonight. you just had to have a midori sour.

"you and dina have to leave early tomorrow," you spat, with venom dripping off every word. it was enough to be noticed by ellie, and she received your message.

ellie doesn't say anything and her mind whirls in search of the words she wants to say.

after a few seemingly long minutes, she speaks up, "i think i'm gonna break up with dina."

your head snaps in her direction, your expression in utter disbelief, "what?"

ellie nods, "yeah."

"but, why?" you ask, "dina loves you and my family loves you—"

"dina is not who i want to be with."

you freeze, and your heart skips a beat.

"who do you want to be with?" you had an idea of who, but you played dumb, eager to hear her say the words.

"you."

time stops, and suddenly, everything feels like it's frozen in time, and the only two things that were present were you and ellie. for a moment, you let yourself imagine how things would be if she did break up with dina and went with you instead. of course, you would be over the moon being ellie's girlfriend, but at what cost?

dina would surely hate you if she already didn't and she'd make your life a living hell. and your parents? your dad would think you were a bigger disappointment, especially for ruining his perfect daughter's relationship.

you and ellie would face ultimate backlash, and wouldn't be on the receiving end of support from those close to you.

it pained you to think about it, but you had to be realistic.

"ellie......" you whispered, your voice coming out slightly strained, "i don't think we could be together."

ellie shakes her head, "we can. i'll break up with dina and— and— we'll have a long distance relationship and we'll come back—"

"and we'll be here? together? in front of dina and my parents?" you cut her off, hurt evident in your voice.

her demeanor faltered, and she was quiet for a moment. ellie understood your point of view, and how it'd be difficult to continue a relationship with her ex-girlfriend's sister.

"just stay with her."

ellie sighed, "no, even if we can't be together, there's no way i'm going to stay with her. no fucking way."

"but—"

"no. i don't want to be with her," ellie comes closer to where you were, causing you to stand on your feet and back up, "everyone is talking about how everyone else would feel. what about me? i can't fucking stand not being with you. you think i enjoy thinking about you while i lay with dina? do you even understand how hard it is for me to just look at you? do you know what you do to me?"

you feel the cool surface of the wall press on your skin as you were backed up against the wall. she had you cornered and you couldn't do anything about it, and a small part of you enjoyed this.

ellie's voice is low and raspy, "do you have any idea how much i think about you? having you as mine? thinking about the things i would do to you?"

you swallow hard, and you shake your head left to right, "ellie, you're just d-drunk."

she shakes her again, "i'm not. i'm one hundred percent sober."

"you're talking nonsense—" you try to convince her, but deep down inside, this was you trying to convince yourself.

"why can't you just face the fact that i want you?"

"because you're dating my sister!" the tone of your voice shocks the brunette.

"i can't— i can't have these feelings for you," you breathe out, "you're with dina."

ellie closes her eyes at the mention of her name, and again, silence fills the space.

"then let's forget about her, okay? for one night, i just want to forget about her," ellie whispers, "all i wanna focus on is you."

you search her face, and you bite your lip, actually contemplating the idea.

as you and ellie make eye contact, it was then you realize how close she was to you, you can nearly taste her lips if you leaned in further enough.

and in a swift move, ellie presses her lips against yours, pushing you against the wall. her hands cup your cheeks, kissing you with a sense of urgency and passion.

she takes control, and pushes her tongue in between your lips, roaming around in your mouth, eliciting a mewl from the back of your throat.

ellie's hands move to the back of your neck, and wrapped up in each other's lips, you both continue your way over to your bed, falling onto the mattress.

you pull away for a brief moment to flip her over, straddling her and sitting on her thighs.

ellie bunches your dress around your hips, fully exposing your thighs for her enjoyment. her cold hands send a shudder up your spine as they make their way to your thighs, "so fucking gorgeous."

ellie whispers, and she reconnects her lips against yours, and you couldn't help but grind your core against her, eager for friction as you feel a pool of wetness gather in your panties.

you let out a small whimper against her lips, and ellie grows more greedy, and slides her tongue inside your mouth again. the burning heat forming in your core begins to be harder to control, and you couldn't help but grind your pussy harder against her again.

the brunette smiles against your lips, and she takes hold of your hips, guiding you and placing you securely on her right thigh, "there, baby. grind that pretty fuckin' pussy on my thigh."

desperate for more, you place your arms around her neck for security and begin rubbing your panty-covered pussy against her pants, the fabric providing some friction on your swollen clit.

you couldn't suppress the soft whimpers that leave your lips, and ellie presses her lips against yours, drinking in every single moan that reverberates through your throat. she has you right where she wants you, wet and desperate for her.

"ellie.." your parted lips whine, "want more."

your pleas come out sounding as pathetic moans, and she smirks at the sight of you, eager for more.

"yeah? you want more, baby?" you nod frantically.

the brunette flips you over, takes you off her thigh and lays you on your back. using her knee to part your thighs, her fingers slowly trail down your inner thighs, and she uses her index finger to slide your panties to the side, sliding her finger down the wet slit of your pussy.

"shit," she curses, "so wet for me."

your hips buck up, craving more and more of her touch against your sensitive cunt, "ellie, please."

smirking, ellie pulls down your panties, the damp fabric pooling at your ankles, and she uses two fingers to spread your lips, the wet skin creating a slick-sounding echo throughout the room.

she uses one finger to rub your soaked, swollen clit, drenching her finger with your wetness.

"hmmph," you whimper, gripping her arm tight. ellie takes your lips in hers, muffling your pleading moans with her mouth as her fingers rub agonizing slow circles on your pussy.

she briefly pulls away from your lips, breathing heavily, "god, you're so beautiful when you moan."

ellie continues the circles against your clit, and you grab her wrist, stopping her, "e-ellie, please, i-i want more.."

the brunette pauses and thinks for a moment, "alright, baby, give me a second and wait here."

ellie places a kiss on your forehead, pulling her fingers out of you and quickly hurrying out of your bedroom. seconds later, you hear your door open and you see her come back in with a black strap and a harness.

"do you use that with—"

ellie cuts you off, "no. this one's new."

she takes off her shirt, and her black pants, leaving her in a plain black sports bra and plaid red boxers. she quickly hooks the harness around her hips and attaches the strap.

coming back on the bed, ellie looks at you with soft eyes, "is this okay with you?"

you nod, "yes, it's perfect."

she smiles, and she leans in to kiss you again, this time the kiss being much gentler than the previous one before. her hands make their way down your hips, and taking the hem of your dress in her hands, she slips it off of you.

pulling away, she takes the chance to gaze at your body. there was nothing but absolute adoration in those pools of green.

"you're beautiful, have i told you that?"

"only a couple times," you reply shyly, and ellie smiles, kissing your cheek.

her hands gently part your thighs, and she lines her cock up at your entrance. "we'll start off slow, yeah? you let me know if anything hurts, and i'll stop, baby."

looking up at her with glossy eyes, you nod. ellie takes the base of her strap and slowly slides it inside of your pussy, slowly filling you up.

"oh my god." was all you could muster.

"fuck," ellie curses, "you're so fuckin' wet for me, sweet girl."

filling you up almost completely, she grabs your waist and begins thrusting her hips, the strap easily sliding in and out of your wet pussy.

your eyes roll to the back of your head and you grab onto her arm, your grip tightening around her limb with each striking thrust.

the sound of clapping skin and wet slick fill the room, along with a combination of your soft whimpers and ellie's groans.

"keep your eyes on me, babe, wanna see those pretty eyes as i fuck you," ellie groans out, tilting your chin to look up at her.

how can something so wrong feel so right? she had your legs spread apart, with her strap buried deep inside you as dina slept soundly just downstairs.

it was hard to feel guilty when she was hitting every sweet spot inside you.

ellie leaned her forehead against yours, her thrusts never losing rhythm as you coat the black silicone in your white, cream.

as her strap slides in and out of your pussy, that familiar knot begins to form in your belly, and you feel almost as if you're nearing the edge.

"god, ellie— i think i'm about to cum," you stammer out, feeling your pussy tighten around her cock. ellie's eyes never stray away from yours, wanting to make sure you kept your eyes on her.

"yeah? come on, pretty girl, cum on my cock," she coaxes you, and her words cause that feeling of euphoria to wash over you, as you tip over the edge and writhe beneath her.

"ellie," you cry out, "i-i l-love you, fuck." you whimper out, as your pussy clenches around her, the black plastic strap squelching as your juices drip all over it.

"i love you, baby," ellie groans out, as she does one last thrust inside you, falling over in exhaustion onto the bed.

moments later, ellie gets up and takes the strap off. she cleans you up with a clean, wet rag, and climbs into your bed, the both of you still without clothes.

she drapes the blanket over your bodies, and she pulls you close to her.

"you okay?" she asks.

"mhm, i'm more than okay," you hum.

a comfortable silence falls, and you speak up again.

"i just wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow," you whisper, a stray tear falling down your cheek.

ellie kisses the top of your forehead, and rubs your back soothingly, "me neither, baby."

and you and ellie both fall asleep in each other's arms, just for this one night.

-

you really didn't want to have to see dina and ellie off.

it was sad enough that the girl you were in love with was dating your sister, but for her to go to university almost halfway across the country was something close to heartbreak.

luckily, ellie woke up early and got ready and packed up her things before dina woke up. but unfortunately, you woke up alone.

and for the rest of the morning, you stayed cooped up in your bedroom, not wanting to endure the sorrow of seeing ellie leave.

but she had to.

from your upstairs window, you watched as your father and ellie both began loading up the car with suitcases and other bags.

you didn't even want to say goodbye to her, knowing that the minute you saw her face, you'd burst into tears.

so, you just decided you wouldn't say anything to her at all. it was easier that way and it made a cleaner cut.

you hear a knock on your door, and your mother's head peeks out in your bedroom.

"hey honey," she coos, "come downstairs and say goodbye to ellie and dina."

you sigh and turn your head away from the door, "no, thanks. they'll be good without me."

you hear your mother sigh, and she shuffles into your room, closing the door behind you and sitting next to you on the bed.

"don't you wanna say goodbye to your sister, before she leaves?"

you shrug, "dee will be fine without my goodbye."

and for a moment, your mother is silent.

"well," she begins, "don't you want to say goodbye to ellie?"

you were stumped and you didn't reply.

"after all those late night conversations and such, i think ellie would want you to say goodbye."

your eyes widen in surprise, and you turn to look at your mother. "hold on, you know about that?"

she scoffs, "i may be your mom, but i'm not stupid." she laughs, "i can see things from a mile away, and my motherly intuition is telling me that...you like ellie."

you sigh and tear your eyes away from your mother, feeling ashamed, "i know, and i'm a terrible sister for that."

your mom soothingly rubs your back, "no, that makes you human. you can't help who you get feelings for, hun."

she tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and smiles at you, "ellie is an amazing girl, and i'm glad she realizes how wonderful you are."

tears fill your eyes, and you completely break down. your mom looks at you with sympathy, her heart cracking seeing her daughter experience heartbreak, "i love her, mom."

you let out these muffled sobs, and your mom takes you in her arms, comforting you as you cry.

as soon as you come back, she wipes your tears, and takes hold of your hands, "listen to me, sweetie," she coos, "if you love her, let her go, and if she comes back, she was always yours. but if she doesn't, it was never meant to be."

you laugh a little bit, "ugh, mom, that was corny."

"it is, but it's also true," she says, "which is why i think you need to say goodbye to ellie. life will take you in two different paths, and you'll regret it if you don't say anything."

absorbing her words, you nod and wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. you get up from your spot, and hurry outside, nearly sprinting to the driveway, seeing dina already in the passenger seat and ellie about to get in the driver's side.

"wait!" you call out, and ellie's head snaps in your direction, a wide smile curling on her face.

first, you jog over to dina, "bye, dee. have fun at yale and stay safe."

you kept your words short and sweet.

"thanks, kid. go crazy in LA, okay?"

smiling, you nod at her and make your way over to the driver's side of the car, where ellie was standing and waiting.

you stand in front of her and you take a deep breath, before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a tight hug.

you take this opportunity to whisper in her ear, only for her to hear, "maybe in the off chance we see each other again, and things are right, we can give us a shot."

"you better stay true to your words, pretty girl, because i plan on seeing you again," you can hear the smile in her voice as her arms wrap around your waist.

before anyone notices the prolonged hug, you pull away from her and stand next to your mom and dad, where you all wave goodbye to them as they pull away and disappear into the road.

maybe in another life, in another time, in another dimension, you and ellie were together.

you would have this big house overlooking the hills, and you'd have this amazing studio with huge windows to paint whatever you wanted and ellie would have her own office, dealing with her own ordeals. you would have a dog running around with a grumpy cat trailing along with them. you and ellie would always end the day with dinner together, and by the end of the night, you would be curled up in her arms and life would be perfect.

but this wasn't another life. for now, you and ellie were just two souls who are merely passing by each other in this lifetime. from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

[unholybacon355]

Down with the sickness

Male Reader X Mina

Word Count: 1K

A/N: Mina and you find an interesting way to use an elevator.

I wrote this some time ago, around a week after that fashion show. I had to do this. Istg i saw her with that dress at the fashion show and had to write this. And i have to recognize that In some point i wanted to do a long story, but it is what it is.

"Come on. Take it out of your pants and put it inside me.” Mina's devilish smile made your knees tremble as you pressed the elevator button harder than you should. “It's 80 floors to the hall, we have time.” She said rubbing her shoulder against your body. “Besides, I'm already wet, and you know I'm not wearing underwear. ”The tone in her voice was so lascivious it made your cock throb.

Without giving you time to answer anything Mina entered the elevator as soon as the doors opened. She walked elegantly until she stood in the middle, where she pulled up her dress, revealing her beautiful legs and that round butt that drove so many crazy. Then looking at you over her shoulder, again with that devilish smile on her lips, she leaned over and rested her hands against the elevator wall. Revealing in the process her perfectly shaved vulva.

"Fuck." Was all you could say before getting into the elevator just as the doors began to close. At the speed of light you opened the zipper and took out just your cock from inside your pants, you were already so hard that it was easy to aim and graze Mina's wet lips.

"Hard." More than a request it was an order, one that you were happy to obey even if it might cost you your job. Although the one who risked the most here was her. You couldn't compare what it would mean for a world-renowned artist to be found fucking in the elevator, on the way to an important fashion event, with what it would mean for a simple manager like you.

As she asked, you separated her folds a little with your tip, and then you suddenly shoved your cock into her vagina. The entire length in a single thrust, bouncing your balls and her buttocks in the process. You firmly took her by the hips and without wasting any more time you began to fuck her as if your life depended on it. She was so wet that she engulfed your shaft without any problem.

Mina instantly began to moan shamelessly. The sounds she makes echoed throughout the small elevator, filling it with her sweet voice and the wet noises you made as you fucked her. It was quite an experience to hear her voice on stage and then witness how it transformed into simple moans, samples of the pleasure she was feeling.

Mina pressed her butt against you looking for more friction, while you put a little more force into your thrusts. The movement fluttered the front part of her light blue dress, with details in what you could say was animal print. Of course Mina looked like a goddess in that dress, because that was what she was, and even though it wasn't like that it seemed like it had been custom designed for her. You were sure that once she left the hotel and exposed herself to the cameras, everyone was going to go crazy because of the large portion of her back that the garment left visible. Mina knew what drove her fans crazy, and she loved to use it against them.

Of course you were also crazy about her back, and everything about her, the truth is, she was a perfect woman in many ways. You wanted to kiss and leave love marks on her perfect back, but you knew you weren't allowed to. You were not her lover, much less her boyfriend or her husband, and although she did consider you a friend, you were nothing more than the personal manager she used to relief her libido.

“Gonna need to apply more perfume or they'll smell my wet pussy from miles away. ” But the truth is that she loves having men and women hypnotized by her beauty and other charms, so if they are able to smell the sex on her, that is just going to be an extra layer on her spell.

Your response was a grunt because all you could think about right now was that you didn't have much time left. The elevator had already descended sixty of the eighty floors, so the end of this session was eminently near. Without wasting any more time you wrapped your arm around her waist and used your fingers to play with her clitoris. Immediately your caresses made the muscles in her vagina contract involuntarily. Mina's response was to press her ass further into you.

“Don't you dare take it out, I… I want it all… inside me.” She was able to say between moans. For your part, you put more force into your thrusts, sacrificing speed to go as deep as you could with each thrust. You soon felt her pussy become impossibly tight around you and the spasms of her petite body revealed to you that she had climaxed. Almost instantly, without giving her time to come down from the cloud of pleasure she was in, you put your cock as deep as you could and unloaded your semen inside her, as she had demanded.

You two stayed like that, motionless for a few seconds, giving yourselves time to catch your breath before you let go of her and separated from her. A new, involuntary moan escaped that pretty little mouth when your cock came out of her pussy. With a smile on your lips, knowing you had done a good job, you put your cock back in your pants.

Mina, for her part, adjusted her dress and fixed her hair a little with her hand. By the time the elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened she looked flawless again, as if nothing had happened. Then she, with her best seductive smile, went out to the hotel hall, swaying her hips as she walked and greeting the people from the organization who were waiting for her. But she also came out smelling like sex and carrying your semen deep inside her, you were sure that everyone was going to be able to smell it on her. Mina was certainly the most shameless person you knew.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Refuge - a small town crime/love story

BuckyBarnes/WinterSoldier x Detective!Female!Reader

summary: You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

a/n: yeah I've been a sad bitch these days...

word count: 7k

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, killing and dying (as well as vague descriptions), probable misuse of police ranks (I don’t know how it works), little use of “Y/N” (like two times), language, a lot of angst and fluff, soft!Bucky, a hint of touch starved!Bucky, no happy ending, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!smut) !MINORS DNI!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

I recommend playing the songs linked in the text - I listened to them a lot while writing 🧡

Long streaks of crimson soaked the innocent snow beneath your feet.

Whatever happened, it had done so quick. The streaks turned into clumsy blotches and soon there would be evidence of a tired body dragging itself through the inches of snow in vain. 

It was too late. You were too late yet again. 

Sam threw his hat in the snow with a frustrated groan, his fist clenching so tight you actually heard it pop. 

“He’s doing it again,” the officer pressed past his stiff lip, “he’s messing with us.”

“Maybe this time he’s actually gotten sloppy.” Your eyes trained on the dark red contrasting the white.

Something was different about this one. But The Winter Soldier never left his victims capable of running away more than 10ft - it wasn’t his style. So why did this one make it past the tree line?

“Don’t try to sweet talk it, Y/L/N, he knows that we’re on his tracks. And he’s doing this to prevent us from finding him out once and for all.”

Sam’s pessimism could really annoy you sometimes, but it did help solve most of your cases in the past - it turned out that considering the worst-case scenario almost always brought you to the truth. Nevertheless, there was still something off. And you were determined to find out what it was this time. 

You turned around and made your way back to the car where blue and red lights silently snook through the woods before you finally turned them off. 

“I’m tired of this shit. What are we going to tell Sheriff Rogers? I’m pretty sure he’s about to kick us off the case anyway.” Sam gruffly entered the passenger seat with a frown. He was pissed, and you couldn’t blame him. 

“We’re not telling him anything.”

“And how would that work?”

“Just let me talk.” The tires screeched on the tar before you sped out of the woods. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Cold. So, so fucking cold.

Bucky’s teeth were cluttering. He didn't know where he was. Nor did he know how he had gotten there. There was barely anything he remembered, really. The past two hours were how far his memory reached and after that? Everything blank. Not blank entirely though. There was fear and darkness but no images, no faces, just unease. 

He stumbled past the trees and over roots hiding beneath the thick layer of snow that had accumulated even in the forest. His surroundings looked familiar, but he didn’t know why. His feet, however, seemed to guide him exactly where he needed to be. He didn’t think, just let them be. His hands were aching from the cold, he couldn’t feel them anymore, and his lungs hurt with every icy cold breath. Dusk was already breaking past the horizon, and when the darkness would take over completely, Bucky would be done for.

After another ten or twenty minutes - he really couldn’t tell - Bucky could make out a house sitting at the edge of the woods. There was smoke coming out of the chimney and rising past the threes. The sight alone warmed him a little bit, but his legs were quick to remind him how frozen he really was. He stumbled the distance until he landed on the doorstep.

This was a really bad idea. But then again: he was going to die out here. 

His knuckles jammed against the wooden door, and it made pain shoot up his entire arm. But his left one was hurting even more. His whole body was - well... the parts he could still feel.

❁ ❁ ❁

You opened the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you found. There was a man kneeling on your doorstep. His fingertips peeking out of cut cloves trembling from the cold, his lips broken with blood by the harsh winter wind now nipping on your bare toes as well. The warm light from inside your house illuminated his face and what you saw could have only been described as distress. Eyes laced with fear and helplessness, the man looked up at you. There were snowflakes clinging to his lashes, face pale and lifeless. 

“Please,” was the only thing he whispered, but his voice was weak and it made your heart plummet. 

“What... what happened?” You stood frozen at the door, bewilderment seeping through your body. 

“I-“ But his teeth were cluttering so much you could barely make out his words. You looked past him into the woods and then down the lonely street leading to your house. Nobody there. Another look to the little table by the door, where your gun was hidden. He seemed to be unarmed, too weak to fight, anyways. 

God, you hated how your instincts made you check through the whole situation, making the poor man die in the cold outside. But when you were done, and your eyes swayed back to his frame, you exhaled slowly and opened the door a little wider. 

“Come in.”

“Th- Thank you- u.” He dragged his tired body over the threshold and crawled to the fireplace crackling in the living room. 

You just stood still, closing the door after swiping the woods and the road one more time, and watched him tremble by the fire. After a while - he had stopped shaking - you approached him and he looked at you like a deer in headlights. When he noticed you weren’t doing anything but standing there, he faced the fire again and - that’s when you saw it: dark red staining the back of his head and sticking to his shoulder-long hair. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but he had definitely gotten a good hit.

“Sir, you need a doctor.” Your hand reached for the phone but he was quick to stop it. His ice-cold touch made you shiver.

“No, no doctor.” His eyes looked at you intently, switching left and right. “Please... I just need to warm up. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

You were staring again. Shocked, confused? Something like that. This man wouldn’t be leaving soon, there was a blizzard already hitting the state lines, and it would be here by midnight.

“Please... no doctor.” His voice was only a whisper now but it pushed through to you more than before.

“...no doctor.” He nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. “But... you are bleeding.”

“I’m okay.” He wasn’t. This man was anything but. Though, somehow, he had this weird aura about him that made you want to stay close to him. You weren’t scared or creeped out - you were... intrigued.

Your head dipped to the side. “Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Bucky.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I... I don’t know.” He looked defeated - stressed - but you deserved answers.

“What happened?”

“I-” he looked up again, pain evident in his stare before he closed his eyes. “…don’t know.”

A nod of your head in understanding. He must be tired, exhausted. You’d leave it for now.

“Would you at least let me clean your wounds?” If they were really as bad as they looked you wanted to get him to a hospital before the blizzard hit. Bucky nodded hesitantly but he didn’t move when you inched closer to take a look at his head. 

The wounds weren’t that bad. All the blood in his hair made it look a lot worse, but he still needed stitches. He sat quietly as you carefully threaded the needle through his scalp. It wasn’t perfect but it would do. 

Bucky didn’t make a sound, not even when you accidentally slipped and poked him, he was quiet. 

“You can take a shower if you like - get all that blood off and warm up completely,” you finally whispered when you cut the last thread. All the other cuts on his face merely needed cleaning and the bruises were already forming, so there was really nothing you could do. 

“It’s okay. I won’t be staying any longer.”

But when he moved to get up, it was your turn to stop him. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll die. Blizzard’s already hit north.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“You can.” Your hand sank when you noticed he wasn’t making a run for it. “At least until the storm passes.” He just nodded again but a hint of relief flushed through his orbs.

“Clean up, change. I have some clothes that will fit you. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

Bucky followed your orders and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. You headed to your dresser to get the sweatpants and Hoodie Steve had always stored in there. He wouldn’t miss them, he didn’t stay the night anymore. But now it would serve another purpose.

You made your way back to the bathroom and gave Bucky the clothes, though the door wasn’t closed all the way and you could see the sliver of skin peeking through the crack. His back was littered with red streaks, most likely whip marks, and his left shoulder was scattered in bumpy scarring. He had a metal arm and that was about all you could see before willing your eyes away.  

Your gaze wandered to his jacket hanging over the chair and your fingers itched to know more. He was a stranger in your house, after all. A stranger you had chosen to trust, though. But your hands were searching through the pockets before that thought was finished. They were all empty. No wallet, nothing. All you found was a black mask and several compartments for weapons - all empty as well, though.

You exhaled. Who are you, Bucky?

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky let the hot water run down his body. He looked at his left arm, the water hitting with drumming sounds and then repelling from its surface. Despite his lack of memory, he didn’t think it strange that an entire limb of his was missing, well kind of. It was okay - as if he had already coped with it somewhere in the past. The scars didn’t scare him either, or the red lines on his back. They were just there - accepted or not - unbothered. 

He closed his eyes and let the water fall on his face. Flashes of a fight lighting before his eyes. Torn between intrigue and horror, it was as if he had opened them.

Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!

He was back. And the shampoo washed from his face in white bubbles. It smelled good. Like you.  

Bucky spent another minute under the water before stepping out and looking into the mirror again. What was he even doing? Dragging an innocent woman into this mess - whatever it was. 

His hand ran down his face and the towel hung low on his hips when he reached for the clothes you gave him. They were soft and fit him perfectly. 

It wasn’t long until he stepped out into your warm living room again. There was a pillow and blanket on the sofa now, and it looked more inviting than Bucky had seen in a while - at least it felt that way. He didn’t say much when he sat down carefully, feeling the soft comforter under his skin, and watched as you handed him a glass of water. 

“I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

He just nodded.

“Will you be okay?”

He nodded again. But Bucky didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He was confused and scared and surprised you offered him shelter even though you knew nothing but his name. What a kind woman you were. 

You smiled sadly as you shut off the light, leaving Bucky to sink his head into the fluffy pillow. The flickers of flames in the fireplace danced on his skin when he closed his eyes, falling into a well-needed and dreamless slumber.

❁ ❁ ❁

He woke to the sound of dishes clinking the next morning, stretching and catching a new fire with his eyes before he peeked over the backrest of your sofa to your kitchen. He was more rested than he’d felt in a long time. And he didn’t know if it was the sheer exhaustion that had him fall asleep so quickly yesterday, or if, maybe, it had been the faint smell of lavender your sheets hosted. Either way, he smiled when he got up, and it felt a little strange to do so. 

“Good morning, Bucky.” You beamed over the stove where some eggs were sizzling, making his stomach grumble. 

“Good morning,...” He still didn’t know your name. But it was strange to ask now that he had already slept in your home. 

You chuckled as your name passed your lips and Bucky’s lips lifted into another small smile. 

You ate in silence then. There wasn’t much Bucky had to say and you didn’t seem to be chatty. Bucky didn’t mind. This, your house, had a certain serenity to it. The faint crackling of the fireplace, the homey smell of breakfast in the air, and the rioting storm pouring in soft flakes around it. It felt peaceful and calm and safe - even if he didn’t know who you were... even if he didn’t know who he was.

The day went by peacefully. At one point, Bucky explored your house. It wasn’t big, but full of memories, he could tell. There were pictures everywhere - some of people, some of places. Souvenirs, crafted things. Smiling faces stared at him as he carefully inspected the mantel pieces and something akin to sadness pulled on his heart. Bucky wished he had memories - ones like you did. Ones with happy people and gifted bookmarks. He was sure he did... somewhere. He was someone, right? He just didn't know how to pull that someone back. 

It was strange because he had memories. Faint ones. Some that didn’t feel right. His childhood was completely blocked out. He had tried to remember, and things came back to him in tiny pieces. This night he remembered his last name. Barnes. But then his mind associated it with strange callings of his name - urgent, demanding, unfriendly. It didn’t feel nice - none of his memories did. 

His finger drove over the small picture of a dog and then he smiled. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You sensed Bucky standing at the door as your head hung low above the desk scattered with pictures and leads. You didn’t bother hiding it from him though. Your house was small - it was almost impossible to hide things properly, especially if the days you spent snowed in kept being as quiet and boring as this one. Bucky was curious. He didn’t show it much but you notice the way his eyes scanned the room, how his brows twitched upon your frame above the files. He would catch a glimpse sooner or later. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky wrung his hands. “Am I interrupting?” 

He watched as you shook your head, tracing the rim of your empty beer bottle. Careful steps approached you and then he stood behind you, a tense breath resealing when he most certainly took read through the reports. Except, he didn’t. When you turned, you watched him scan the decor on the walls. 

And he didn’t stop until you called his name.

“Yes?” His eyes were piercing even in the dim lamplight - they were pretty. 

“Is there something you need?”

He looked a little started at your question, his hands still kneading beneath him. It was hard to believe someone as tall and built as him could be shy - but here he was.

“I just wanted to... uh...” He avoided your eyes. “I remembered my last name.”

You smiled, a small jump in your heartbeat sneaking past you. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

“So what is it?”

“What?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, Barnes, Bucky Barnes.” He smiled. “And I also wanted to thank you... for being so kind.” He got shy again. 

But you stood and smoothed your hands over his shoulder, feeling him relax a little. “I’m just glad you are okay.” 

“Still, it’s not a given and I won’t take it for granted. So, thank you.”

There was a short silence in which he just looked at you and you wondered what else there was to discover about this extraordinary man before you. You could tell there was so much history and depth behind the ocean blue orbs focusing on you, so much more not even Bucky Barnes could access yet, and that made it all the more intriguing. 

Bucky shifted again, and then suddenly yet carefully, leaned in to encase you in an awkward hug. It warmed your heart from the inside out, but It didn’t last long before you could feel the tension return to his back. 

He pulled back, disturbed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes were everywhere but on you. “I’ll let you work.” And then he stumbled past you and out the door as you stood and watched him leave, turning back to your desk to see the array of crime-scene photographs littered on its surface. 

❁ ❁ ❁

The hallway was spinning when Bucky made his way back to the living room. 

A heavy body fell to the snow, hands shielding features, scrambling backward on the harsh white ground.

“Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!”

Bucky’s metal hand collided with a face, releasing a loud cracking sound. There was so much blood. So much fucking blood. 

The room seemed to cave in. His chest rapidly rising and falling, Bucky made his way to the kitchen where he fell through the backdoor into feet of snow. The cool on his face calmed him down immediately, hitting him like the memory of it had done. He stayed there for a while, just enjoying the silence of the storm and letting the weather tie him to the ground.

That’s what he needed. A reminder, something to ground him, tell him how vulnerable he was, that there was still something human left in him.

His jaw clenched when he scrambled up again, skin burning from the ice piercing through the air. He was okay, he told himself, he was fine.

He shook his head and made his way to the little hut in the backyard, where he took your axe and began chopping firewood. A little distraction would do him good.

❁ ❁ ❁

After a simple dinner, you retreated to the sofa. Bucky hadn’t talked to you a lot and he felt a little bad you were stuck with him for another day due to the storm. But you never lost a word about it. In fact, you acted so naturally about it, as if he were a frequent visitor in your cozy retreat, one he had grown to associate with comfort and warmth in the short time being. 

“What’s your favorite movie?” You crossed your legs next to him. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky didn’t even remember watching movies ever. And it made him sad.

“Favorite genre?” You tried again. But Bucky just shrugged with a tight-lipped smile. 

“I like rom-coms.” You smiled and Bucky noticed yet again how easy it was to spend time with you. 

The TV began to play a generic song, but Bucky was too occupied looking at you. He couldn’t remember but he felt as though he had not experienced this sort of kindness in a long time, and it warmed his heart. But in the back of his mind, there was always that feeling of betrayal lurking in the dark. Because he began to remember things - things that lay not too far in the past and that were horrible, unspeakable really. 

He had not pieced them together just yet. Just snippets of memories, pieces of conversations rushing through his mind when he was triggered. And it scared him a little bit. But he didn’t want to lay his burden on you. 

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you tired? We can stop the movie if you-“

Bucky shook his head. “No.” He smiled, not wanting you to leave yet.

“Okay.” You whispered before turning to the TV with a smile. As did Bucky. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky woke with an unusual amount of peace. He felt warm and comfortable - well-rested too. The fire was lazily puffing in the chimney and the TV was off. But there was something, or rather someone else he noticed. He looked down, his eyes landing on your frame, tightly tugged to his body. You weren’t cold, even though the room had cooled significantly since last night, and your face looked so peaceful - unbothered. The sight did weird things to his heart. But his response to it was to sling his arms around you tighter, and for the first time in a while, Bucky felt as though he was protecting something rather than threatening it. 

A smile snuck on his lips unawares. You stirred, but neither of you loosened their grip. 

“Good morning.” Your head disappeared into his chest again.

“Mornin’” he could feel your frown through his shirt.

For some reason, it just felt natural to stay like this. Neither Bucky nor you moved for a while. You just lay there - not talking, not sleeping - enjoying the calm morning, even though Bucky could see the snowflakes rioting outside the living room window. 

His hand dragged up and down your back and you sighed. 

“What are you doing today?”

You pulled back a little, watching him, contemplating something - he could see it. 

“I...” You trailed off, but Bucky stayed silent. 

“You know what?” His eyebrows raised as you scrambled off the sofa and extended your hand toward him. “Come with me.”

And he did. You lead him to your office and Bucky was reluctant at first. The last time he was here he had a panic attack. But your hand was still in his, and it calmed him. 

“I’ve been working on a case for some time now... but I’m stuck.” You moved to the desk and Bucky followed. “There’s been a murderer tormenting the town for weeks, driving the whole department crazy. I’ve been looking at these files for days. Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help.”

“You... you want me to help you?” This was new. 

“Bucky,” your hand landed on his arm and his eyes were glued to the interaction, “we’re stuck in here for at least another day. Why not be productive? And who knows? Maybe you’re able to help me solve this case.” You smiled.

But he was still hesitant.

“That guy killed my partner’s sister. Anyone that can help us even in the slightest is welcome”

He gulped. “Okay, alright...”

You sat down at the desk, spreading out pictures, handing him files, and explaining what you had gathered so far. Bucky listened attentively. And even though he was a little scared to look at the pictures again, he warmed up to the process you guided him through. Everything was labeled and put to memos. 

The process and the document brought him a weirdly familiar feeling but Bucky shoved it off to the side - after a while, even enjoying the puzzle you laid before him. 

“This one is unusual... why did this victim get so far?” He mumbled. 

“Maybe he’s messing with us...”

“Or he was interrupted,” he stated plainly as he grabbed another picture. 

You were silent then, and Bucky looked up at you to find you smiling across the files littered on the floor. “You must have some sort of experience, those are some good observations.”

Bucky shrugged. Whoever he had been in the past was yet to be revealed to him, but he did admit that tactical thinking came easy to him.

“Also this,” he pointed at the latest crime scene photo, “these tracks are inconsistent. Normally, he attacks from the left. But here it’s all over the place. Something must have happened to make him stop and change tactics.”

“Something like...?”

“Maybe he got a hit himself. You said the forensic scientist approximated quick deaths. The Winter soldier always kills precisely.”

You nodded. “One hit and they're done for.”

“That takes a high amount of skill. There are not a lot of things that can interrupt these tactics. Except, if he wasn’t capable anymore.”

“There were no indications of the victims defending themselves. They never had a chance.”

“Were there no indications or was it just not tested anymore?”

“The blood.” Bucky watched as you sprung up. “There was too much blood. Some of it must be his!”

Attagirl. Bucky couldn’t help it, a proud smile painted his features. He watched as you pressed the telephone to your ear, a faint beeping caught by his ears, and then you frowned. 

“The lines are dead,” you sighed. 

“What are we gonna do now?”

“We have to wait out the storm... There’s no way we’re getting anywhere out there.”

His eyes swayed to the window, where a wall of white soft snow fell unrelenting. He nodded. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You were on the sofa again, there was nothing to do. The fire was crackling, and you sat next to Bucky with a cup of tea in hand. 

The case didn’t stop swarming your mind though. You finally had a new lead, a small hint that could lead to a suspect and you had no way of contacting Sam or the Sheriff’s department. There was likely nobody working, anyway. Maybe Steve, he was crazy like that - he’d gone out in unholy weather when you had a fight once, just to give you space. 

Your eyes wandered around the room as your mind went through the case files again, and then, when they landed on Bucky again, a little shiver ran over your skin. 

“Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Have you... Do you think it’s possible you were the thing interrupting the Winter Soldier?”

He looked at you blankly. 

“You were pretty banged up when you found me.” You didn’t try to insinuate anything, you were just a little worried... and curious. 

“There were no other tracks in the snow, though.” His shoulders slumped. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to-“

His hand found your knee. “I understand.”

And your eyes locked. “Do you not want to know what happened to you?”

“I’ll remember it eventually,” he smiled reluctantly, “right now, I’m actually glad not having to worry about it too much.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don't know... I just prefer your company instead.”

You nodded and bit your lip to stop your smile from spreading. “I’m glad I’m not alone here, too.”

Bucky looked down, hiding his smile in vain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Icy wind whipped around Bucky when he noticed the man lying in the snow in front of him. He was begging, crying, screaming words he couldn’t make out in the storming winds.

And that’s when Bucky realized he was bleeding. Not Bucky, no, the man. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, drawing a growing circle in the snow - growing darker with every drop seeping deeper into the thick white.

So much blood. 

Bucky was confused, and worried, and scared. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, and when he moved to help the man, he scrambled away towards the treeline.

Bucky didn’t follow him. The look of utter fear had shaken him to the bone. What had the man been so scared of? Bucky looked down his body, past the heavy vest to a sleek silver knife wedged between gloved fingers.

He stumbled backward. Almost losing his balance as he sped in the other direction. Away from the man, the blood, the sheer horror of the scene in front of him. What had he done? What was going on?

“You need to wake up!” Bucky’s shoulder shook with your touch. 

Suddenly he shot up, shrugging you off until you landed on your butt next to the sofa. 

He was sweating, heaving, eyes searching the room until he realized that there was no danger and gore around anymore. Just your cozy living room and you. You.

“You’re okay, Bucky. It was just a bad dream.” Your hands were on him again, his covering yours. 

“I’m okay,” he reiterated.

“We’re safe here.” You weren’t. Because Bucky was the Winter Soldier. 

The realization hit him like a truck, his hands immediately retracting from your skin. His heart began to pick up its pace again. The memories flooding his brain overwhelmed him to the point of dizziness. But he couldn’t be close to you. Not after he had done the unspeakable. Not after he had killed your partner’s sister. This had become too personal.

“I need to leave.” He stood up too quickly, swaying dangerously before scrambling past you. 

“You can’t leave yet. It’s horrible outside.” You reached out to him again.

But he shook you off again. “I can’t stay either.”

“Why? What’s the problem?” 

Bucky halted, his shoulders sagging. There was no point in keeping it from you. You would find out anyway. And he would leave either way. It was just fair, you deserved the truth, to know you had sheltered an assassin for days. 

He turned to you with afflicted eyes. “It’s me,” he whispered shamefully, feeling his eyes fill with tears. 

You didn’t ask - just looked at him and swallowed hard. It was crazy how well you had gotten to know each other in the three days you were snowed in. But what was even more unfathomable to Bucky was that you understood. That you knew and didn’t flinch, or scream, or threaten him. 

“I... the... my weapons, they’re buried in the woods. It was me, I did it. They made me do it. They–“ A sob broke through his speech. 

You stood up to touch him but Bucky stepped back with the shake of his head. 

“They can control me,” he uttered and the statement heard out loud made him shiver all over. 

You reached out a third time and this time, Bucky didn’t move. He let it happen when your hands encased his cheeks and your lips laid a soft kiss on his jaw. “It’s fine.” Another kiss. “You’re fine.”

“I’m a monster.”

You shook your head with a teary smile.

“They’ll kill me when they find out.” There was no panic in his tone, he had already accepted his fate. The hard part was saying goodbye to you. 

“I won't let that happen.” Your forehead pressed to his.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not him anymore. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace. Somehow, hearing his name from your lips meant so much more than anything else ever could. And with a taste of hope on his tongue, his hands grabbed your face and pressed your lips to his eagerly. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You stumbled back but Bucky held you firmly in his grasp. He sighed into the kiss when you began to move your lips in sync with his, a lonely tear rolling over his cheek and stopping at your thumb. 

He was warm and soft, rough around the edges but so sweet. His chapped lips left your mouth; his arms wandered around your body as he held you tightly, face disappearing in the crook of your neck. 

Bucky was so full of affection, and passion, you could feel it in every touch he gifted you. You didn’t know how long he had gone without a kind word, without a reassuring smile, but you knew that you would give it all to him in this moment. 

“Come here.” His puppy eyes squeezed between your hands, he let you guide his face back to yours where you stole another deep kiss from him. 

But you wanted more. Needed to feel him all over - wanted to step into his skin if you could, just to be closer to him. 

You guided him back to the sofa until he fell backward with you pressed against his chest. There was not an inch of space between your bodies as your legs tangled slowly. Bucky groaned when his hand tangled in your hair, a soft nudge pushing you to the side until he was almost hovering over you. 

“You’re cold,” he stated upon feeling over your goosebumps. And then he, somehow elegantly, rolled the both of you off the sofa and to the carpet in front of the fire. 

Your skin was burning deliciously when he removed your shirt carefully, a cool metal hand soothing over the side facing the fire. His hard bulge nudged against your core when his mouth placed soft kisses over your clavicle. Little did he know you weren’t shivering from the temperature in the room, but you wouldn’t protest. 

Your heartbeat quickened with every piece of clothing left discarded around you. Bucky was all over you. Lips, hands, legs - a wild entanglement of limbs surrounded every content moan he gifted you and you loved it. 

Soft warm kisses placed a firm trail down his body as you worked your way to the hemline of his boxers. You removed them with ease, his hands not once leaving your body no matter how grand your movements. He seemed assured when he could feel you beneath his fingertips. 

“Will you stay?” You kissed his hip, hooded eyes looking at him through lashes. 

“Anything for you.” His breath was shaky. You moved to kiss his tip, but as soon as your lips touched his red flesh, “But-“ he pulled you up again. “I need you closer.” He smiled. 

“Okay.” And then your lips were back on his. His fingers danced around your body until they pulled your underwear off as well. 

You parted just to watch as your warm hands guided his tip along your slick folds, his cock witching when he touched your wetness, another shaky exhale escaping his chest. 

His eyes held yours when you lowered yourself until he was fully sheathed by you, a heavenly feeling consuming you with the delicious stretch he gave you.

You moaned in unison when you rolled your hips for the first time. Then another, and another. Until you found a comfortable rhythm that had Bucky bury his strong fingers in your hips, guiding you to meet every thrust of his own. 

Your name rolled over his tongue as his eyes closed and it never sounded as good as this. He stuttered when you squeezed his cock with your walls, chasing your own high as Bucky fought to hold on. 

There was so little talking in this passionate moment but so much felt said at the same time. Every touch of Bucky’s held stories in its wake, every kiss of his lips whispered soft promises to your body. You never wanted to let go again. 

Your hand guided his eyes to yours when you felt your insides squeeze unrelenting. Moans being swallowed by another heated kiss, you rode each other through ecstasy. The overwhelming heat of his body and the fire seemed to swallow you whole when your sticky body collided with his only to have Bucky sling his arms around you again. 

He kissed your head, whispering sweet nothing to your ear before the aftershocks of pleasure fully subsided. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Harsh knocks on the front door ripped you from your desk. You stumbled down the hallway as you tried to get to the intruder faster. 

“Y/L/N open the damn door!” You stopped. It was Sam. What was Sam doing here? The storm had begun to soften, but it was still not totally safe out.

A look to your left showed Bucky standing in the living room looking at you with unease written all over him. He scrambled to the wall on the floor when your hand moved to the doorknob. Sam didn’t know. Nobody knew that there had been a man hiding in your house for three days and it would stay that way... for now. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too.” Sam tried to step forward but you blocked his way. He frowned. “The lines went dead and I needed to show you this.”

Sam pulled a crumbled piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the silver star shining in the white landscape around him. It had stopped snowing this morning, and his truck was probably the only one making it through the streets.

Suddenly, Bucky’s face stared back at you between creased paper. He was wearing an army uniform, a proud smile decorating his features as he held his hat in his hands. “What’s that?” You swallowed hard.

“It’s him.” Sam showed the picture further. “His blood sample DNA is all over the victim.”

“The blood,” you whispered upon stealing a glance at your living room. “What... what are you gonna do?”

“That motherfucker killed my sister. And I am not going to rest until I’ve ended his life just as he did Sarah’s.” Sam tried to hide the raspiness in his voice at his sister’s name, but he failed. 

You couldn’t blame him. Sarah had been a wonderful person. Her death had come unexpectedly for everyone. Nobody could fathom that anybody wished her harm. 

I have his last known location. So are you coming or not?”

“It’s dangerous. The roads are closed off.”

“I don’t care.” You snuck another look to Bucky who was just blankly staring ahead now. He looked tense - frightened. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sam-”

“Don’t even try. This is ending, now.” He stepped back. “So are you coming?” His eyes were piercing. “...or not?”

You nodded with tight lips, gifting one last reassuring smile to Bucky as you reached around the door to grab your jacket and gun. Sam was already starting the car. 

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” you whispered only to watch Bucky’s chest heave with panic. “I’m so sorry. I won’t let him hurt you.”

The car honked before you could hear Bucky’s answer, shoulders jerking as your head pulled from behind the door. 

“I’m coming!”

❁ ❁ ❁

“I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna kill him.” Sam was gripping the steering wheel so tight, you thought it would break. “I’m gonna shoot him in the head, and I’ll watch him die just like he did–“

“Wilson.”

His head snapped to you with fiery eyes. But you were just as upset. The thought of Bucky being killed made you want to throw up. You obviously wouldn’t let that happen. Killing Bucky would do nothing when the actual bad guys were still out there, possibly manipulating a dozen other people into doing their dirty work. Bucky had told you the details he remembered, and it was enough to know that none of it was his fault - and most importantly - that there was a much bigger fish to catch. 

Sam clenched his jaw before looking back to the road. The mist had cleared slightly now. 

“I don’t think killing the Winter Soldier will solve the problem.” You instantly regretted saying that, because Sam slammed the brakes, making the truck slide on the icy road until it came to a stop. He was looking at you again. 

“He killed Sarah. He’s a criminal. A ruthless, cold-hearted serial killer.” There was so much betrayal in his eyes but he averted them again. “Even if I did not have personal reasons... he belongs behind bars at least. But the world would be so much better off if he was just gone.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really? Then please enlighten me. Because I would really like to know what made you change your morals.”

“You know, you’re not the only one that found out some things while snowed in,” you snapped and watched your partner look down contritely.

“It’s not just him. And it’s not him we need to stop.” You were careful about your next words - you needed to say them but you had no idea how to explain them. “There’s a whole criminal organization behind- ...behind the Winter Soldier program.”

“How?” His teeth were grinding. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that” yet, you added in thought. Though you weren’t sure Sam would ever understand why you sheltered his sister's murderer in your home.

The car fell silent for a moment. But you swore you could hear Sam’s mind working overtime to decide how he would go about this. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached for the ignition. 

“You’re lucky I trust you,” He muttered before starting the car again, shoulders still tense, and an ever-growing frown on his face. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It had taken a good portion of your energy to explain the situation to Sam without revealing your secret. It was hard and tiring, but you had planned a new strategy to approach the case with your partner. And now, several coffees and hours later, when the sun had already set beyond the woods behind your house, you found yourself on your doorstep with a smile. Because you knew that all of it would be forgotten as soon as you had Bucky back in your arms.

“Bucky, I’m home!” You called out before the door fell shut behind you. But there was something different about the place. 

Your eyes scanned the living room - no fire, lights out, and Bucky’s makeshift Bed was neatly stacked by the end of the Sofa. 

You smiled, still, he had probably finally decided to accept your offer to sleep in your bed. 

“Bucky?” You pushed past the bedroom door just to find the room empty as well. 

You frowned. You could have sworn he’d be lying there, waiting for you. But the domestic haze your fantasy cooked up in the few days of isolation the storm had brought you seemed to have clouded your brain. 

You tried the hut in the yard last - without luck. But it wasn’t until you came back into your house, sitting on the neatly made sofa that hosted a journey of emotions through the past days that the revelation hit you like a truck. 

A tear rolled down your cheek as your hands folded in your lap.

Bucky had come into your life like tragedy - sudden and with the force of an avalanche. He had brought you joy, and confusion, and pleasure, and warmth. Bucky had packed a lifetime of experiences and emotions in the span of three days, and then - just like he had appeared - and much like your initial excitement about coming back to him, he had vanished without a trace.

wow... here we are. I've had this in the drafts for a long time and tinkered on it throughout until it turned out this way. I hope you liked it. Please consider showing this post some love (reblog or comment) if you did - it really helps creators on this plattform! Love ya loads ~ℳ❁

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[gatheringbones]

[“When I first came out as a lesbian in 1971, identity politics were so pervasive that this modality didn’t even have a name; it was simply the sea in which every queer sank or swam. One of the key assumptions of identity politics is that we can reveal in one grand social drama of coming out the absolute inner core of truth that makes up one’s “real self.” Coming out is seen as a process like peeling away the layers of an onion or the petals of an artichoke. Identity politics also assumes that your political allies will have to be people who share your identity because nobody else could understand your oppression or really be committed to fighting it; that people who share some aspects of your sexuality but not others are either afraid to come out or traitors to the cause; that it’s not possible for someone to change the way they label themselves without being dishonest or cowardly.

Now I see queer politics quite differently. I know from personal experience that I can’t trust somebody just because their sexual preferences or their gender identity resembles my own. I know we can make allies who are indignant about injustice even if it does not impinge directly upon their own lives. I see coming out as a lifelong process that proceeds as I become ready to understand and accept aspects of myself which bear lessons I need to learn at different points in my life. Each new coming out does not recreate me as a whole new person; I think some people view it this way, but this is crazy-making and too compartmentalized for me. It’s more like being able to see each and every spoke of the wheel that makes up my being, or like opening up and furnishing another new room of my soul.

I wonder what coming out would be like if we were not forced into these defensive positions of tribal loyalty and us-them thinking. What if we could say to a friend who was embarking on a new coming out, “I love you, and so I must also love this new aspect of yourself. Because I care about you I want to know more about it. Let’s both learn from this.” Instead, what usually happens is a great deal of indignation, betrayal, and rejection. I think this is because a person who is coming out threatens the identities of former acquaintances, partners, and coworkers. If someone else’s identity can be fluid or change radically, it threatens the boundaries around our own sense of self. And if someone can flout group norms enough to apply for membership in another group, we often feel so devalued that we hurry to excommunicate that person. This speaks to our own discomfort with the group rules. The message is: I have put up with this crap for the sake of group membership, and if you won’t continue to do the same thing, you have to be punished.

We seem to have forgotten that the coming-out process is brought into being by stigma. Without sexual oppression, coming out would be an entirely different process. In its present form, coming out is reactive. While it is brave and good to say “No” to the Judeo-Christian “Thou Shalt Nots,” we have allowed our imaginations to be drawn and quartered by puritans. I believe that most of the divisions between human sexual preferences and gender identities are artificial. We will never know how diverse or complex our needs in these realms might be until we are free of the threat of the thrown rock, prison cell, lost job, name-calling, shunning, and forced psychiatric “treatment.”

I do not think human beings were meant to live in hostile, fragmented enemy camps, forever divided by suspicion and prejudice. If coming out has not taught us enough compassion to see past these divisions, and at least catch a vague glimpse of a more unified world, what is the use of coming out at all? I have told this story, not to say that anybody else should follow me or imitate me, but to encourage everyone to keep an open mind and an open heart when change occurs. The person who needs tolerance and compassion during a major transformation may be your best friend, your lover, or your very self. Bright blessings to you on the difficult and amazing path of life.”]

patrick califa, from layers of the onion, spokes of the wheel, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[cool-fancier]

Bound By Desire

Synopsis: Bada surrenders to your desires as you explore her body, igniting a passionate encounter between you both.

A/n:uses nickname of ‘princess’ fluff to smut .The characters and especially Bada and events in this story are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real-life individuals or situations is purely coincidental.A bit rushed

Word count:1.9K

It was on a crisp autumn day, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves. You found yourself in a quaint café, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of a warm cup of coffee. Lost in your thoughts, you sipped your drink, observing the world around you.

As you glanced up, your eyes met Bada's, who stood near the counter, studying the menu. There was an immediate connection, an unspoken understanding that passed between you two. Intrigued by her presence, you gestured towards the empty seat across from you.

"Would you like to join me?" You asked, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

Bada's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she accepted the offer, settling into the chair. You both exchanged pleasantries, engaging in light conversation that gradually deepened. You discovered shared interests, passions, and an appreciation for art, music, and dance.

As the hours flew by, your connection grew stronger. You shared stories, dreams, and fears, gradually peeling back the layers of our souls. It was a slow dance of getting to know one another, each conversation revealing more about your hopes and desires.

Days turned into weeks, and your encounters became more frequent. You embarked on adventures together, exploring the city's hidden gems, visiting art galleries, and immersing ourselves in the beauty of nature. These shared experiences deepened your bond, allowing you to see different facets of each other.

One evening, as you strolled through the park, the setting sun casting a golden glow over everything, Bada turned to you, her eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

"Y/N, I have to confess something," she began, her voice soft yet determined. "I've been feeling a strong connection with you, a connection that I can't ignore. I find myself thinking about you constantly, and I'm drawn to your presence. It's as if we were meant to cross paths."

Her words resonated deep within you, validating the feelings that had been blossoming in your own heart. You reached out, gently taking her hand in yours , your touch conveying a sense of comfort and reassurance.

"Bada," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "I feel it too. This connection we share is something special, something I've never experienced before. I want to explore it, to see where it leads us. If you're willing, I'd be honored to be your girlfriend."

A smile bloomed on Bada's face, her eyes shining with joy. "Yes, Y/N," she said, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and vulnerability. "I would love for us to be more than just friends.”

From that moment on, your relationship blossomed with a gentle and deliberate pace. You took the time to truly know each other, nurturing an emotional connection as you discovered the intricacies of your thoughts and aspirations. Your physical intimacy, too, grew naturally over time, as you both explored the depths of passion and desire.

Each day brought you closer, deepening your understanding and love for one another. You cherished the simple joys, the laughter, and the shared moments of vulnerability. Your relationship became a tapestry woven with trust, respect, and a genuine appreciation for the unique individuals you were.

As the seasons changed, your love continued to evolve, adapting to the challenges that life presented. You both faced hardships and celebrated triumphs together, providing unwavering support and encouragement. The connection remained steadfast, an anchor in the stormy seas of life.

Looking back, you are grateful for the gradual development of your relationship. It allowed you to build a solid foundation, one rooted in trust, emotional intimacy, and a profound understanding of one another. Your love story continues to unfold, each chapter filled with depth, passion, and a profound appreciation for the journey you embarked upon that fateful autumn day.

— — — — —

You had been away for what felt like an eternity, consumed by the demands of work and the chaos of life. The distance between Bada and you grew, and the ache of longing for her touch intensified with each passing day. But finally, the day had arrived. You stood outside her door, your heart pounding with anticipation.

As you knocked, your mind raced with memories of our passionate encounters, the way her body molded against yours, the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin beneath your fingertips. The door swung open, and there she stood, a vision of beauty and desire, clad in her sweatpants and baggy T-shirt.

Her eyes widened in surprise, a mix of excitement and relief washing over her face. "Y/N," she breathed, her voice filled with longing. "You're finally here."

You couldn't hold back any longer. You surged forward, your lips crashing against hers in a searing, passionate kiss. Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the heat radiating between the two of you. The taste of her, the familiar scent of her skin, it all flooded your senses, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long.

As your lips danced, your hands roamed freely, tracing every curve and dip of each other's bodies. The hunger and need for one another were palpable, almost suffocating. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locked with hers.

Her lips lingered on your, ascending each step, lost in the fervor of her kiss, guiding you to your shared room.

"Not yet, princess," you whispered against her lips, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and restraint. "I want to savor you."

Bada's lips parted, a soft moan escaping her as she threw her head back against the pillows. The sight of her surrendering to the pleasure you could provide sent a jolt of electricity through you. You trailed kisses along her jawline, nipping at her sensitive skin, before making your way down to the curve of her neck.

Your hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of her body. You revealed in the softness of her skin, the way it yielded beneath your touch. You could feel her heartbeat quicken against your fingertips, matching the rhythm of your own racing pulse.

Her breathing grew ragged as you made your way lower, your lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire along her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. You dipped your fingers beneath the delicate fabric, feeling her heat radiating against your skin.

Bada's plea was barely a whisper, but it reverberated through the room, fueling the fire that consumed you both. "Y/N, I need you."

You couldn't deny her any longer. You ran a finger through her folds, just to tease her, reveling in the way she arched against your touch. "Oh, princess, I can feel how much you need me," you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and longing.

She begged again, her pouty pink lips forming the most enticing plea. "Please," she whimpered, her voice laced with need.

A wicked smile curled on your lips as you leaned in, your breath warm against her ear. "You look so pretty when you pout, princess," you whispered, your voice a low, seductive murmur. "But I have something better in mind."

With that, you trailed your fingers through her folds again, feeling her growing wetter and wetter in anticipation. Her hips instinctively bucked against your hand, seeking more contact, more friction.

Your own desire burned brightly within you, but you wanted to draw out this moment, to build the tension until it was almost unbearable. You withdrew my hand, leaving Bada panting and needy, her eyes pleading for release.

"Not yet," you said firmly, your voice laced with a hint of dominance. "I want to play with you a little longer."

The frustration and longing danced in her eyes, but she nodded, a mix of anticipation and resignation written across her face. She trusted you completely, knowing that you would lead her to the heights of pleasure.

You continued to tease her, your fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, skimming just past where she craved your touch the most. You reveled in the control, in the power you held over her pleasure. Bada's gasps fill the room as you continue to pleasure her, your fingers moving with deliberate precision. Her body arches against your touch, aching for more. You lean in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue dancing with hers as you intensify your movements.

A surge of possessiveness courses through you, fueling your desire to claim her completely. You quicken the pace of your fingers, feeling her walls tighten around them. Each stroke brings her closer to the edge, and you can sense her unraveling beneath you.

"You're mine, princess," you growl, your voice dripping with dominance. "No one else can make you feel like this."

Bada's eyes flutter open, the intensity in her gaze mirroring the passion that courses through your veins. "Yes, Y/N," she breathes, her voice laced with submission. "I'm yours, body and soul."

With those words, you feel a surge of power rush through me, emboldening you to push her further. You add a third finger, stretching her, and her moans turn into a symphony of pleasure. Her hips buck against your hand, seeking more friction, more release.

You can feel her approaching the precipice, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. You lean down, capturing one of her pert nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, while your fingers continue their relentless assault.

"Y/N!" she cries out, her voice filled with a mix of pleasure and desperation. "I'm going to come!"

You pull away, denying her release. "Not yet, princess," you whisper, your breath warm against her ear. "I want to taste you first."

Her eyes widen with anticipation as you position myself between her thighs. The scent of her arousal fills the air, intoxicating you. You lower your head, your tongue flicking against her swollen clit, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Bada.

You tease her, alternating between slow, languid licks and intense, focused sucking. Her hands grip the sheets, her body writhing beneath you as you bring her to the edge of ecstasy over and over again, denying her release until she's begging for it.

"Please, Y/N," she pleads, her voice desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I need to come."

You smile against her sensitive flesh, savoring the taste of her arousal on your lips. "Beg for it, princess," you command, your voice dripping with dominance.

Her eyes lock with yours, her desperation shining through. "Please, Y/N," she pleads, her voice filled with raw need. "Let me come. I'm yours. Only yours."

The sight of her surrendering to you, her vulnerability laid bare, sends a surge of possessiveness through you. You gave her what she craves, your tongue working tirelessly against her clit as you plunge two fingers back inside her, matching the rhythm of your movements with the intensity of your sucking.

Bada's body tenses, her back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure crashes over her. She cries out your name, her voice a mix of ecstasy and surrender, as her orgasm ripples through her.

You continue to lavish attention on her sensitive core, prolonging her pleasure as she rides the waves of her release. Finally, when she's spent, you ease off, your lips trailing kisses along her inner thighs.

Bada's chest rises and falls rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. She looks at me with a mixture of awe and adoration, her eyes shining with unspoken emotions.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice filled with love and gratitude. "That was... incredible."

You crawl up the bed, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. "You're incredible, princess," you murmur, nuzzling against her neck. "But… I'm just getting started."

[knife-moth-mc]

a non-comprehensive but pretty long list of specific things about the baby is you that i think are good or make it good art in some way

The specificity of “what the fuck are you doing on the ground writhing in pain”. I feel like a more normal thing to say would be something like “Are you okay???” It’s very This Gun That I Have In My Right Hand Is Loaded

The layered voices when dave denies being pregnant

The fact that john’s immediate next question after “who’s the father?’ is “who’s the baby?” as if that’s in any way a question that makes sense

Woooooo….. police sirens police sirens…… wooooooo……

John meowing fully unprompted

The extremely Homestuck-specific euphemisms throughout

“I’m not even born yet, that’s not fair!”

Karkat showing up out of absolutely nowhere

Karkat voice “I must be the…. mmmmmidwife.”

Karkat immediately interrupting the unfolding baby situation to sing a little song about his hatecrush on john

Rose’s VA’s ooc lines just kind of thrown in there at what initially seems like random but if you pay attention it makes a certain kind of rhythmic sense

The reveal that rose is pregnant being followed by a betrayed “Rose!” said by both dave and rose

“Suck that bitch’s dick!” “I’m going to—That’s not what I’m doing! That’s the opposite of what I’m doing!”

Hearts. And minds. And souls. And hearts.

The genuinely catchy sung section of the rose rap

The slant rhyme of serengeti with spaghetti

Dave basically turning to the camera to say “incest is bad” before immediately proposing to his sister

The pathos of rose’s confession that she lied about being pregnant, followed by dave’s extremely flat, emotionless reassurance

“Being pregnant might be against the rules of the MSPA forum but shipping us together is not, for some reason”

Bro showing up to provide a new conflict now that all the rose stuff is resolved

The conflict being specifically that he wants to eat babies

“He’s never tried to eat my babies before” implying that there were previous babies

Bro’s forbidden technique being just “words that rhyme with themselves” and then him almost instantly fucking it up

“Actually, a fight sequence was entirely unnecessary, so it was deleted, and what happens is that in the end, it turns out Bro was a robot, I mean… it was just complex, given the fact that this is a normally simple story about, you know, like a thirteen year old boy giving birth to his bre—best friend. It didn’t fit the archetypes, so I’m going to move on to the next song, and you can just… chillax a little bit.”

KC Green (the guy who made This Is Fine and I Guess and a bunch of other well-known images used as memes) being there completely unexplained to lead a sing-along. Like it makes sense historically but in the album itself it just kinda happens

Andrew hussie being directly addressed by name just to really drill in the fact that this is pointed commentary

The very confident implication that babies are a different species entirely

compiled because @420technoblazeit doesn't know how to appreciate this masterpiece

[lesbian-kyoru]

skip and loafer chapter 55 thoughts

this chapter was so poignant but one aspect that stood out to me was all it told us about mika & mukai's dynamic so far!

mukai followed along on a whim & subsequently ended up witnessing a lot of vulnerability on mika's end, someone who he still doesn't have a good grasp on yet—after seeing her worst + being surprised by her capacity for kindness, his perception of her is continually being challenged & muddled. we've seen already how mukai is a very logical, cut & dry person in his thinking, so imo mika's Layers are both confusing & intriguing to him.

at the same time i thought it was interesting how mukai realizes that mika ALSO doesn't have a clear perception of him—though their scenes always feel very Intentional, they actually have not interacted a ton within the context of the friend group, esp given their rocky start.

so from there, we get this juxtaposition within mika & mukai's relationship where they are v unsure of each other and yet there's an odd sense of trust there. it's definitely not an ACTIVE trust, but something more peripheral; mika doesn't mind mukai being there while she talks to nao because, in her mind, mukai already knows abt this insecurity so she isn't revealing anything new to him. after opening up to nao, she apologizes to mukai for getting him caught up in her venting; despite this, it really struck me how this felt like such growth for her to simply move on rather than carrying the feeling around shamefully. it's like a weight lifts off mika's shoulders & it's cathartic for this to happen in front of mukai, who was the accidental catalyst for her confession to shima. mukai, in contrast, seems more unsure than ever.

he's puzzled to realize that mika's confession to shima wasn't fueled by a desire for reciprocation but rather the courage it took her to express her feelings openly, instead of always attempting to hide behind a facade & never experience the vulnerability in risking rejection. we know that mukai's experience of romantic confessions is almost entirely filtered through shima, since he's never been confessed to himself—and it's interesting how mika's confession to shima directly flies in the face of how negatively shima feels about being confessed to.

for shima, girls confessing to him has always been a sign of what's expected of him, people wanting something specific FROM him rather than liking him as a person—now that mukai knows how drained that makes shima feel, it's interesting that he learns mika's reasons for confessing & how they're entirely different, motivated by a desire to be brave rather than expecting something of the other person. nevertheless, this leaves mukai with a lot of conflicting thoughts in his head about how a confession should make you feel. again, he's very logical, so the ambiguity is confusing to him! (and all of us honestly)

but then, back at the house, we see mika through mukai's point of view—she shoots him a look!—at which point he decides that he couldn't think of being confessed to as "not that great." i'm just gonna let that sit there :)

so with that!! i loooooved all this chapter gave us to work with in the development of these characters, esp mika & mukai's dynamic!!!! with a character like mukai who spends so much time as an observer, it's so fun to see him start to actually reflect on his own point of view within the story, like he feels himself going from being the background character in everyone's lives to really developing his own outlook—and it's all thanks to girl of all time mika egashira who inspires EVERYONE to think nine million thoughts trying to understand her.

[respectthepetty]

Because when a color demon is summoned by @negrowhat and @mggsttn's post, I show up!

Top 5 - Color-Coded Storytelling in BLs

Y'all already know what number one is, but let's pretend you don't. Instead follow me on this journey into BLs that gave the best color-coded storytelling. In order to be considered for this list:

The story had to integrate the colors into multiple aspects of the series: wardrobe, lighting, accessories, setting, etc.

The colors had to be meaningful to the plot.

The narrative did not explicitly state what the colors meant.

The color coding had to be consistent and featured in each episode.

The series has to be finished.

So let's begin!

Honorable Mention: Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

This isn't a BL (yet it's queer, so anyone who says it isn't can argue with the ghosts), but that damn red thread of fate had me and Yiyong messed up all season! The appearance of the color red in the series was less of an alarm, and more of a signal that every single moment was connected. All those single red threads that Yiyong and his unlikely crime-solving buddies weaved each episode came together at the last minute not only to solve the crime, but to stitch Yiyong together and bring him back from the edge of death because the true message of the show about fate and dying was how connection is what makes life worth living.

#5 - Moonlight Chicken

Director Aof and Cinematographer Rath never miss, but this particular story being told in this series through the symbolism and lighting depicting moon vs. sun, coldness vs. warmth, dislike vs. love, and so much more was phenomenal. Watch the scene of Li Meng holding a crying Heart in Heart's cold, blue, dark room then witness the two kissing in Li Meng's warm, orange-ish, bright living room or watch the hatred and blue melting off of Alan as he begins to find love again and you'll understand that the color coding in this show wasn't just a simple red versus blue dynamic. This was the work of PROFESSIONALS. This color coding was like tiramisu made by the best Italian chef; it had layers and was effing delicious!

#4 - My Beautiful Man

This show did several visual devices oh-so-well. We got Hira always being lower than Kiyoi. We got the duck. We got Hira capturing Kiyoi with his camera instead of being present with him. We got traditional colors but with that Japanese twist. And all of the elements worked together to give us an elite visual story. Hira was blue. Kiyoi was white. Hira was the loyal and reserved servant. Kiyoi was a god. Yet this was the point of contention between the two. Kiyoi wasn't a heavenly being. He was a human boy devoid of love. He wanted Hira to love him, not worship him. He wanted Hira to stand with him, not lower himself. He wanted Hira to live with him, not through him. So we saw Kiyoi struggle with his color when he didn't feel stable in their relationship, but once Hira made it clear that he loved Kiyoi, Kiyoi never shined brighter.

#3 - My Love Mix-Up

Nobody does colors like Japan. It color codes its ties. It leans into the religious aspect of the light versus dark color scheme. It invents new ways to color-code and is always evolving . . . like Aoki's orange color did in this series. Our disaster bisexual started the series with a muted color and as he discovered he liked a boy and not the girl he originally was crushing on, his color started to emerge. At first it was a soft yellow, but by the end, it was a vibrant orange. Ida was a solid blue, so watching Aoki's feeling deepen for him was electric each time the blue lighting lingered on his face until it overwhelmed him. Oh, and that color exchange is the best that has ever been done!

#2 - Semantic Error

This show tricked us. Jae Young played us the way he played Sang Woo, yet Jae Young's true colors were revealed as the boys spent more time with each other because isn't that the entire point of color coding? Seeing people's true colors without having to be told? Jae Young started off as red solely because quiet and introverted Blue Boy Sang Woo HATED red. That was it! That was the entire reason Jae Young became red. He just wanted to piss off Sang Woo. But as the boys worked together and Jae Young's personality shown through, Sang Woo realized Jae Young wasn't the devil he made him out to be and was actually a pretty chill Green Guy who he wanted to hug longer than two weeks.

#1 - Big Dragon

The only reason 82% of the crowd decided to watch this show was because of the visual above. Let that sink in. This one visual piqued y'alls interest enough to watch a show about a guy drugging someone to have sex with him and blackmail him with the tape of it so he could *looks at notes* get the girl? A girl?! And the guy who was drugged, almost sexually assaulted, and blackmailed was *checks notes again* HE WAS IN TO IT?!

Y'all hated this show. I loved it. Y'all think it was ridiculous. I love it. Y'all are rolling your eyes right now. I will always love it because it understood the assignment! I can't keep repeating the same points over and over, but here I go again:

Everything was color coded!

And it all supported the story. It never distracted from the story. It never became its own story. It was laced into the story. It did exactly what visual rhetoric is supposed to - show don't tell.

And it showed me when Yai opened his heart to Mangkorn.

And how Mangkorn's love transformed Yai.

It showed me that Yai's sister was his only source of light living in that isolated house.

It showed me the warmth Yai felt from Mangkorn's mom.

And it showed me that no matter how much he protested, Yai was deep in love.

And to think it all started here.

And ended up here.

That's the power of color coding and remarkable visuals.

It makes you see the beauty is in the details.

[vile-bestia]

why mizu is, in fact, not cis

Everyone is very angry at everyone about how to see or not see Mizu’s identity; being unable to shut up, and having fixated on the show a bit, i’m excited to finally join my first to-the-death-tumblr-discourse-battle.

I'm going to use mostly he/him for Mizu, but please read the premise below. Read the colored strings of text 😭

The main argument for Mizu being a woman is that which has as its basis the fact that cross-dressing is for Mizu an external need: for one, it is a need for protection from patriarchal bonds; secondly, it is a need for independence - Akemi’s story is one of independence as well, of feminine independence, and we have more than one woman pursuing such thing; we could go on with an analysis of brothels as a feminine space, but, alas - and thirdly, it is a need of obligation: Mizu needs to maintain the masculine identity in order to attain the object of his vow. 

I find, however, that while the argument stands as perfectly sound (and as canon) it isn’t exhaustive enough of the layered experience of gender in BES.

The trans coding is simply undeniable to me, whether it was intentional or not. I do not mean to say that Mizu is a binary trans man; that would be an approach as reductionist as confirming she is exclusively a woman. However, I find that some behaviours of Mizu’s are coded as dysphoric reactions.

Most of my justifications for this reasoning come from episodes 2, 5 and 8.

In episode 2,

Ringo is vowing to never reveal Mizu’s secret: “I’ll never tell anybody you’re a g-“; and as soon as he’s about to say girl, Mizu is just as ready to slice his throat. Mizu being worried about someone else hearing or witnessing the interaction doesn’t seem completely plausible to me: they’re alone in snowy woods, and, most likely, Mizu wouldn’t have confirmed time and again how readily he’d kill Ringo. 

Then comes episode 5,

which is in my opinion the most layered and the most exhaustive in regards to Mizu’s experience of gender, especially regarding his experience of the feminine. First and foremost, it tells the ultimate teaching: that gender isn’t but a performance, just as the gender roles are portrayed through theatre in the episode. As for the dysphoric reaction, it's the whole thing. Mizu is miserable even when we suppose that the marriage could be a relatively happy time. That's another reason why I suppose the puppet theatre tells Mizu's internal sense of self as well (see paragraph 4).

(And, about gender being performative, see how kabuki theatre was born in the Edo period and how, before being banned from acting, women cross-dressed to play male characters, and men cross-dressed to play female characters. See “professional transvestites” trained to be prostitutes, Kagema being trained from a young age to „act" like members of the other sex; see how by the beginning of the 18th century AFAB sex workers would try to figure out a way to set themselves apart from wakashu, creating an entirely new space for female crossdressers in the adult entertainment sphere; see ukiyo-e representations - chigo monogatari and yukiyo-zoshi literature; stories by Ihara Saikaku that are full of "transgender behaviours" and more)

Back to ep 5:

1. Theme of performance

The theme of performance, which also is the one of Mizu performing femininity for Mikio (in function of the well-being of Mizu’s mother), but being at once unable to suppress masculinity as the only space in which Mizu seems to be comfortable: e.g., it’s a little detail, but Mizu’s only good in the kitchen when cutting vegetables, because comfortable with blades, certainly not with cooking; again Mizu having to perform femininity is when he does makeup to “make-up”, to soften Mikio’s spirit, who feels invalidated by Mizu’s masculinity when it starts to interfere with his pride, and such other details; I even thought of the sword as a symbol for “learned” masculinity: the first time this thought occurred was when it was characterized by sensuality in the scene where the spouses spar: “Unsheathe it. Let me see your blade;” and I interpreted it as masculinity being the only space that allows intimacy as well; then comes the time where Mizu learns he does not need a sword to fight, meaning to me that she can embody masculinity without having to prove it to others. And then comes the reforging of the sword’s meteorite to include “impurities”, and the rite that Mizu performs. I assume that “a sword too pure” is the symbol of, again, learned hypermasculinity to appease patriarchal expectations, and is too pure because it’s Mizu rejecting part of himself, trying to exclude all “impurities”, whether they are being half white, or being half woman. Taigen himself is the one to tell Mizu he can fight without a sword (ep 7, but done in ep 3 or 4 and ep 6 already), and then the situation starts to bear sexual tension, which I directly link to the sensual connotation of the sparring cited earlier up. Possibly, this particular situation could also mean acceptance of Mizu's lack of a native "sword".

2. Gender roles

But a more sound consideration is (i would like to hope so) the one about the whole marriage being told through puppets, and the puppets themselves. While they are different characters, first of all we see an inversion of gender in the roles: at first Mizu is the Ronin because he performs a masculine role of protection, an “active” role; then, Mizu’s role is reversed in function of his marriage. We see Mizu surrendering (forcibly, being manipulated) to femininity as soon as his mother guilt-trips him into marrying, and the ronin puppet assumes a submissive pose, long before the role reversal.

3. A note:

it yet does not seem to me like the role reversal is, so to say, complete: even after the reversal, the narrator tells details about the ronin that are actually details about Mizu, e.g. when the two marry, and despite the positions of the puppets match the ones of the spouses, it is said that the ronin's loyalty is no more turned towards his "path of revenge," (Mizu's) "but to his bride" - in the perspective explained below, perhaps Mizu's own femininity. Also, i find Mizu might perceive Mikio as the bride, and himself as the husband - as an argument it can't stand alone, or it would bare no strength, but I will use it in correlation with the other points made, until now and later, to argue that Mizu thinks of himself as a guy.

4. Performance of Mizu's sides, assimilable to when she has the vision of killing his white side, shortly before facing the four fangs or whatever their name was

This, and one more tiny detail, bring me to think that not only do we talk about external roles, but about Mizu’s self-perception. I'm referring to when it is said that “for the first time in many years, the ronin felt the storm rage inside him.” The storm is a symbol belonging to Mizu (literally it occurs in the first 2 minutes of the episode), and it is explicit that it isn’t something that happens for the first time, but rather returns. By this point, the gender roles were reversed, and yet it seems to me like it isn’t anymore about the marriage itself, but rather about Mizu’s hatred for and slaughtering of his own femininity, and, of course, the experience of betrayal; with his family (especially his mother, see below), and with his femininity, which wasn’t enough to keep him comfortable or Mikio on his side. (...betrayal which is also about mizu himself betraying akemi, i'd add. Mizu is justified here, but it's important to note the parallels between the two timelines i guess?)

5. That random ass baby

There is, at a certain point, a situation of peace, which I think is represented when one of the puppets is holding a blue baby (supposedly a little ronin) in its arms. I want to suppose that the baby represents newborn love between Mizu and Mikio, before it all fell apart. But the love itself is a masculine love, as we see that it is based on masculine exchanges (fighting, doing fieldwork, taming horses, riding together, whatever) and, it seems to me, assimilable to homosexuality between samurai, which was widespread (insert something about Taigen here). Also Mikio wanted to marry a bro lmao. Aside from that, on the level of Mizu’s self-perception, it might represent comfortableness, a sort of congruence, or, rather, a compromise, that Mizu is able to live in, between natural masculinity and performed femininity - opening up to show vulnerability, love fragile as a creature that cannot defend itself, innocent, naive, trusting. 

6. About Mizu’s mother.

The puppet used for Mizu’s mother before the role reversal is the same that is supposedly used for Mizu after, but I latch onto a detail: the pattern on the puppet’s kimono is the same as the (real life) Mother’s kimono (see for example minute 12:30). I support this by noting the more obvious parallel between the blue worn by Mizu and the blue of the Ronin puppet, but at the same time I'm forced to note that after a certain point the mother has her own puppet. In any case, I see the mother and the feminine puppet wearing the same kimono as being about femininity, and about the mother’s betrayal of her child, rather than about Mizu herself. For one, manipulating him into marrying and abandoning the vow. But also we learn (ep 8) that the woman isn’t Mizu’s mother at all. One could discuss the reliability of Fowler’s statement, but I feel there are more clues regarding the mother’s betrayal: the episode starts with the Ronin, who feels the storm rage inside him at the killing of his lord (Mizu’s actual mother, perhaps) by the hands of a clan whose crest was the Phoenix (which I suppose are the white men, and the curse of whiteness for Mizu). I’ve thought about the four white men dealing guns (Fowler), flesh, opium (and I’m not sure what role “Violet” has in this, but I think they're the opium dealer), and thought that if Mizu’s “mother” was a substitute, the opium she smokes could point to Mizu’s potential father, perhaps even at the surrogate mother keeping contact, and at the surrogate’s betrayal at the same time. But it’s also true I watched the show while stoned, so I would dismiss this.

7. Onryo (note: characteristic in kabuki)

When the birth of the vengeful spirit occurs, I see very well how plausible it is to say that, actually, the rage that Mizu feels is feminine rage, and I agree with that. Mizu’s femininity is his rage, it is heavily related to the mother-daughter relationship, despite the fact that at a certain point the mother has her own puppet. At the same time, however, it is to me the result of the slaughtering of the performed femininity needed to respect the obligation (we remember the wedding was also to ensure the “surrogate” mother safety, especially financial, as well as to keep Mizu bound), just as accepting you’re able to fight with any tool puts an end to the compensatory movement by which you’re trying to prove masculinity to an observer (which, say, Taigen does as well, wanting to prove to Mizu he can beat him - plus, Taigen himself is the one to reassure Mizu on the complete unimportance of it, see how I read the sword symbol a few paragraphs earlier).

In this perspective, the "dye washing away from her kimono" to me means two things: that being what he is is inevitable, and that the feminine rage sets in; Mizu tries to make up for being a "demon", but in the end rejects the obligation towards his husband, and towards her mother; the pattern is not the same anymore, and Mizu is somehow more like his own person, returning on the path of vengeance, strengthened by the feminine, as the reforged sword will be strengthened by the very ritualistic yaki-ire.

--

Episode 8,

I feel, speaks instead for itself,  for the dysphoric reaction is to me extremely clear. Reacting that way to being called a Miss is not a cisgender reaction. You’ll tell me: it’s not a dysphoric reaction! It’s a reaction of disgust to being fetishized for being a woman! And that’s plausible, supported by the “you just keep getting better,” with clear sexual implication, except I think that is also a fundamental trans experience and one cannot limit the way they read the scene to an exclusively feminine experience.

In conclusion,

I don’t think it might be all boiled down Mizu being a masc woman, because of the trans coding. Mizu thinks of himself as a guy. If not a guy, not a woman either. You’ll tell me: “Of course she does, because she’s grown up that way; she was forced to sustain the lie to preserve her life! It's a matter of conditioning!” And while it is true that the initial context points towards crossdressing, and not inherent feelings of gender non conformity or transgenderism, I feel that if Mizu really felt like a woman, he wouldn’t have such exaggerated reactions, and I don’t think they come from his temperament either. And it is disproved that conditioning someone to have a different sexuality or gender identity works in any way - I doubt Edo period Japan or a particular protagonist would make an exception. "But Mizu herself tells Mikio she didn't want to be a man, she had to be one!" Yes, because it is true. But it points to crossdressing. If it were aimed to explain the whole of Mizu's experience of gender in her self, it would invalidate the entirety of episode 5.

In any case, even in situations where he couldn’t be discovered, Mizu does not allow feminine terms or titles, or tries as best to stop them from happening; plus, it’s rather obvious how difficult the relationship with his body is. 

While, once again, reading Mizu as a binary trans man is not enough, I feel like reading him as cisgender isn’t, either. As if, in any case, the feminine experience and the transmasculine one didn’t overlap in many aspects, also during the most tumultuous parts of transition, if pursued.

What is funniest above all is that the whole discourse is substantially useless. The layers of the show open to an infinite variety of interpretations, none of them fundamentally wrong. Mizu’s just quite literally Mizu. It’s a queer unlabeled thing and that’s it. If you take the Lacanian concept of the Real as the hole, properly uninteligible, surrounded by the Symbolic, you'll find that "Queer" is exquisitely representative of the Real, and therefore every label (the Symbolic) is reductive of the perceived experience (indeed the Real). The fundamental lesson about gender that you can derive from the show is that gender is a performative construct. What it pushes you to do is deconstruct your principles, especially if you are queer, since we are all entrapped in the modern western white need for strict labelling; that’s where this whole debate comes from, and it is, once again, pointless.

So, instead making fun of other people because of a set of pronouns, perhaps it would be better to imagine that more options can cohabit together, or that there is no need to label at all. Also be careful about accusing others of a complete lack of media literacy - you should thoroughly examine yours first.

Interesting articles i guess:

--

Algoso, Teresa A. "'Thoughts on Hermaphroditism': Miyatake Gaikotsu and the Convergence of the Sexes in Taishō Japan." The Journal of Asian Studies 65, no. 3 (2006): 555–573. Algoso, Teresa A. "Not Suitable as a Man? Conscription, Masculinity, and Hermaphroditism in Early Twentieth-Century Japan." Chap. 11 In Recreating Japanese Men, edited by Sabine Frühstück and Anne Walthall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011, 241–261. Mostow, Joshua S. “The Gender of Wakashu and the Grammar of Desire.” In Gender and Power in the Japanese Visual Field, edited by Joshua S. Mostow, Norman Bryson, and Maribeth Graybill. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press 2003, 49–70.

taken from this post asking about transgender men in the edo period: https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/p6x4jk/comment/h9ttgv4/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

As a final unrelated note, I haven’t seen anyone praise the MASTERFUL sound design 

bye 🪳🪳🪳🪳🪳

[buckybarnesss]

I’m back with more Thots™

(Sad ones this time sorry)

When Kate shows back up in town and comes to the burnt out Hale house and attacks Derek it literally makes my stomach turn. Like. This is his rapist, assaulting him in the place where she murdered his family, the place where he’s punishing himself by staying. Like. To me, it always reads as an act of psychological self harm to stay in the burnt out ruins of his home, the destruction of which he sees as his fault and it just. It ruins me.

It’s always interesting to me to see how quickly Derek accepts harm to himself as acceptable—he tells Stiles to cut his arm off, pushes him out of harms way, and over and over again we see him devaluing his own well being. As a therapist watching the show, it makes me ache for him, to see his trauma so deeply affecting his every decision, to see him being hurt over and over again because he thinks he deserves it. He throws himself on the sword every time to try and protect others, and it’s always at the cost of himself.

And then I think about Stiles and him losing his mom and how he’s got his dad but he doesn’t really—he shares him with all of Beacon County, and what a lonely heartbreaking existence that must be for him. I feel like he sees in Derek so many of the things he feels, and that sparks a deep interest in him, a sense of kinship that only grows as he learns more about Derek, and in turn, Derek senses in him a person that understands pain, loss, and loneliness and with whom he can be himself.

Idk idk, I just, there’s so much depth to these characters that is so rich and I wish we had gotten more time with Derek and Stiles one on one where they talked about these things they’ve experienced.

this is such a good analysis. you are absolutely correct. i've said it before but i'll say it again: derek hale is one of the most traumatized characters to be on television.

the scenes in the tell where kate is just tormenting derek are brutal once you know the whole story. kate is truly an evil, evil person.

in my meta on laura i discussed how in addition to everything kate is doing to derek she's also demeaning laura and refusing her personhood. she never uses laura's name, refers to her as a literal bitch dog and croons at derek how they desecrated her body. it is a deeply, deeply fucked scene when you peel back the layers.

kate and gerard argent are the two biggest villains of the show and so many issues are because of them. especially gerard. like, fuck that guy.

most of stiles and derek's relationship is in the subtext of the show but the threads are there and once you pull on them it unravels revealing a surprisingly deep relationship despite the audience not seeing it all playout on screen.

(a lot of the relationships on the show are like this tbh but it's there).

it amazes me to realize that stiles learns so much about derek and is the only one who actively seeks out to know and understand him. stiles wants derek to trust him and once that trust is earned derek would do just about anything for stiles. it's such a core aspect of their relationship.

their first real scene in the back of the cop car where stiles is all "I'm not afraid of you." is practically his thesis on derek the entire show. derek believes he is something to be feared not because he's a werewolf exactly but because people around him die. he thinks someone caring about him, loving him is a death sentence and he doesn't deserve it. stiles deconstructs all of it by sheer stubbornness.

in the finale of the show stiles -- on his own -- saves derek from an fbi raid where he was falsely accused of murder. it's the inverse of the beginning of their relationship where stiles was the one accusing him of murder.

and the writers never make stiles confront derek over anything, or use it against him. it does nothing but give stiles more pieces to the puzzle that is derek. he holds derek's secrets just like he holds his own.

i think if derek had been around in s5 stiles would've turned to him for support with the whole theo ordeal and derek would've backed him up which would've honestly been a nightmare scenario for scott for a lot of reasons.

(but theo would've had no choice but to go die of shame once derek called him the wish version of peter and shooed him away.)

[lemonnsss]

Moral of the Story Chapter 5

Gif credit: @gi-fu

A/N: This is a little shorter than what I had hoped, but I hope y'all like it

Warnings: Trypanophobia; What is probably the worst thing I have written from a medical viewpoint, read with your own caution.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Taglist: @vicmc624 , @mostlymarvelgirl , @yvonneeeee, @beetlejuicesupremacy , @moonlightreader649 , @whattheduckisupkyle , @chrisevans-realwife, @nekoannie-chan , @mrsbarnes32557038 , @imyourbratzdoll , @weallhaveadestiny

Word Count: 1.1k

 “TONY?!” I yelled in confusion. I ran to him, some of his bodyguards running past me to go after the shooter. Once I reached him, I knelt at his side. I nodded to the guard at his other side, signaling to join the sweep.

I loosened his tie and pulled it off, opened his button-down only to reveal another layer but moved the mostly removed layers out of the way to see the wound. The bullet hit the outer-left of his chest, probably between the fifth and sixth ribs, it would be difficult to pull out. 

“What are you doing?”

“Great, you’re conscious. That’s a good sign. I will roll you on your side, and then I will pull the slug out, okay?”

“What, no!? You said you were a teacher, not a doctor!” He glared up at me, his expression tinted with fear, most likely from his previous accident.

“Well, you’re losing a bit of blood, not a whole ton, but more than what is good for a person. If I don’t take care of this now you might not make it to the hospital.”

A mumbled “shit” fell from his mouth. Perhaps he was beginning to grasp the situation. I moved to roll him and he didn’t push against me. There was no exit wound meaning that the bullet had either lodged against one of his ribs, or it was in his lung or another muscle. I shifted him back onto his back again.

“I know this is going to sound weird-”

“No.”

 “Seriously? You won’t let me finish my sentences now? You could be drowning in your own blood right now.”

  “What?! Why didn’t you lead with that?”

 “You didn’t give me time to. Now, I’m going to grab the bullet and pull it out.”

 “Okay, I may not know much about medicine, but that doesn’t sound right.”

 “Well, let's just say I have a bit of a trick up my sleeve.” I said as I stuck my fingers into the wound. Tony began to groan out in pain again. I felt my finger go past his ribs, through his lung, and hit the bullet, eliciting another groan from the man beneath me. I pushed my finger past the top of the bullet and began pulling it out. 

After a minute or two of re-positioning, I pulled out the bullet and turned Tony onto his front. Most of the blood that had been pooling in his lung flowed out of the bullet wound. I then turned him back on his back. I laid my hand over his chest and began to use my mutation. Within a few minutes, his wound had closed and healed in its entirety. Or so it seemed. The truth is that it had just moved from his body to mine, the downside to my mutation. 

I began to feel the familiar feeling of blood soaking my clothes, followed by a warm, hazy feeling. It was starting to become hard to keep my eyes open. I saw Tony get up, entirely recovered, aside from the minor blood loss. I felt my vision start to blur. I think he looked at me in shock and confusion, probably wondering how I did what I did. 

“What the heck? Kid! Oh shit. The fuck did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll heal faster than you.”

“Look, now is not the time to be joking about how much younger you are than me!”

I let out a soft laugh, “Wasn’t trying to, boss.”

“Okay, how do you treat bullet wounds again?”

I was starting to feel lightheaded and said, “I typically just pull them out and move the injury to my body. It works like a charm. Although, that probably won't work for you."

By this time, my vision was foggy in what I could see, which was fading faster than I thought. At this point, my peripherals were entirely gone.

 "Please, stay conscious. I don't want to deal with that paperwork."

"Sorry, I'm clocking out here."

I could feel myself fall unconscious, slipping further and further from a somewhat familiar voice.

I woke up in a hospital bed about 13 hours later. I sat up, feeling a slight pang in my chest; my heart’s reaction was sent over to the electrocardiogram, alerting the nurses over to my room. When prompted, they gave me a general gist of what had happened since I'd passed out; apparently, Tony had been forced to keep schedule and left in a separate vehicle, much to his displeasure. The nurse continued, “You have healed very quickly. Far faster than almost everyone I’ve treated all my years as a nurse. It seems almost supernatural.”

She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t place, “Sorry, I must have made that awkward. It is quite interesting though.”

She walked over to the medicine cabinet and unlocked the first few drawers. She pulled out a large vial and a syringe, and my stomach dropped.

I let out an anxious laugh and asked, “What’s that?”

 “I apologize, usually I don’t do this kind of thing to my patients, but someone made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So now, here we are.” 

She picked up the bottle, inserted the syringe's needle into the bottle and turned it upside down, and pulled the plunger down until the syringe was full, then turned it upside down again and switched out the needle while walking towards me, “Please, don’t scream.” she placed her gloved hand over my mouth, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my throat felt as if it were closing up and like a weight was on my chest, crushing my ribs under the pressure, I knew this feeling. It was a panic attack. I’d had them almost all my life but the feeling that accompanied it was one of such extreme dread, a feeling that hadn’t plagued me since the death of Trask. Someone was testing on mutants again. “It’s not like it will matter anyway but, I would greatly appreciate it if we could wrap this up quickly. But, since you’ve been good thus far, I’ll answer your question. It’s morphine. I’ve made sure that this will be a lethal dose, regardless of your… differences. I can’t say if it will be painful though, but there’s enough here to make it very quick.”

As she finished her sentence and moved to stick the needle into my arm a bright blue light accompanied by a whirring noise filled the room. Standing in the entranceway was Tony in his Ironman suit with his arm outstretched in our direction, “Yeah, I wouldn’t necessarily do that if I were you.”

[stormyoceans]

I don't know if this was intentional but when Mork is describing his outfit to day, he doesn't meantion the white tee he's wearing inside. Like he mentioned all other stuff like his bracelet and earrings but not the tee?? And then when they're kissing this happens

(courtesy of user jimmysea)

This just feels to me like "I feel you, I feel your emotions, i can see your what you are feeling on the inside. I can see the real you."

And then I lost it.

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT OKAY ALRIGHT COOL COOLCOOLCOOLCOOL COOL ALRIGHT YEAH NO THIS IS FINE IM FINE I JUST HAVE TO FLING MYSELF INTO A BLACK HOLE REAL QUICK BECAUSE LISTEN

if it were any other director i'd say maybe we were reading too much into it but this is P'AOF we're talking about. when it comes to him everything has meaning, every single detail and camera shot serve a purpose in the story he is telling, and day being able to recognize mork from the way he's dressed was a big point in this episode

day thought he found mork because of the green polo shirt, he used mork's bracelets to feel his way towards mork's hand closed around august's shirt.... these are all outer layers tho, and it makes sense that mork would only describe those to day because they are what can help day recognize him (just like the bright pink sweater in ep 3), but if this is all there was to it then there would be no point in making mork wear a white undershirt that's OH SO CASUALLY not tucked into his pants and is long enough to peak from under the green polo. day's touch feels so deliberate too, because like i said nothing is left to chance with p'aof and the fact that day's fingers raise the hem of mork's polo to reveal more of the white undershirt isn't casual

it's a representation of mork's feelings finally being revealed after he kept them hidden for the entire episode, and it's day tentatively reaching for them now that he's aware they're there. they communicate through touches and like you said, this IS day's way of saying 'i see the feelings you're trying to convey, i see you, and my heart is a mess right now but i feel something too'

SO ANYWAY. YOU WILL SEE ME AT THE EVENT HORIZON FACE CONTORTED IN ANGUISH FOR TIME AD INFINITUM GOODBYE

[sailoryooons]

Mine | One Shot | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x Succubus F. Reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi lives a quiet life. His days are organized neatly, and every week he can expect the same results. Then he meets you. Hypnotizing. Otherworldly. Strange. And his life never goes back to the way it was before.

☾ Word Count: 14,864

☾ Genre: Smut, Horror, Thriller

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Buckle up bitches this list of warnings is going to exhaust even me. Overall creepiness, descriptions of liminal spaces, tons of mentions of subspace-like trances, Yoongi's mind is not always his own, unexplained happenings, Yoongi being manipulated subtly, written jump scares (like three of them?), nightmares, hallucinations, the cutest and also creepiest fucking little succubus you'll ever see, Succy (succubus reader) really likes Tokyo Ghoul that should be a hint, hints at eating raw meat (bleh), Yoongi turning against his friends, Yoongi feeling sick/depressed in a couple of scenes, Yoongi is literally addicted to eating reader out soiejijrghij, explicit sexual content including, spit play, nipple play, oral (f. and m. receiving), grinding, unprotected sex in multiple positions, cum eating, switch dynamics between the two of them often, subspace mentions, fingering, ass play (m. receiving), just.... so many bodily fluids all the time, mentions of animal death (it is a cat and it's dead body is briefly described), a lot of confusion and pace changes as a style choice, Succy is literally obsessed with Yoongi so a lot of the pet name Kitty, very cringe behavior for some rando Yoongi met at a bar, ambiguous ending. I think that covers it idk this is almost 15k of pure nightmare fuel I will send you my therapists number alright

☾ Published: October 30, 2022

☾ A/N: If I have to write this authors note one more time because 'a wild tumbeast ate my fucking post I will scream. Do better Tumblr please stop eating my content over and over lmao. ANYWAY. SURPRISE THIS IS HERE A DAY EARLY. I have zero self-control and @gimmethatagustd told me to post it now so I really said fuck it we ball. I didn't use a beta for this one because I'm insane but I did edit it myself.... so if you see errors..... no you didn't. This one was so much fun to write and I hope you all love Succy as much as I do. She deserves the world she is very... scary and cute. 

HAPPY HALIWEEN!!!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Friday nights are spent blowing off steam from work with friends. Yoongi has always lived a simple life, and he likes his Fridays like this: second person to the bar after Taehyung, a quick shot of whisky to take the edge off the day, followed by a whiskey neat and some fries from the kitchen that will still be a little unthawed in the middle. 

Yoongi loves his Fridays at Serendipity. 

The name is a bit of a joke, Jimin says. He inherited the old, rundown bar under another name from his abusive father after he passed away. Mysterious circumstances, the long-term patrons mutter into darkened ale and frosted mugs. Still, they come despite Jimin flipping the name. It was the only thing Jimin could afford to flip, the floors still the same sticky concrete that collect vomit, spilled beer, whiskey, and perhaps a little piss.

It's an ugly thing, with the vinyl stool covers splitting open to reveal guts of yellow foam, and countertops that need another layer of lacquer to fight the chipping from heavy mugs being slammed down every time Seokjin gets into an argument with one of the regulars. Yoongi tries to avoid the bathroom as much as he can. Jimin spent two weeks cleaning it and stocking it with a nice care basket with sprays, cotton rounds, and other products, only to have someone puke in it on the first night.

Yoongi doesn’t care that Jimin named the bar as a bit of an inside joke. Yoongi knows in his heart of hearts when he sees you that this moment is serendipitous.

Because when Yoongi sees you for the first time, the world ends.

Not really. But it feels that way the moment he turns at the bar. Perhaps he’s meant to see you – or perhaps it was by your design. He tilts backward when the door opens, searching for any sign of Seokjin who said he would be there in a few minutes.

And there you are.

Lights dim. The world takes on a muted feeling, like the two of you exist between murky, brackish water with something lurking just beyond the clouded space that he can’t quite make out. The roaring voices of the bar fade softly into the background until it’s just a buzz of pressure between Yoongi’s ears - or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the buzzing pressure of awareness pressing on his spine and eardrums. 

It isn’t pleasant but it’s not… uncomfortable. 

It’s impossible to look away from you. He tries - tries to remember where he is. A bar, perhaps? Not this weird, opaque space where the only thing he can make out is the rogue on your lips, a spark in your eye, and the way you walk forward. No. Walk isn’t the right word. Glide might be more appropriate, he thinks. 

As you near him, Yoongi breathes in sharply. Something like cedar mixed with jasmine and amber makes his head spin. The world tilts and Yoongi begins to slide on its new axis until suddenly, the mist surrounding him shatters as his foot comes into contact with the ground, knee buckling under his weight as his hand flies to the bar to hold himself up.

He fell off of his stool.

Yoongi almost doesn’t believe it, except Taehyung is laughing so hard next to him that Yoongi flushes furiously. He slides back onto the stool, brows furrowed and head ducked down to hide his rapidly glowing red ears and face from you.

But then you speak, and Yoongi cannot fight the urge to look at you once more. It’s an instinct pulling him from blushing furiously in his lap to stare at you.

“Hi,” you murmur. Yoongi is a fish out of water, mouth parted slightly, heart racing. Jasmine. Cedar. Amber. It’s all he can smell. His head swims, mind foggy as he tries to string together words. “Is this seat next to you taken? It’s the only one empty.”

Is it? Yoongi can’t tear his eyes from you, but he could swear Old Ass Han had been sitting there before you walked in.

Old Ass Han is the least annoying of Jimin’s customers and sometimes Yoongi doesn’t mind when Old Ass Han rambles about his late wife. Yoongi has no idea how old Old Ass Han is, he just knows that he was ancient even when Yoongi studied as a high school student tucked in the far corner of the bar.

“Um, yes?” Yoongi says and it comes out like a question.

You grin at him and the world ends a second time.

Pleasure-laced fear shoots down his spine. Your teeth are white and straight, but he swears for a split second they were razor sharp. He shakes his head, dispelling a little of the floating feeling as he says, “Of course. Yes. Please sit.”

Yoongi holds his breath and averts his eyes as you slide onto the stool next to him.

It’s suddenly too loud in the bar, a cacophony of voices and chairs scraping against concrete. Yoongi can still smell you, making the world rotate awkwardly as he spins on his stool to find Taehyung staring at him, brows raise and barely concealing his laughter.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you fumble like that,” Taehyung murmurs. He loses control of his laughter and tries to hide it in his cup of cider. Yoongi flushes and angrily stares into his whiskey, hyperaware of you leaning on the bar to call the bartender’s attention. “I mean – she is – holy shit I never believed in faeries or witches before but there's no way she’s human.”

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth. He tries to find a response to Taehyung, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and something tingles along every hair on his arm and neck, a sense of awareness as you lean on the bar, speaking to the bartender.

Again, your voice haunts Yoongi in a matter of seconds. He feels the need to turn and look at you again, but he doesn’t want to be weird. He’s already fallen off the stool once, and he doesn’t plan on further exacerbating his humiliation.

So, Yoongi remains facing Taehyung. Clutches his whiskey glass with shaking hands. Tries to take a breath – it comes out shaky – to calm himself. He has no idea what kind of delirium is threatening him every moment you’re next to him, but he wants to fight it - tries to fight it.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung’s brows twitch, mouth pouting. He ducks his head slightly, trying to find Yoongi’s gaze, but the older keeps his eyes fixed on the wood grain bar. Yoongi wants to look at you again. So bad. Wants to ask you your name. Wants to memorize the curves of your mouth. Wants to memorize every stroke of color in your eyes.

Want want want want.

A sudden throb pulses in Yoongi. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he feels it bloom inside of him, unfurling with warm petals of want want want want.

The urge to turn and look at you gets stronger.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck –

Yoongi grits his teeth. Feels pressure at the back of his head, like there are featherlight fingers pressing into the base of his skull to urge him to turn around and look at you again. His muscles constrict and he feels himself start to turn, hips beginning to swivel in your direction, arms rigidly placed on the bar as if to fight his lower half.

When he doesn’t turn to look at you, Yoongi swears he imagines the light press of fingers turning into a steel grip. His eyes start to water and he clenches his teeth, feeling an immovable force on him pulling, dragging, tearing - and he lets out a small gasp, the grip on him so strong that he -

“Yoongi,” Taehyung says again, voice firmer. Yoongi looks up this time, eyes soft and round, face flushed. There’s a little sweat collected on his brow, and Yoongi feels a dull throb at the back of his head like a fading migraine. “What’s wrong?”

“Um-“ he cuts himself off and clears his throat. The pressure on his head is gone, but the menthol-cool, awareness of you is not. “Maybe too much to drink? It’s been a stressful week, I think I knocked these back too quickly.

“You do look sort of flushed.” Taehyung raises his brows. “Maybe water?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Water, please.”

Taehyung asks for water when the bartender returns with your drink. Yoongi doesn’t look at you, though he can see from the corner of his eye you’re looking at him. He grits his teeth and stares at the mismatched, colored bottles behind the bar. None of its top-shelf – Jimin certainly cannot afford it – but it doesn’t need to be.

A glass of water appears in front of Yoongi in time for Seokjin’s arrival. The pressure in Yoongi’s skull doesn’t return, and the tingling along his nerves like an electric current dies down a little. He still feels shaken as he sips the water, freeing up the dry feeling on his tongue.

Seokjin nestles between Yoongi and Taehyung, ordering himself a drink. Jimin appears around the bar this time, finally done with his bookkeeping in the back, and slides a beer over to Seokjin. Yoongi watches the way Jimin smiles at them before his attention falters and slides to you sitting next to Yoongi, making Jimin blink rapidly a few times.

Irrational irritation flares in Yoongi for a split second. Though his attention is on his friend and watching Jimin reacts to you sitting in Old Ass Han’s place, it occurs to Yoongi that he doesn’t want anyone else to compete with him.

Not that he stands a chance. But for once in his life, Yoongi wouldn’t mind being the one to take someone home. Why can’t it be him? He saw you first. You’re sitting next to him.

Just as Jimin’s eyes glitter, turning to half-moons as he smiles at you, Yoongi spins in the chair, giving you his full attention. Your eyes turn to meet his and Yoongi is falling into them, no end in sight.

“Hi again,” you greet, voice velvet. “You have pretty eyes.”

“All right, hyung,” Jimin murmurs. Yoongi isn’t looking at Jimin, but he can hear the smirk in his voice as Jimin retreats to their friends.

“Thanks,” Yoongi murmurs. He allows himself to drink you in. His head begins to buzz like he’s had too much whiskey, his tongue heavy and cotton-fuzzed in his mouth. “You have a pretty… everything.”

You have to know how beautiful you are. A deity beneath silk-smooth skin. But you duck your head, a shy giggle leaving your lips. You have the decency to look shy, averting your eyes, lip tucked between teeth.

Perhaps later Yoongi will be embarrassed by the honesty. But right now, it’s all he can do to keep his heart rate normal. You are incredible to look at. Taehyung was right – perhaps not human.

An unnatural glow hums under your skin. Your eyes are vivid, drinking him in with a spark that Yoongi swears echoes a deep flame in the pit of his stomach. He wrestles with himself, his hands fighting a magnetic pull to reach over and brush his fingers across the canvas of your skin.

Yoongi won’t be able to stop if he touches you. His thoughts repulse him – you’re a stranger. Someone he doesn’t know. Someone his mind is begging to violate. He fists his pants, flexing the muscles of his hands and willing the strange pull toward you to go away.

He doesn’t even know your name and Yoongi feels like Pandora, watching you with coveted desire and shaking, greedy hands. Fuck he wants to pry you open and see what treasure lurks beneath the surface.

“What’s your name?” You ask him. You stir a beverage straw in your drink – an Old Fashioned. His lips twitch in a smile at your taste in drinks as he offers you his name. “Yoongi,” you repeat back. The way his name melts in your mouth like sugar entices him. “Cute. You’re cute.”

Yoongi flashes you a shy smile, echoing yours. You share a laugh, his rough and scratchy as he chews the inside of his cheek nervously, yours light and floating. It echoes in his ears and Yoongi loses his sense of self, thoughts drug-laced with only you.

And then your lips are on him and once again, Yoongi swears the world around him has fallen to destruction.

It’s hard to remember the order of events. Yoongi doesn’t care. Your mouth is sugar-sweet and hungry, licking into Yoongi’s open-mouthed kisses as he presses you against something firm. He wants to melt into you, your skin like fire under his seeking hands, your breath delicate and soft against the empty air of what he thinks is his apartment as his lips attached to your neck.

Even your skin tastes sugared. A delicacy for him. For his mouth only.

Mine. The word echoes across his mind, but not in is own voice. 

You writhe underneath Yoongi’s hands. He squeezes the flesh of your lips, tongue snaking out to lick a broad stripe of skin up your neck. Your fingers card through his hair, tugging slightly, just enough to make him groan against your skin.

Yoongi is painfully hard. His cock throbs in his pants, the material restrictive and making the ache so much worse. He grinds his hips against yours, mouth sucking viciously at your collarbone, the top of your cleavage, anywhere he can taste you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head thudding against the wall behind you. Panting, you hike up one of your legs, wrapping it against his waist to pull him in tighter to you. Yoongi whines as you connect your mouths again, tongue and teeth, and spit as you grind against him. “I want you so fucking bad.”

“Have me,” he mumbles sucking your tongue into his mouth. You moan, deep in your chest. He swears for a second it’s like a growl. Thinks nothing of it. Just pushes against you hard, cock pulsing. “Whatever you want.”

“Please.”

Yoongi never wants to hear you beg again. Or maybe he doesn’t want you to stop begging. He can’t make up his mind as he pulls you toward a room – his room. Yes, you’re both in his apartment. That’s his slate grey couch that you’re stumbling past and that’s his sheets that you fall backward against.

Licking his lips, Yoongi takes a moment to look down at you. You’re splayed out for him, unfurling in his sheets. He knows tomorrow morning they’ll still smell like you – jasmine, cedar, amber. You look divine, a flower unfolding delicate petals, open for him.

Only for him. Mine. 

You wrap your legs around Yoongi, pulling him flush to the edge of the bed. You release him and press your feet to the bed, knees resting against his hips. You blink at him through fluttering lashes and starry eyes. He’s never seen anything like you. He never will again. He knows it.  

“God damn you’re beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, the words slipping through his lips, unrelenting.

The stars in your eyes vanish. Yoongi recoils, seeing the fathomless black threatening to eat him alive. He begins to pull away, terror shooting through his chest, sharp and angry. You squeeze your knees against his hips, nearly shattering him. Your mouth is a gash of red with rows and rows of black teeth, churning and churning.

“Don’t speak his name here,” you hiss, words slithering in layers of many different voices. “Never again.”

Yoongi blinks and you’re blushing as you look up at him, knees splayed like butterfly wings, open for him. Just for him. He smiles at the way you giggle and hide behind a hand. “You’re so sweet.”

“You are beautiful. I swear it.”

“Touch me.” Your voice drips honey-sweet on his senses. “I want to feel you, Yoongi. Please.”

There is a prickling sensation like fear at the base of his spine but Yoongi can’t remember why as he smiles at you lazily, dipping down between your legs. He props himself above you, hands planted on the mattress on either side of your head to cage you in.

“Ask me again.”

“Please. Please please please-“

Yoongi swallows your begging tongue first, delving into your luscious mouth.

It’s been a long time since he’s been in his room like this with a partner, much less with someone who looks the way you do, but Yoongi’s hands are confident as they sweep up your sides, pulling the fabric of your shirt up with his hands as they go. You lean upward, letting him pull it off you before it flies from his hand somewhere in the room.

The lights are off in his room, but a silver shaft of moonlight spills through the window to paint you silver. Your eyes reflect the light as you drink him in, his hands brushing up your arms, warming your skin as he traces them to your tits, palming them generously over your bra.

A sigh escapes through your parted lips, red lipstick smeared artfully from the clash of mouths and tongues. He dips back down, tongue hungry for your sugar-warm taste and the liquid heat of your mouth.

Yoongi is dizzy. He’s a little off balance as he breathes you in. Your fingers pull through the strands of his hair, hips canting upward as he reaches around to unclasp your bra, peeling the unwanted layer from you.

Heated, shameless eyes meet his. You tilt your chest toward him, eager for his mouth. He doesn’t miss a beat, placing wet kisses over the tops of your breasts, more tongue and spit than lips, leaving a slick trail to your right nipple. Yoongi’s mouth is possessive, sucking your pert but between his lips and flicking it lightly with his tongue, looking up where your lips part in the moonlight to let out a soft moan.

It spurs him further, plucking your nipple with his teeth, pulling any sound he can from you. He gets a loud whine then and you wiggle your hips under the weight of where his waist is pressed into yours. Grinning, Yoongi repeats the motion, giving a generous suck before pulling away with his teeth, gentling scrapping your peak.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Feels so good.”

Yoongi trails chaste kisses from one nipple to the other, giving it the same attention. He snakes a hand down your body, fingers dancing across heated skin to pull at the zipper on your jeans. His hands tremble, making it difficult to free the first button.

Reluctantly, Yoongi pulls his mouth away from your breast, a glossy strand of spit connecting his mouth to your swollen skin as he looks down, using both hands to pop the button on your pants and tug violently at them.

“These jeans are the fucking devil.”

“Yes,” you murmur, so quietly that he can barely hear you. He gets them to your ankle, yanking one more time and tossing them. He loses your hushed words in the rustle of clothes hitting the floor when you whisper, “I am.”

“Hmm?” he asks.

You silence his question by pulling his shirt over his head, leaning to capture his exposed chest with your tongue and teeth. Yoongi stands between your legs, head falling tilting toward the heavens at the worship of your mouth.

Deep groans leave his mouth. You bite more than you kiss, but Yoongi likes the way your mouth leaves a trail of little teeth marks, your mouth pinching his flesh before your tongue soothes it. You have him trembling, nearly making him double over as your hand presses over his clothed cock firmly, applying the pressure he needs.

It’s not enough.

Every part of Yoongi feels exposed. Even half dressed, the world is brushing against him raw, every touch of your hands like pleasure and torture, every fan of your breath like the coldest breeze on a hot summer day.

None of the sensations make sense but he feels high – higher than that time he and Jimin took shrooms at that one festival in college where the lights had whispered secrets of the forest to Yoongi and where he had tasted something beyond what he could describe.

But under your carnal touch, Yoongi knows that is nothing compared to this. Nothing compares to the way you work his jeans down to his midthigh, too impatient for him to kick out of them before you’re dipping a hand in his briefs and taking his cock into your hand.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi gasps, nearly toppling backward. Your grip is firm, strokes deft and confident and oh my god he might come like this.

You lean up to teeth at the pulse point of his neck as your tongue darts out to take a firm lick. “There is nothing holy about me, Min Yoongi,” you murmur against his neck. He shivers, eyes rolling behind closed lids as you speak. He can feel the trace of your incisors, sharper than he remembers against his skin.

Stars dance behind his eyes. You pull your hand away from his cock, making him protest. You hush him with a bite against his shoulder, sharp enough that he thinks you break skin. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting his world sweep from under his feet as you turn him and knock him onto the bed.

When the feeling of spinning stops a little, he blinks his eyes open to help you peel his clothes the rest of the way off. You’re fully naked and Yoongi doesn’t know where to keep his eyes. The swells of your breasts, marked with bite marks and spit from his mouth, the curves of your stomach and waist as you climb atop him, predatory and eager, or the glistening slick of your thighs where you’re dripping for him.

“Come here,” he demands. He’s dying to have you on his tongue, knows you’ll taste saccharine. He grabs your thighs harder than necessary, zeroing in on your pussy as he pulls you toward his mouth. “Wanna fucking taste. Bet you’re fucking delicious.”

You hum in delight, a lethal smile on your face as you crawl up to where he wants you, knees firmly on either side of his head. Yoongi lets out an appreciative noise. Your cunt is sticky and glossy for him, the perfect meal.

With gentle fingers, he parts your folds gently to reveal your slick, clenching hole and needy clit. Yoongi is eager, a finger trailing up and down your warm slit as he lets out a moan.

“Fucking wet,” he whispers before leaning up for a long, slow lick.

Stars explode behind his eyes. He hums in delight, shivering at the taste of you, heady on his tongue. He repeats the motion a few times, flattening his tongue for a slow-drag, appreciative lick up your cunt. He feels the way you drip into his mouth, spill on his chin and he can’t help but curse, at how addictive this feels.

You moan when he dips his tongue into your entrance, gathering your essence on the tip of his tongue before he drags it soft-slow up to your clit, circling your bundle of nerves lazily. Yoongi pulls your clit into his mouth with gentle lips, feeling the way it pulses as he sucks gently.

The sounds you make above him spur him further. He alternates between sucking your clit delicately and butterfly-soft tongue flutters, watching your mouth go slack as you watch him. The more you drip into his eager mouth, the greedier Yoongi gets, fastening his entire mouth on you and sucking harshly.

It becomes sloppy and imprecise. Yoongi can’t decide where he wants his mouth most. He can’t remember ever feeling this lightheaded from oral, much less giving. But he’s starstruck under you, sucking and sucking and sucking – fuck he doesn’t know if he’s even taking breaths.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whisper, a hand going to knot in his hair. His scalp tingles pleasantly where you hold onto him, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hips move slowly over his face. “Fuck keep going.”

Pride swells in his chest. Your voice is airy, breaths short and stilted and overwhelmed as he eats you vigorously. His fingers dimple your skin, pressing into the meat of your ass as he rocks you on his tongue, jaw slack, tongue flat for you to let you fuck yourself on his face the way you want.

Yoongi feels you drip down his face, hears the wet-smack of his mouth against your cunt. He moans. Buries his face further, letting you grind yourself on his nose, chin, mouth lips, anything. He doesn’t care, sticky-coated to the jaw, so fucked out from pleasing you that he almost blacks out when you cum.

Something happens.

He doesn’t know how to describe it – it’s like for a moment, everything goes dark. Perhaps he does blackout. Perhaps he wasn’t breathing. He can’t remember. All he knows is that between one heartbeat and the next, there’s a moment of pure darkness accompanied by a laugh that chills his spine.

And then your mouth is on him, spit and cum making the glide of your mouths sticky-sweet.

Yoongi sucks your tongue into his mouth, pressing his fingers gently to the back of your head, pulling you closer closer closer. He just wants you closer, his stomach burning with a sudden hunger for you. He feels on fire, skin too-warm where your chest slides against his, sweaty and flushed.

Sheets stick to every part of him. He’s aware of the sweat that slides down his neck, a cool finger of relief as you press him further and further into the mattress. He feels like he’s sinking, entering a new domain where he’s no longer in his room – he's just with you. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Your fingers claw at his hair, pulling the strands to pin him to the mattress as you lift yourself, looking down at Yoongi. He blinks, stars in his eyes as he starts up at you, looming. Glowing. Beautiful. His hands are on your hips, a sparking current humming just beneath the surface of your skin.

You feel alive and vibrant.

A moan escapes Yoongi’s mouth, pleasure rolling through him as you grind your cunt on his throbbing cock, warm and wet. His eyes flutter, Yoongi squirming under you, legs kicking and twitching as you tease him. Just the glide of you on his shaft makes him shiver, the pit of his stomach clenching.

“Please,” Yoongi rasps. His fingers dig into your hips, begging. Pleading. Desperate. “Please please please please.”

“You look so pretty when you beg.” Your grinding increases and the room spins. His hands fall from your hips to the sheets, fingers fisted tightly in the fabric. “You’re so beautiful, Yoongi. My Yoongi. Mine. Mine mine mine.”

Your words are lost on him. There’s only the firm touch of your hand against his cock, gripped tight at the base as you lift yourself. He feels his cockhead catch on your swollen entrance and he lets out a strangled noise. He doesn’t know if he can stop himself from cumming. He is bursting at the seams with heat, an inferno so intense he swears that the world catches fire as you slide down his cock, warm and tight.

“Shiiit,” Yoongi hisses. He takes a deep breath and holds it, hips twitching where you straddle his waist, letting him suffer beneath you.

“Feels good.” You lean forward, hands pressed to his chest to support your weight. Yoongi’s eyes flutter open. He blinks at you through wet lashes. The room is so dark he can only make out the barest features on your face, but he sees your eyes clearly. Looking at him. Watching. Hungry. “So good,” you repeat. “So fucking deep.”

Nails bite into the skin of his chest. He feels his skin smart. The hot bead of blood that forms. He doesn’t care, watching as slowly, you lift your hips, your walls hugging every inch of Yoongi. He lets out a shaky breath, hands settling on your waist. He plants his feet in the bed, angling himself better as you reach the tip of his cock before sinking back down.

Heaven and hell. Yoongi wavers between both, gritting his teeth to keep from coming, to keep the feeling of you gripping him tight going. He doesn’t want it to end, it feels so good but it’s wonderful agony, fighting the curl in his stomach, the twitching of his abs, the threat of exploding.

Yoongi's eyes are drawn to where you fuck yourself on him, sticky arousal turning silver in the single shaft of moonlight that spills across the bed where you’re joined. He can’t look away, entranced by the wet smack of your ass on his thighs, the way you just fucking take him.

It lights a fire in him more intensely than the solar flare that threatens to send him spinning into his orgasm. Yoongi growls, digging his nails into your skin, half-moons on smooth flesh as he grits his teeth and fucks up into you. You gasp, nails raking down his chest as he jostles you. His breath comes out as stilted hisses behind clenched teeth.

“Touch yourself for me,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you come all over me – please.”

“Gonna,” you pant, head falling to his chest, claws leaving pink lines on pale flesh. You slide one hand down his body, making him groan as he fucks you with abandon. You gasp, hand working your clit between your writhing bodies. “Gonna come.”

“Please - for me.” He thrusts hard, thighs trembling with the effort, holding his breath as his muscles squeeze. He can feel you tense, pussy clenching so tight he curses and stops, letting you pulse around him as you moan and an unintelligible string of curses that sounds... like another language. “Fuck, just like that.”

Yoongi feels himself come apart. His universe shatters and he floats among the stars. Weightless. Happy. Tired. He feels nothing and everything, a soft frequency of... something dancing along his skin. A soft buzz. Pleasant and warm.

He doesn’t know how long he exists in that space. He can still smell notes of cedar, jasmine and amber. It's stronger now, with a touch of something else... something burning. He leans into the smell and it wraps around him, soft hands around his middle and petal-soft lips against his cheek.

Yoongi becomes vaguely aware that it’s you curled into his side, nose hidden in his neck, chest rising and falling against his arm. It grounds him a little. Brings him back into a dark room that is too obscure to be sure it’s his bedroom at all.

As he drifts off into sleep, he remembers the feeling of your tongue against his neck and nothing more. 

-

Cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

It wakes Yoongi up. His stomach feels empty. His hands seek your warmth, palming your ass, pulling your hips flush to his. He doesn’t open his eyes, content to feel your heat. Again, something like electricity thrums under your skin, tickling his wandering hands.

Your mouth catches his. Pulls him further from sleep. He feels his skin ache from your teeth and nails the night before. Feels the weight of something inside of him that wasn’t there before, although he cannot put into words what it is.

Even in the morning, your mouth is sweet. Gluttonous. You suck his bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling softly followed by a light giggle. He smiles into the next kiss, sloppy and filled with too much tongue but he lets you taste him.

Yoongi swears there is an echo of your taste from the night before. It’s enough to kickstart desire in him, detaching his mouth to plant kisses down your neck. Chest. Stomach. His tongue licks a trail down your velvet skin.

In a shuffle of sheets and skin, you lay back for him, pliant. He’s awake now, pressing your thighs open, teeth nipping the tender flesh. You giggle and the sound makes him pause, lips pressed to your leg, eyes looking up at you in the dim light of the morning. Or night. It’s hard to tell what time it is, here with you in this bed.

Glowing eyes look at him. Round. Soft. Curious. You watch Yoongi with rapt attention, lip pulled between your teeth. Spread. Eager. Ethereal.

Yoongi drops his gaze, groaning when he sees how fucking wet you are. He pulls you closer, sliding a hand under your ass to provide support. Curious, he brushes his thumb up and down your folds, collecting your essence as he does.

“So swollen and wet,” he mumbles, morning voice deep and scratchy. “You’re always so ready to be eaten, hmm?”

You nod. “Please, Kitty.”

The new nickname makes him pause, thumb resting on your clit. He can almost feel your cunt throb under the pad of his finger as he applies a little pressure, watching you whine and kick your legs a bit. He grins.

“Kitty?” he asks as he resumes playing with you. His thumb dips into your hole, ring of muscles clenching around him. His grin spreads as he pulls it away, watching you fight with the loss.

“You have- ughhh – cat eyes. Pretty. Soft. Smart. Kitty.”

He hums, dipping his head forward to give you a single kitten lick. He shuts his eyes and sighs heavily, your taste heavy on his tongue. You taste just as good as the night before. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself. “I like it, baby.”

Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response. He presses in, tongue lapping at you hungrily, refusing to let you drip without his mouth for another moment.

-

Greedy.

You’re greedy. You always are. Yoongi isn’t sure what day it is. It might be the same night as when he brought you home or it could be the weekend or it could be next week. He somewhat remembers the taste of a meal. Some cool water. But he doesn’t recall when he made it or when he showered.

He only knows he showered because he smelled the mint soap on your skin a few moments ago when you had your mouth attached to his throat.

Now, your mouth swallows his cock whole, throat pulsing around him. He curses, fingers twisting in your hair as he listens to you choke. Feels your drool dripping down his thighs. You relent, pulling back with a slick sound. He looks down at you between half-moon eyes, lashes fluttering.

You’re a vision: bruised lips smeared in spit and cum, chin covered in slick, watery, round eyes that blink up at him, innocent despite the fact that you rub the flushed tip of his cock against your abused mouth.

“Fuck,” he swears, watching your devilish tongue snake out to lap at his dark tip. “Fucking cock hungry, huh?”

You nod your head, trailing your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, taking time to suck slopping kisses to his skin. He can’t look away, even as you pump him lazily with your small hand, ravenous little mouth sucking coyly at his balls.

His fist tights in your hair. You look up, tears spilling over rounded cheeks. You look angelic at that moment, weeping before him. He nearly busts right there.

“Does Kitty like when I do that?” You ask softly, voice almost a whisper. Your voice changes, he’s noticed. Sometimes coming out dark velvet, other times tangerine-sweet. “Am I a good girl, Kitty?”

You always call him that. He wasn’t sure about it at first, but with a mouth full of his precum and neck covered in his teeth marks, Yoongi thinks you can call him whatever the fuck you want. He’s never seen a creature so drunk off fucking him before and he’s no better. All he wants to do is fucking live in you.

“Such a good girl,” Yoongi promises. He holds your head with one hand and your chin with the other, pulling your bottom lip down with one thumb. His touch is soft and reverent. You preen for him, smiling around his thumb as he slips it in your mouth and presses on your tongue. Feels the spit and god knows what else there. “Come on, baby. Suck.”

And you do. Yoongi’s eyes roll back in his head. He falls backward on his bed and it feels like he has passed through a portal to somewhere else. He floats. All he knows is your mouth, unforgiving. Your tongue, sinful.

And when Yoongi comes down your throat, and when you pull off of him and smile at him with the slow drip of it, Yoongi feels like he’s in fucking heaven.

-

Monday he calls out of work.

Crunching numbers at an accounting firm seems like hell in comparison to where he is now. You’re bent over the kitchen counter, drooling on the granite as he slowly drags his cock through your drenched heat. He ignores the spilled glass of water next to you. Instead, he watches himself disappear deep into your cunt, collecting cream on the base of his cock every time he pulls out.

Yoongi senses you looking at him. You are, eyes intense and heavy. Your gaze shifts so often he can barely keep up – thinks maybe he imagines the way you go from soft, round-eyed sweetheart to a siren-eyed vixen.

It’s the vixen look at him now. And as though you can read his mind, you slick your tongue out of your mouth, bubble gum pink and eager, eyes dragging down to where he works himself in and out.

Yoongi pulls out slowly, running a finger along your arousal smeared along his shaft, and leans forward, thrusting in hard. You pant, tongue still out and eyes focused on his as Yoongi delicately places his cum-slick finger in your mouth. Presses your cream on your tongue.

Your lips close around his finger, tongue swirling around the digit as you shut your eyes and hollow your cheek, gently sucking your arousal until there’s nothing left.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers, in awe of you.

And you are. There’s nothing you won’t do for him. Nothing Yoongi won’t do for you. So he slams into you, deep deep deep, and grunts until you’re coming around him for what feels like the hundredth time since he’s met you.

-

Yoongi startles awake. He blinks away a dream that he immediately cannot remember. His skin is clammy and his sheets stick to him all over. He kicks them off, heart hammering as he jumps to his feet, trying to get away from the bed.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels danger near him with every slam of his heart.

For a few moments, he’s in total darkness. He can’t make out the shape of his dresser. Or the pile of clothes in the hamper. He can’t see any light filtering through the window. He knows there’s a streetlight out there – why isn’t the light streaming through his curtains?

Panic threatens to seize him. He takes a deep breath and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing fiercely. He opens them, bursts of starlight blinding him until they fade finally and he can see.

There’s a shadow in front of him, all razor teeth and red eyes.

Yoongi screams, flinching backward. He topples over and feels weightless like he’s falling through time and space. The moment of fear stretches out long – too long – and for a second he thinks he will die. His heart is beating too hard in his chest, his mind is screaming too loud, and the adrenaline threatens to crack him open and spill out on the floor.

He hits the curtain behind him and fists the fabric, ripping the entire rod and holders down backward as he goes. Streetlight pours into the room. He thrashes, blind and screaming among the now ruined curtains, the curtain rod, and drywall dust.

Yoongi frees himself, grabbing the rod to defend himself against the creature in a last-ditch effort to live.

Grey light saturates the room. There’s no shadow creature with teeth and red eyes. There’s just you in the middle of his bed, the reflection of the street light turning your doe-eyes to glowing coins. You’re in a t-shirt of his, soft and crinkled, hair messy. Lip trembling.

“Kitty?” Your voice is small. Almost childlike. “Kitty are you okay?”

The panic beat of his heart slows. He swallows down nausea and realizes his shaking, the remaining waves of adrenaline taking their toll. Yoongi lets go of the curtain rod and nods, pressing his head into the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. Throat dry. You move on the bed – more of a prowl – and you flick the lamp light on. Warmth rushes into the room and with it, relief. “Thank you.”

“What happened, Kitty?”

“A nightmare. I got up and … I don’t know. I thought I saw something.”

You sit on your knees. Hands in your lap, one palm splayed on your thigh, the other lifted toward him. Beckoning. Open. Warm. Safe. He peels himself from the wreckage by the window and walks toward you, feeling as though there is a string between you and him, tethering you to him. Reeling him in.

When Yoongi’s hand touches yours, exhaustion bleeds into him. Safe. He is safe. You smile and there are no razor teeth. Just kiss-stained lips as you shuffle backward, pulling Yoongi back into the bed.

“Come sleep, Kitty.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, he turns off the lamp. The streetlight floods his room now, but it’s comforting, the grey wash of the world enough that he can see anything creeping in the shadows.

Eventually, he falls back asleep with the slow drag of your hand back and forth across his forehead, and your mouth pressing gentle sucks to the side of his throat.

-

“Where are you going?”

Yoongi almost smiles at the pout on your face. You stand in his kitchen, brows pinched, mouth furious. You’re in another one of his shirts – there is nothing else for you to wear. His grin spreads as he comes around the counter, placing his messenger bag down.

Somehow you seem so much smaller in the daylight. Yoongi swears when you’re riding him in the early hours of the morning or when he has you on all fours fucking you deep into his mattress, you’re a force to be reckoned with. A fierce creature feeds on carnal pleasure only.  

But now in the light of day, with your bottom lip jutting out and scowling brows, Yoongi thinks there is nothing more adorable. His perfect baby. You reach out, opening and closing your hands and he laughs.

“Work,” he answers gently, pulling you toward him. You don’t fight him. You never fight him. Yoongi is always your top priority – you’ve made that obvious. He smells the cedar. Jasmine. Amber. His head swims and for a moment, he forgot what you asked.

Moments like this with your skin touching, that high-frequency current that is unfamiliar but feels so good – Yoongi forgets himself. Every time he touches you, he’s somewhere else.

His phone rings and he remembers he’s supposed to leave. “I have work.”

Your scowl gets worse. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want to be with you.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, you’re almost snarling, gripping him like iron. He sighs and squeezes your hips for reassurance. “I’ll leave a little early, yeah? For you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” Your lip wobbles and he leans forward again, nipping you. “Get some sleep. You woke me up very early this morning, hmm?”

You don’t answer, but you loosen your grip.

When he gets in the car, he sees the curtain in his living room shift and he grins. Cute.

-

Work drags. Yoongi’s in a bad mood. His coffee is extra bitter. The water tastes off. The fluorescents in his office are too bright, prompting him to turn them off. When he begins auditing his client’s monthly spending, the numbers swim on screen.

Yoongi takes his glasses off. Puts them back on. He swears that he sees symbols and that the screen glitches, flashing between letters and numbers and… something he’s unsure of. When he rubs his eyes, the screen is just numbers in an Excel sheet.

Sighing in defeat, he glances at the clock. It’s only been an hour.

“Fuck.”

He pulls his phone out, thumb hovering over the screen. Your contact information is in his phone, right? The silence in his office is deafening. It presses in on him as he stares at his phone, unseeing. Why didn’t he have your phone number? Shouldn’t a boyfriend have their-

A knock at the door startles him. He drops his phone, mumbling an apology as he bends down to get it before righting himself and looking at his director.

“How are you feeling?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A little off.”

And… it’s true. Yoongi’s head hurts suddenly, a migraine slamming on the confines of his skull. His too-bitter coffee burns in his stomach. The back of his neck feels too hot and his hands shake as he puts his phone on his desk.

“You don’t look too well. Maybe take the day?”

Yoongi nods. Sways a little when he stands up to retrieve his things and turns his computer off. On the drive home, the headache recedes a little. He grips the wheel tight, taking deep breaths as he tries to steady the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

In the drive, Yoongi takes a deep breath. The pressure in his head is gone and his stomach doesn’t feel as rotten as it did twenty minutes ago. He makes a mental note to look up his symptoms when he gets inside – perhaps he has the flu. It won’t do to feel this way before his client’s quarterly financial reports are due.

Thankfully, when Yoongi steps into his house, he feels much better.

Feels fine as he drops to his knees in the entryway, tongue buried hungrily in your cunt as he presses you hard against the door, drinking in every drop. Above him, you tremble and cry, begging him never to leave again.

When you cum on his tongue, creamsicle sweet, he thinks he never will.

-

Pain shoots up Yoongi’s foot as he stubs his toe making his way to the bathroom. He can barely see in his room now that he has fixed the curtains – and put blackout ones at your request – and the floor is covered with his shoes and chargers and boxes of snacks you keep in his bedroom like a nest.

He has never in his life seen someone with an appetite for junk food like you – especially sweets.

Yoongi opens the bathroom, the gentle, white glow of the night light casting a dull halo against the whitewash walls. He glances in the mirror and his heart launches into his throat. His hand slams against the door for balance and a moment of terror bleeds him dry when he sees the shadow behind him, white teeth flashing and red eyes.

Whirling around, Yoongi’s hand shoots for the light, painfully jamming fingers against stucco. He manages to flip the switch while his heart pulses in his throat, terror working its way through him like an injection straight into his cardiovascular system.

Light spills into the room, so bright that he flinches, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them, there’s nothing. It’s just his messy room, covered in clothes, empty and half-full bottles of lube, a generous amount of junk food, and you.

Asleep. Soft against his pillows, lips parted slightly.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Yoongi chastises himself and shuts the bathroom door. A few splashes of cold water from the tap do the trick, calming him down and cooling the red splotches of anxiety blooming on his neck.

When he returns to bed, your hands seek his warmth, making grabbing motions even in sleep. He indulges you, sliding closer. Tucking you into his chest. You hum in your sleep, that vibrating feeling that lives just under your skin ever-present.

Gently you lean forward, mouth seeking as you press your lips against the soft spot under his ear. He shivers as the innocent kiss turns into a soft suckle, pulling skin between teeth your tongue pressed against his flesh. But you don’t wake up. You seem content to lay in his arms with the gentle pull of your mouth against his skin, smelling like cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

And he falls asleep, moment of terror forgotten.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

Time management was always one of his strong suits. As someone who lived an organized little life in an organized little home, he thrived on order, repetition of days, and knowing what to expect each day.

Except now Yoongi never remembers what day it is. He hardly remembers how he spends his day. But what he does remember are moments with you. Bodies against bodies. The press of his fingers in your sticky cunt. Your curious fingers, pressing into the tight rim of his ass, pulling out orgasms so deep that it takes him hours to move.

Now, you’re pressed against him on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV. He watches you and you watch the screen, completely focused on the world of Spirited Away. His lips twitch in a smile and he yawns. You snuggle closer to him, nearly attached. It’s second nature to you, to fasten yourself to him. He doesn’t mind, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

When Yoongi’s phone rings, it interrupts everything. You immediately hiss, looking toward the ringing device on the counter. He can’t remember the last time his phone rang but he begins to lift himself off of the couch.

Your fingers dig in. “Finish the movie.”

It’s a demand. He laughs as your brow pinches. “I’ll be right back, let me just see who it is.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why don’t you want to watch the movie with me?”

Your voice has grown small again. Not the sultry purr he is used to in the middle of the night when you mouth at his cock, hard before he’s even awake. Not the demanding crack of a whip when you order him to come.

This voice is tiny, a soft thing that immediately draws him to look at you. He cradles your face, your big eyes looking at him with tears rimming them. His stomach drops and he hushes you, thumbs brushing back and forth.

“Fuck – baby why are you crying?”

“Why don’t you want to watch the movie, Kitty?”

“Hey, Kitty wants to watch the movie.” He croons and you pull yourself into his lap, arms going around his neck and winding in his hair. He keeps a soft grip on your face, eyes searching. That thrum is just beneath the surface, like a beating heart. “I just have to answer the phone, baby. I still want to watch the movie.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Of course I do.”

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely recalls one time when he left for work, you had been a bit sad. But ever since he’d started working from home – wait, he works from home? He shakes the question from his thoughts, saving it for later.

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely recalls one time when he left for work, you had been a bit sad. And now you sit on his lap and he hates himself for the way a tear slips down your face, turned into a diamond from the reflection of the TV.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, heart aching in his chest. He leans back. He pulls you flush against his chest. You tuck your face in his neck, your favorite spot to nuzzle and he feels the gentle tuck of your mouth, the tiny suckle of your teeth against his neck. Your comfort.

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely -

He doesn’t remember. What was he thinking about? He doesn’t know.

Yoongi loops his arms around you and squeezes you tight. And his eyes flutter shut, suddenly tired and lulled to sleep by the gentle pull of your mouth on his skin.

-

“Come look at this cat,” Yoongi laughs, crouching down on the back porch. The tabby rubs itself between his legs, purring as it twists figure eights. “It’s so friendly, baby. Come say hi.”

Night sky stretches over the city. It’s colder outside – almost Halloween, maybe. Yoongi lost the calendar in his house and he only turns the computer on if he has to sign on for work, which he rarely does these days.

You peek from the door, looking at the cat rubbing its face on Yoongi’s hand. He looks up at you and smiles. You’re swimming in a sweater of his, though your legs are bare. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting you again – he can’t ever get enough, licking the sweetness from between your thighs only to finish by fucking himself into you until he blacks out.

The blackouts happen more after sex now.

“He’s sweet,” Yoongi promises, holding out another hand to you. “Like you.”

Tentatively, you step outside of the door. The floorboard creaks under your step, drawing the cat’s attention. It happens so fast that Yoongi falls from his crouched position, sitting abruptly on the floor. The cat lets out a terrible sound, somewhere between a horrible yowl and a hair-raising hiss.

A blur of claws and teeth, Yoongi yells as the sharp talons catch him, letting the cat go. It becomes a streak of fur and screeching, vanishing from the yard.

You rush to him, dropping down to hold his scratched hands, blood surfacing.

“No!” You look up at him, holding his hand gently to your chest. He feels the strange hum, the heartbeat that… isn’t a beating heart as much as a constant buzz. “Are you okay, Kitty? You’re hurt.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles. The fear in your eyes is heartwarming. You love him – he knows this. He feels it. “Sorry it startled you.”

-

Autumn sun beats down on Yoongi as he goes to peel logs from the stack of firewood in the backyard. As he jogs down the steps, he slows, frowning. There’s a dead tabby at the foot of the stairs, broken body and dark blood smeared underneath.

“Weird,” he mutters, rushing to get some firewood. “I’ve never seen cats here before. Poor thing.”

When he goes back inside the house, he sees you sitting on the counter. Spread. Finger tracing up and down glistening folds, swollen cunt begging for his mouth. Yoongi drops the wood. He zeros in, licking his lips as you spread your legs a little wider.

“What a perfect fucking pussy,” Yoongi grins. “That for me?”

You nod. “Please, Kitty.”

Yoongi forgets about the dead cat.

-

“I want candy.” Yoongi looks up at you, brows raised. You’re standing in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store, chewing your bottom lip as you look at him with hopeful eyes. Yoongi immediately softens. Feels his heart flutter. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” He looks up at the aisle names. “It’s three aisles over. Can you get what you want while I go back and get milk? I forgot.”

You hesitate for a moment, a moment of fear on your face. Before he can brush away your fears with a simple kiss, you take a deep breath and give him your bravest smile. He preens, proud as you give a confident nod and dart off in the direction of candy.

Yoongi is impressed by you. Leaving the house is hard for you – always has been. The two of you mostly stay inside, locked in your little world. Yoongi likes it that way. Loves knowing after dinner you’ll be nested on the couch, watching him with inquisitive eyes and asking him to put on a new show or to continue the anime you’ve been binging.

Every new experience for you brings stars to your eyes. He loves that about you – loves the way you go awestruck while watching old anime that Yoongi adores, or the way you hum and spin in circles to music he shows you.

Yoongi remembers hearing once that people live many lives. He thinks that if that’s true, you must be in your first life, curious about everything. Surprised by the world. And he gets to watch it over and over, the way you grin when something startles you or when you furiously pout because you don’t like something.

Grocery store trips are new for you. The first time, you’d been stitched to his side, refusing to separate from him. Cagey and flashing mean eyes at everyone. Now, though, Yoongi doesn’t worry as he pulls open one of the glass doors in the cold section, looking for milk.

“Yoongi?” He turns mid-reach for a carton of milk, the cold air hitting him in the face and turning his cheeks pink, glass frosting with the humidity rushing into the fridge. Taehyung is standing behind him, hands shoved into pockets. “Holy shit it is you.”

Yoongi gives Taehyung a funny smile, pulling the milk from the fridge and adding it to his cart. “Why wouldn’t it be? How are you?”

“Dude, how are you? You don’t answer anyone’s calls, I heard you started working at home from some sort of illness, and you refuse to answer your door when we come by.” Taehyung’s face is picture-perfect concern, brown eyes fixed on Yoongi, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “Why can’t you tell us what’s going on? It’s been weeks.”

“What are you talking about? I talked to you two weeks ago.”

Taehyung cocks his head. His brows furrow and an unsettling feeling flips Yoongi’s stomach. He remembers the call exactly. Recites their conversation back to Taehyung, but before Yoongi can finish, his friend is shaking his head.

“We never had that conversation, Yoongi.”

Taehyung takes a step closer. Yoongi’s heart starts pounding. He remembers talking to Taehyung. He had been standing in the kitchen when his phone rang, and you had handed him his phone. Yoongi remembers because he had been half-paying attention to the conversation, transfixed by the way your eyes caught the light and the way you watched him catch up with Taehyung.

But… another thought swirls in Yoongi’s mind. A vision of you slamming the phone down on the counter, shattering it. Yoongi begging you to stop – stop something ­– and then your soft lips on him.

He shakes his head, setting the thoughts free.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung asks, moving past his cart to get closer. Yoongi backs up. He doesn’t know why, but it’s automatic. He feels panic surge as Taehyung pauses. “Are you sick or-“

Maybe he is. Yoongi knows he talked to Taehyung and yet… doubt wiggles into his mind. Eats at it like a worm. There feels like there is a box somewhere tucked in the recesses of his memory, shielded and without a key. If he applies pressure on it, he gets a headache.

Licking his lips, Yoongi places his trembling hands on the cart. Looks at Taehyung. Sees the pleading in his friend’s eyes. Yoongi opens his mouth to ask when Taehyung thinks they last spoke and -

“Kitty?”

Your soft voice cuts the anxiety in half. Yoongi’s thoughts ease as you appear a few feet away from them, bags of candy in hand. Your doll face morphs into unease when you look at Taehyung. Yoongi wonders why that is – you’ve talked to Taehyung plenty of times. You encourage Yoongi to call him.

“You?” Taehyung asks. The vehemence in his voice startles Yoongi. “You’re still around? Jesus Yoongi, have you been shacked up with some girl you met at a bar this entire time?”

Words have consequences. Taehyung’s immediately has an effect, your expression going from soft and sweet to something that makes Yoongi’s hands grip the push-bar on the cart tightly.

“He has nothing to do with it.” Your voice is a layered hiss. A tingle slides down Yoongi’s neck – familiar and dangerous. He has the sudden urge to bolt, but his feet are rooted to the ground as you advance, putting yourself between the two men. “Yoongi hasn’t been feeling well. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I’m one of his best friends!”

Taehyung is one of his best friends. And Jimin. And Seokjin. Yoongi remembers sitting on a stool at Serendipity, listening to Old Ass Han tell him some superstition about female demons who snatched one of his sons in the middle of the night. Jimin had laughed so hard and made Old Ass Han so mad that Jimin covered his tab for the night.

It was such a funny memory that the next Halloween, Jimin had dressed up as a sultry, female demon. Yoongi vaguely recalls laughing with them into the night, especially when Jimin picked up a guy to go home with that night.

Yoongi is full of those memories – at least he was. He thinks he is.

The little place in his mind that feels inaccessible cracks a little and Yoongi winces, a headache splitting him open. He clutches his temple as a bolt of pain lances through his skull. Then your hands are on him, gentle and cradling his face. You’re saying something but he can’t hear you over the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Colors dance across his vision as Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pant through the pain. The pain doesn’t come from that tiny little box in his mind – it comes from somewhere else. Pulling him away from whatever is hidden there, in that dark little forgotten corner.

Suddenly, it becomes too much and darkness swallows him whole.

The last thing Yoongi remembers is the gentle kiss of your mouth on his neck.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

He’s getting headaches all the time. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with them, sharp pain digging behind his eyes. It always worsens when he tries to recall the dreams he has before he wakes up – he knows he has dreams. They’re on the tip of his tongue. But the more he thinks about them, the more he tries to draw up what he imagined, the more the pain grows.

The bed sinks as you crawl in next to him. It’s too hot in bed. Sheets cling to Yoongi’s skin. He feels like there’s a furnace under the mattress, burning through and making everything sweaty and sticky. He shifts a little away from you – your body is always warm, skin heated with the thrum of energy beneath the surface.

Cedar. Jasmine. Amber. Your scent swells as you tuck yourself close to him. Not touching, but Yoongi can sense you there, an awareness tingling along his skin. It’s happened a few times, where a second awareness blinks an eye open and Yoongi feels on edge. Like there is suddenly an instinct inside of him that has awakened, one he is unfamiliar with.

That awareness yawns. Blooms at the back of his mind, where that same throbbing ache has settled. Yoongi tries to steady his breathing, but he can feel his pulse against his pillow, thumping faster and faster as your cloying scent muddles his thoughts.

You don’t say anything. You don’t reach out and touch him. You just lay there, silent and omnipresent. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, and for the first time in a very long time, he wishes that you would go to the other room and watch TV. You love watching TV. Sometimes he finds you sitting in front of it on the floor, knees tucked to your chest, chin on top of your knees while you watch a variety of shows.

Though it seems you have settled on Tokyo Ghoul as your favorite.

“Kitty?” you whisper. He holds his breath. Perhaps if he pretends he is asleep, you’ll go to sleep too. Long beats of silence stretch between you, filled only with the sound of Yoongi’s measured breathing. “I’m sorry.”

He pauses. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi swallows past a knot in his throat. Every muscle in his body is clenching. His fingers are fisted in his blankets, and he’s curled into a ball. He doesn’t remember feeling so braced. He tries to relax, letting himself melt in the bed a little.

“For what?”

“You… need space.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to hear the tremble in your voice. You sniffle a little. The lamp on his bed flickers, catching his attention. He watches the flicker of the bulb as you cry softly behind him. He wants to turn around – wants to gather you in his arms and tuck you into his chest and yet… he doesn’t.

“A little,” Yoongi admits softly.

“Okay.”

Licking his lips, Yoongi steels himself. He rolls over in bed to look at you. You’re buried in one of his hoodies and the blanket he likes to sleep with on the couch. He can barely make out your cherubic face. Your round eyes blink at him, pools of light in the darkness of the hoodie and blanket.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Okay.”

He softens. It’s not so warm in the bed anymore, so he reaches across the space, finding your hand clutched in the blanket. You let him pry your fingers open and he traces your palm. “Just a little space, okay? I can sleep on the couch tonight.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Baby-“

“I’m not tired.”

Your voice is firm. He knows that voice – it’s the one that precedes a tantrum if he’s not careful. He nods, pulling a hand away and sighing, closing his eyes. He is tired. He realizes just how tired he is.

“Good night, Kitty.”

-

Most days it’s easier to placate you.

Yoongi feels like he is worn at the edges. Hot water runs down his neck, his back. Relieves a deep ache that has begun to grow on his bones, pained turned lichen. He feels like a watercolor painting with too much liquid medium, running at the edges and blurring across a once-beautiful canvas.

Sleep comes every night, but Yoongi still wakes up tired. He misses meetings even though he has been working from home for… however long. He doesn’t know where his cell phone is. He lost it somewhere in the house – doesn’t need it much.

Water drips onto the floor as he steps out of the shower. He watches it run down milky legs, soaking into the towel. Steam permeates the air and slicks across the mirror, Yoongi’s reflection as opaque and bleary as he feels.

Yoongi heaves a heavy yawn, wiping a hand across the steam in preparation to shave. When his eyes look up at the three-paneled mirror, a shadowed creature with rows of gnashing teeth and red eyes is behind him.

A scream rips its way out of his throat, the terror is so awful that Yoongi’s knees buckles. He hits the tile hard, head smacking the cabinet. His world explodes into color as he blinks the stars from his eyes, scrambling with damp legs, slipping uselessly on the steamed tile as he backs himself into the corner of the wall and sink.

There’s nothing there. Just an open doorway.

For a few seconds, it’s just Yoongi’s heart pounding so hard that his stomach roils. He fumbles for the toilet, flipping the lid and rolling to his knees to heave the contents of dinner into the bowl. He gasps for air, stinging his vomit-burned throat as he throws up again. Stomach-churning. Lungs screaming.

When he flushes and settles against the bathtub, he hears the TV in the living room. Cool air drifts in from his bedroom. He closes his eyes and takes in deep breaths, counting in for seven and out for seven. There’s the soft patter of your feet on the carpet, and he can sense you in the doorway.

His spine always tingles when you’re around.

“Kitty? Are you okay?”

“Don’t feel good.”

“Oh kitty,” you whisper. He keeps his eyes closed. You slide closer to him and your hands are warm. When they touch his face, he feels a little energy pour back into him and he opens his eyes. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, still. “I’m sorry.”

“Why sorry?”

You chew on your lip. “I’m sorry.”

It feels like you say that a lot these days. Yoongi nods his head and closes his eyes again as you lean forward and press yourself to his side, giving him a gentle kiss.

-

The headache is bad. But he has to know. Lays in his bed writhing in the sheets.

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts.

Memories crack across his mind, each one hurting more than the last.

A creature of shadow. Blacking out after sex. A dead cat that hadn’t always been dead. Your innocent eyes. Your angry eyes. You smashing his phone to pieces. A doctor forging him a medical note. Blood on your hands and face as you came out of the doctor’s office.

-

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi has energy. He feels more himself. Clearer. He gets up early in the morning and makes himself coffee. He sees you lurking near the fridge, throwing him wary glances. You’re a little more worn than usual: sallow cheeks, bags under your eyes. Your eyes are as starry.

When he asks you what’s wrong, you don’t answer. You duck into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind you. He stares, a little confused and hurt before sighing. You’re touchy sometimes, and on the days like this where you’re more like a feral cat than a preening girlfriend, he knows to keep his distance.

Yoongi shrugs and tosses the sugar packet in the trash, frowning. There are empty bottoms of foam that are stained red - meat packages, he realizes. He doesn’t recall having steak at all this week, but perhaps you’re thawing it in the fridge for dinner.

He shrugs and goes to his office, leaving you to your devices.

A morning meeting kickstarts his day, and Yoongi forgets about it.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

You’re worse. You don’t want to come out of his room and you won’t go near the light. There are harsh lines around your eyes and he swears your teeth are sharper. More lethal. You won’t sleep in the same bed as he is.

Worst of all? Yoongi feels great. Feels like perhaps it was just a depressive episode he was in. He no longer feels like he is melted together at the edges, barely hanging on. But it does mean that he’s getting frustrated with you.

“Feral,” he mutters as he walks into his office after you snarled at him and then proceeded to cry because you wanted him to take the day off. “Sometimes I swear she is feral.”

-

Soft lips wake Yoongi up in the middle of the night. He stirs, feeling a tingle run down his spine. He can smell cedar, jasmine and amber and smiles. You’re pressed against him, mouth seeking his delicately, though there is some urgency behind your kisses.

Yoongi opens his mouth to you, an invitation. You suck his tongue into your mouth greedily and arousal shoots to his cock, your mouth doing wonders on his tongue. Fuck he knows you like to suck him off like that too, all greedy and sloppy and spit-slicked.

Your hands pull at his shirt and you kiss him with more fervor, lips becoming teeth, moans becoming hisses. When Yoongi rolls onto his back, pulling your hips on top of him, the dynamic changes.

A gasp escapes his kiss-bruised lips, eyes flying open as you mark his throat. Harsh stings of teeth followed quickly by lavish licks of your tongue. It’s messy and you leave a trail of spit dripping down his neck, making him squirm underneath you, cock tight against his pajama shorts.

“Fuck,” he moans when you suck that spot under his ear he loves. “Greedy devil.”

“Yes,” you shoot back, voice firm. Your hands seek his, pulling them from where they massage your ass to pin them above his head, your grip iron. “Please.”

There’s no way she’s human.

Taehyung’s words flash through Yoongi’s mind when he looks up at you. Your pupils are dilated, two black disks that absorb the barest hint of light in the room. He shivers, afraid of falling into your dark eyes and never finding his way back home.

Have your eyes always been that soulless? No, he thinks.

“Please,” you say again. “Please let me have you.”

He frowns. “You can always have me.”

You shake your head. “Not always. Too much. I take… I take too much. But now not enough. I just…” Your lip trembles and where you hold his wrist begins to ache. He whimpers and you hush him, your fingers loosening a little. “I just need some. Not a lot.”

It’s hard to understand what you’re asking for. Yoongi is lost in the sensation of fluttering in his stomach and the way blood rushes through his body. He feels high when you dip one of your hands below the waistband of his pajamas, taking a hold of his cock in your hand, thumb brushing precum from the tip.

You always take care of Yoongi. His eyes flutter shut as he feels a steady static build in his brain. Your touch is careful but deliberate, each stroke of your hand and squeeze of his shaft sending him spinning. His hips twitch under you.

When you shift down his body, he lifts his lower half off the bed, kicking at the sheets and letting you tug his bottoms down. He’s shaking and eager, unable to look down at you when you take him fully in your hand, tongue tasting the stickiness at his tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers. His hands are still above him, twisted in the pillowcase. He leaves them there, helpless as you tongue the head of his dick before sucking it into your mouth. Your tongue is gentle and your mouth is warm, the barest of sucks making him whine. “Don’t tease me.”

You hum and the vibrations make him speechless. His head rolls to the side, mouth parted, panting as he sees stars. You suck him eagerly, messily. He hears the wet pull of your mouth, the choked cough of your throat when you take him in deep and swallow.

Gentle nails scratch down his legs. He feels like he’s disconnected from the rest of the world, a single strand tethering him as he floats. He babbles as you take him in deep, a hand reaching down below his balls, a single, shy finger pressing against his tight rim.

Everything inside of Yoongi goes taught. He comes immediately and without warning. Spills in your mouth and the world fades away. There is nothing where he goes. No memories, no thoughts, no anxiety. It’s just Yoongi and he feels good – the kind of warm from a bubble bath laden with creams and salts.

Eventually, he comes back down. Opening his eyes, Yoongi sees you blink down at him. You smile, brushing light finger strokes over flushed cheeks. He grins up at you, elated. Hypnotized. You’re so… he doesn’t know the word.

There’s no way she’s human.

That phrase makes Yoongi’s smile falter. You are exquisite. Shrouded in darkness. Yoongi feels the press of unfamiliar air. When he looks beyond you, there’s just darkness. There is nothing. No light streams in from the window again. There is no soft hum of the nightlight in the bathroom where he usually leaves the door open now.

It’s just you.

Yoongi’s heart begins to speed up, panic rising.

You kiss him softly. It’s sweet and his anxiety melts away. Feels the weight of you on your hips, wet pussy dripping on his thigh. You’re being patient, which surprises him. Usually by now you’re needy, grinding your cunt on his thigh to seek friction.

“I want more,” you whisper against his mouth, fingers pressed into his cheeks. “Will you give me more?”

He nods. You lick his mouth, sighing contentedly as you roll your hips on his thigh. He moans, feeling the glide of your bare folds against his leg. You are always so ready for him, eager to take him. Easy to please. Excited to take what you want.

Shaking above him, you bury your face in his neck. Yoongi slides his hands from their position above his head, resting one hand on your thigh and sliding the other between your legs. Sticky arousal greets him, his fingers brushing up and down your cunt as you stop grinding, letting him take control.

“Kitty,” you beg, words muffle in his neck. He grins, eyes half-lidded as he plays with you. “Please, Kitty.”

Yoongi sinks two fingers in your greedy hole, feeling the way your walls flutter around him. It doesn’t matter how many times he buries his fingers, cock or tongue in you – every time is divine. Feels like something holy, taking him somewhere else.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he murmurs, pressing a thumb to your clit. “Come on, baby. Wanna see you make a mess on my hands first.”

“Want your cock.”

“Fingers first, baby. Come on, you can do it.”

A growl rips through your frame. Yoongi stills under you for a moment, heart skipping. But then you move your hips and he hears your soft breath. Feels the drip down his hand. He grins, feeling you swallow his fingers as you work yourself on him, his thumb circling your clit lazily.

Nails dig into his thighs as you lean backward, spreading yourself for him. He can barely make out your figure in the darkness, but he can see the swell of your chest, the line of your neck as you toss your head back, his name falling from flushed lips and floating up to the ceiling.

When you come, it’s wet and loud. He hums, pulling drenched fingers from your legs. He surges forward, surprising you and moving you backward, letting your head bounce near the foot of the bed as he cages you in, stealing a kiss.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging and whining and rubbing against his thigh again, begging sweetly. No one has ever wanted Yoongi the way you do. Ever. He cannot recall a single time someone has been as vigorous in their pursuit.

It makes him hard again, the rush in his veins igniting once more as he slides into you. He pushes in to the hilt, settling there for a moment. You clench around him, clawing at the back of his neck and thrashing under him. Begging for more. Always wanting more. Swearing you just need a little more.

Yoongi sets a slow pace, stroking deep with a purpose. You gasp every time he fucks all the way into you. He grins against your sweaty neck, tongue licking a stripe up your salty skin. You turn your face and catch his mouth with yours, swapping more spit than kissing, moaning into one another’s mouths.

An orgasm winds tightly in Yoongi’s stomach. He feels it at the base of his spine this time, a second sense tingling as he picks up speed, slamming into you until you’re crying under him, babbling again in something that sounds like a language but isn’t quite.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck –“ He grits his teeth and the moment he comes, you squeeze him like a vice, shouting and pulling him into an orgasm so hard that he feels himself fall on top of you, the energy leaving him as quickly as his orgasm had gathered.

At some point, he falls asleep.

-

Hell on earth is waking up battered and torn at the seams. You’re out in the living room, enjoying an early morning episode of Tokyo Ghoul again. He hears you giggle at the TV and he lifts his head in the shower. The rush of the hot water is loud, but the sound of you laughing is in his head.

It always feels like you’re in his head.

Yoongi stumbles when he gets out of the shower. His feet are heavy and there is pain behind his eyes. The throbbing kind that makes him turn the lights out and shoot a text to work telling them he needs a sick day. How many sick days has he had this year? He has no idea.

Yoongi stumbles to the mattress and collapses into the sheets. Everything feels heavy like he is made of glass bones with the weight of the world threatening to break him.

Sleep comes and goes. It doesn’t make him less tired. Yoongi places a hand on his forehead.  He is not over-warm, but he wants to cry, the ache in every muscle so real that it takes him several tries to say your name.

You appear immediately, hovering at the edge of the bed in his hoodie, wrapped in a blanket.

“Are you feeling sick, Kitty?” He nods and you sniff. “I’m so sorry, Kitty… do you want some water?”

Yoongi nods again and you vanish. He rolls onto his back, groaning. He reaches for his phone. The screen is cracked from some incident or another, but it’s mildly legible as he searches his symptoms online.

When you come back with water, he thanks you with a sweet kiss and smiles when you lick his nose affectionately before darting out of the room again. He hears the show start again.

Carefully, Yoongi tries to sit up a bit. The water is cooled with two cubes – just the way he likes it – and it helps staunch the thirst. He drains the entire glass, but still, he aches with exhaustion that has no name.

Every combination he can think of brings Yoongi undesirable results. He has the fatigue of many different illnesses, but not any of the others. Mono seems the most likely, but still, it doesn’t feel right.

Yoongi considers and then types a new search: constant exhaustion after sex.

The results make him roll his eyes. He knows he’s going to get several ads for erectile dysfunction medication, but he scrolls anyways. Maybe he’s just fucking you that hard. But he does remember blacking out after sex and… well he never feels great the next day.

Slowly tapping through pages, Yoongi sighs. There’s nothing that provides much thought beyond Yoongi knowing he’s had too much sex. You’re a starving little thing, constantly wanting –

A word catches his attention: succubus.

Yoongi snorts when he opens the article. It’s a weird string of evangelical stories and musings, and overly sexualized depictions of female demons with generous breasts, shapely figures, and cute little bat wings.

The succubus needs sexual desire and energy to survive. He scoffs and wonders what heterosexual male wrote that dream.

Repeated sexual activity with a succubus will result in a bond being formed between the succubus and the host.

“Romantic,” Yoongi deadpans, scrolling up to close out the article. But a drawing catches Yoongi’s eye - a shadowy figure with rows and rows of teeth and red eyes. “Huh.”

Clicking on it, the page loads to a Reddit thread. Yoongi curses when he has to download the app, but his fingers move of their own volition, tapping across the screen as he creates a login and reopens the thread.

There are streams and streams of comments and links on the thread, a little overwhelming. As expected, it sounds like most heterosexual men overly-sexualizing women or asking about roleplaying – and yet, there’s a thread with a lot of upvotes that he clicks on.

Loss of time. Constantly exhausted. Nightmares of shadow creatures following me. Yoongi licks his lips, feeling his mouth go dry as he continues. Blackouts after sex. Not able to remember life before meeting entity. Dead animals –

“Kitty?” Yoongi flinches, dropping the phone on his stomach, hand covering his chest as his heart pounds in his ribcage. You blink in surprise, cocking your head where you stand in the doorway. A sense of dread draws a slow finger down Yoongi’s spine as he stares at you. “Do you want to come watch with me? We can put on Spirited Away.”

Loss of time. Constantly exhausted. Nightmares of shadow creatures-

“Kitty?” Yoongi has waited too long to reply. He nods his head and clears his throat. He wants to laugh at how ridiculous he’s being, shoving the phone away from him as he slowly peels himself out of bed. You grin and hold out a hand. “Thanks.”

-

Like a cat, you’re curled on the couch. Yoongi gives you a wide berth as he walks to his office. Night has passed into morning, and the flash of the screen lights the way as he opens the door, slipping through a tiny crack before he closes it softly and firmly behind him.

While watching movies, Yoongi could not help but think about the thread he had seen. He doesn’t turn the light on, too afraid of it showing under the door and tipping you off where he is.

Fear settles in the pit of his stomach. His hands are shaky as he wakes up the mouse, the computer light nearly blinding in the dark room. He jams the settings on the keyboard, turning it down a bit as he settles into the chair, taking a few breaths.

It feels ridiculous. You’re his girlfriend, not a sex-craving demon. But Yoongi finds the thread again anyways, clicking through and going back to that original subthread of people claiming to have survived an encounter with a succubus.

Time doesn’t seem to pass as Yoongi reads. He leans on his hand, eyes burning as he clicks through story after story.

Met at a bar – she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I never remember going home with her, but my life was suddenly consumed by her. I lost my job and my friends. Felt good at first, but started getting headaches any time I would try to remember something. And she was always around, always lurking around every corner.

Yoongi clicks on to the next one, stomach flipping nervously.

- I ran into a friend and she swore we hadn’t spoken in months. I remember talking to her but it felt like… they were false memories. Like I didn’t really do those things. It was strange, but I forgot again after a while.

Taehyung’s face flashes in Yoongi’s mind. His palms get sweaty as he navigates the mouse, leaning closer toward the screen. A nervous beat starts to drum up in his heart as he pours over the words and the accounts of others.

The evidence is damning, but it can’t be possible, right?

Yoongi thinks of Old Ass Han telling the story of his son being swept up by a she-demon. Yoongi doesn’t think the story is very funny anymore, and the thought of Jimin dressing up as one makes him nauseous.

Carefully, he navigates to another thread.

I was lucky. She didn’t want to kill me, but she was constantly hungry for more energy that I didn’t have. She would get cagey and feral, hissing at me and hiding in the dark, like she was weaker in the sun when she wasn’t fed. I would find packs and packs of meat rotting in the garbage like she was trying to get her fix elsewhere.

I hope that you take this thread seriously. They are real. And while they look and talk like people, they aren’t. They might grow attached to you, but they don’t love you. You are a meal – and if your succubus is only feeding off of sex, it’s only a matter of time before they need more.

Think Jennifer’s Body, people.

Yoongi has never seen that movie before. He clicks away from the thread and pulls up the trailer. It seems a little ridiculous, but he gets the idea. Sex, eat the guy, move on to the next. But you certainly have never tried to eat him.

So Yoongi clicks back to the thread and searches for something new. How to get rid of a succubus.

He leans back while the page loads, switching to a white screen. This bright, the monitor reflects what’s in front of it, Yoongi’s round and tired face, pale from lack of sleep, and a looming shadow behind him. His stomach plummets and he goes rigid in the chair, frozen with fear.

Yoongi smells cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

"Kitty is looking at bad things,” you sniffle. Your shadow grows in the computer monitor and Yoongi swears he sees the white flash of teeth before his world turns red. "I loved you, Kitty."

[emmabirb8]

It is REALLY getting me that Guillermo is actively choosing this.

Because narratively speaking, I get it. I understand why Guillermo feels like he has to "say goodbye" to his mother and essentially leave his old human life behind as he transitions into a vampire. It's symbolic and metaphorical and literal all at once and makes for a very interesting plot point while also giving us a great look into the psyche of his character.

But logically? It doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

Logically, it would be relatively easy for him to figure out a way that works to have the best of both worlds if he wanted. For one thing, there's always hypnosis to fall back on if things really went down the tubes, but besides that, Guillermo is a MASTER MANIPULATOR. We know this. We have seen this. All he would really have to do is choose his actions very carefully and deliberately, and he'd be fine.

He could simply just make sure he visited at night, find clever ways to pretend he eats human food, strategically avoid mirrors, wear special protective layers that would allow him to display a crucifix if he wanted... etc etc.

Or better yet, he could just come clean about being a vampire, at least to his mother! It was clear from Pine Barrens last season that Silvia especially would accept Guillermo no matter what and would (at least eventually) be cool with the idea of vampires existing anyway. She was most definitely the least fazed when he initially revealed the truth to his family before Nadja hypnotized away the vampire-related bits. His Abuelita and extended family members would potentially be another story, but his mamá would handle it well, I think. (And if he was worried about her slipping up at any time, he could hypnotize away the urge and ability to tell anyone else the truth! It'd be that simple!)

But Guillermo is choosing this path.

He is choosing to shed his old life, his human life, because he has decided that no matter how much he loves his human family, his desire to live freely with his found family as his full authentic self with absolutely NO hangups or threads to hold him back (what he believes would hold him back) is more important.

And unfortunately, the process of coming to that final decision has cost him his relationship with his mother, who, I would say, is the most important non supernatural person in his entire life. His selfishness, self-centeredness, and pure unbridled obsession with and devotion to his vampire family and to Nandor in particular has essentially destroyed the ties that he could have kept to Silvia. It may have started as a subconscious thing, but at this point, there's no denying that he has made his choice.

It's an agonizing kind of choice, but he has convinced himself it's what he has to do.

And GOD if that isn't just the most deliciously interesting plunge into Guillermo's thought processes and rationalization the show has ever taken.

[eerna]

okay wait actually now that we're on the book-series-strengths-and-shortcomings-train what do you love most about tlt and tlc? (multiple answers bonus)

HOHO A COMBO

TLC: 1) Friendship not being secondary to romance!! The series' main theme is love. In the grand finale the big bad taunts the MC about love... but she doesn't use her boyfriend, no, she uses her best friend. This is made even more powerful because by all means, the best friend was meant to be the secondary love interest by all rules of 2012 YA, but NO he is JUST A FRIEND and it is not treated as "something less". 2) Team building!!!! Oh my god!!!! Building onto point 1, but it needs its own point. Rarely does a fictional team of main characters feel as natural as the Rampion Crew. This is even more impressive because the 9 of them don't appear in the same room until the end of the series. Even though the team consists of 4 couples and 1 single, everyone has a dynamic with everyone, they have arcs that aren't tied exclusively to their partner but also someone else on the team, they interact with each other freely. 3) The wide range of characters! I am a sucker for a "team of girls totally different from each other saves the world" setup, and TLC does it perfectly. I think this is one of the best YA series out there because of how much it empowers different kinds of girls. The guys are also easy to tell apart even at first read, and I sooo appreciate that at least one of them isn't conventionally attractive (anymore). 4) It's so funny. I love these books and how funny they are. They hit the perfect balance between a fun teen adventure and a heartfelt emotional story. 5) This is one of the least "Here's what REALLY happened" series I've read. A bunch of times major things influence characters' thoughts and opinions, but those things are fake and never revealed as fake, OR the characters never learn some big things that could change their opinions at all. Seeing how impacted Winter was when she realized Levana truly loved her father, when I KNOW what really happened, always shakes me to my core - and Winter never learns the truth!!! Everyone who could explain what really happened is dead!! Winter will forever go on thinking at least her father had a marriage of love!!! And why should she learn the truth, really, it would only serve as yet another sad plot twist that traumatizes her even deeper. 6) Levana. I am not usually a villain girlie, but Levana absolutely slaps. She is simultaneously disgusting, horrible, and pitiful. Usually if I like the villain it's because he has something smart to say, but Levana doesn't, I can't relate to her or see things from her perspective... But the leads can! Levana seems to carry all the trauma and complexes of our leads, but she crumbled under them, showing Cinder what she might have become if not for her loved ones.

TLT: 1) Isn't afraid of people not getting it!! Do you understand how refreshing this is to see in a mainstream popular series??? The book doesn't act like you are an idiot, it acts like you are some sort of a genius, and you feel illiterate until you realize NO ONE got it the first time around and you're gonna have to do lots of rereading and thinking to get it. This makes it impossible to get into for some people, but so what. So what!!! What matters is that it rewards those who stay and put in the work!! 2) Absolutely bonkers insane relationships. No one can be "just a friend" in these, we need 1000 different layers of trauma and tenderness surrounding everyone. 3) Pathetic women. These books are the epitome of all the worst parts of yourself laid bare. These characters act out the most shameful, horrible memories and impulses of your heart, all the while spouting poetics about the entire situation. And it is pure catharsis!! It is so rare to see female characters depicted this pathetic without it being torture porn. 4) Writing style. It's the perfect example of how realism doesn't matter if you're good with your words. No one in these books talks like a real life person, but they are all distinct from each other and filled with personality. Every book has several lines that have the power to reduce me a to a sobbing mess just from hearing them. Just. The writing style is so good that I even enjoy reading INTERVIEWS with the author, she has a way of speaking that keeps you engaged and makes her sound so smart. 5) Each book is its own thing, keeping you on your toes, but they all still feel cohesive. It also means that even if the final book sucks, I won't have any hangups about it, since I will just be able to reread the first 3. Honestly even if AtN never comes out, I won't feel like I wasted any time, because the books are so fantastic and so worth reading that the end of the journey doesn't even matter to me that much - and if you've been here a while, you'll know what a radical statement that is for me. It is so nice to relax and enjoy the ride instead of stressing over my thoughts and opinions aging badly.

[misc-obeyme]

i would read the barbatos essay ‼️

Anon, you have made my entire day lol. I'm always worried about answering asks with lengthy posts because I can really ramble on and on. But since you asked for the Barbatos essay, well...

Buckle up 'cause this turned out quite long! I'm putting it under a cut just so people don't have to scroll.

There's only one section of spoilers, which I indicate so you can skip it if you like!

Here it is, my Why I Love Barbatos essay:

Okay, first we have his design and the color scheme. That teal is just so pretty. And the way his hair has that one streak of brighter teal? Perfection. I very much think Barb would look amazing with long hair, too.

The way his uniform is altered to look more like a butler. The way he's always wearing those white gloves. When he actually does take off the gloves?? Though I do wish they had given him a casual outfit, they kinda do this with all the side characters - all of them are missing at least one outfit that the bros have. BUT it's funny to think that Barb just wears his uniform all the time instead AND sometimes he does take off the jacket when he's about to get into something. Such as in the Dust-Fighting Demon SSR and the Face Paint Charm SSR.

And then there's his human world outfit?! It's perfect for him. Elegant and unique and just visually interesting. And if iirc it's like a tea merchant outfit? I mean. Of course it is.

Demon form? Perfection. THAT TAIL. I wanna touch it so bad. And his horns are just so different from everybody else's. They're so unique. And the outfit? It's like butler uniform but upgraded. The patterns and the colors and the frills that come out of the wrists I just love it so much.

Needless to say, I very much love Barbatos's design. Visually he's just so pretty and I think that is part of what initially drew me to him. But in the end, what it really comes down to for me is personality, too.

I think there are a couple of things about Barbatos that I really love that just made him become my absolute favorite.

He's not instantly in love with MC. People have talked about this before. It takes basically all four seasons for Barbatos to say or do anything that indicates he might have feelings for MC. A lot of his more romantic interactions happen in his Devilgrams and the events, which are outside of the main story line. (A Party Just For Two UR card is one of my all time faves when it comes to romance with Barb and most of it happens in the kitchen lol.)

The thing about this that was always interesting to me was that he didn't act like he was NOT interested or that he disliked MC or anything. In fact, he always seemed to be curiously intrigued by MC. While most of the other characters usually develop a kind of crush on MC before they're just straight up in love with them, Barb is just kind of like, oh you are interesting. But that's it until much later in the story. And even THEN we don't get a straight confession out of him.

I have always been a fan of the slow burn. The little moments that just steadily increase the character's feelings, the build up, the anticipation... it's so good.

And then there's just how mysterious he is in general. We know very little about him. In the beginning I was like okay so who is this guy? He's just a butler? I don't get it. And yeah, he's a butler, but then you find out he's also got time powers and portal powers and suddenly he's a lot more than just a butler.

NB spoilers here for his Tea Time With You UR+ Devilgram:

The story in this Devilgram really hints to there being so much more about WHY Barbatos is Diavolo's butler. He talks a lot about atonement and how something he did had a profound impact on both Diavolo and Solomon. He won't tell us what it was because he's not ready to reveal it, which is not surprising, but also indicates that it still weighs on him pretty heavily. At least it does in the NB timeline. To me, this added a whole new layer to his air of mystery. We don't know why he stays as Diavolo's butler except that he says he likes it and that's what he wants to do. But there is clearly another piece to that involving some self imposed penalty for whatever he did.

End spoilers.

And even though there's a lot we don't know about him and especially his past (which to be fair, there are probably a billion years of past there so we'll never know all of it lol), he just has this comforting way about him. Once he accepts someone as sort of being in his charge, he takes care of them without being overbearing. He sort of does this thing where he gives each person in his life as much as they need from him.

Diavolo is the obvious example and he needs the most from Barb. So Barbatos does a lot for him and Dia is always his priority. But then we've also got characters like Luke and Solomon. With Luke, Barbatos is always ready to teach him how to bake or give him advice when he asks for it. But he also doesn't smother him or anything. He knows that Luke has Simeon and Solomon that help him, too. And with Solomon, Barbatos only really helps him when Solomon asks. In the OG, it's pretty clear that by that point, Solomon is incredibly independent. He doesn't need a lot of attention from Barbatos anymore, so Barb just lets him do his thing for the most part. But if Solomon does need him, Barbatos has no problem helping. (I am assuming, of course, that the only time that Sol forced Barb to do something he didn't want to do was in the labyrinth in NB.)

And I think this tendency to care for people extends to MC as well, but he knows that MC has everyone else looking out for them, too. So he's willing to sort of stay in the background, but you know that he's paying attention to MC. He will sometimes ask MC to come help him with something in daily chats or he'll invite them over for tea and he always says something about being happy to see them.

Another thing I love about his personality is his tendency to be subtly teasing. He's always so super formal and restrained that sometimes it's hard to tell when he's teasing because he does it the way he does everything else. But we all know that one demon sticker he sometimes uses, the one that's covering its mouth 'cause it's laughing slyly. Yeah, that one. It's kind of similar to the way he always smiles even when he's angry. He never breaks his butler persona, but those who know him can tell when he's being playful and when he's actually angry. (Unless he's really angry, which we have seen in the way he interacts with Solomon in Nightbringer.)

And then there are his interests. He loves tea, as we know, and he likes to cook and to bake. For me personally, these are big reasons why I love him, too. I drink both coffee and tea, but when it comes to tea I'm really picky. I only drink loose leaf tea that I buy by the ounce and I know about the different kinds and what my favorites are and how to make them correctly. I sometimes cold brew loose leaf tea to make iced tea and I have a very particular way of making it. So like... I get all that, you know? I think I would love to experience the way Barbatos makes tea. I also enjoy cooking and baking, but I don't get to do it very often. However, I absolutely have a sweet tooth. So again, I'm just imagining tea parties with Barbatos in the garden with some tasty dessert he made and that sounds like absolute heaven to me lol.

He's also just a little less boisterous than most of the other characters. He's calm and collected. I have some anxiety issues and I'm an introvert, but I just get the feeling that spending time with him would be so nice and relaxing. There's just something about him that makes me feel peaceful and contented.

And all of that is why I'm in love with Barbatos.

If he turns out to be Nightbringer, I don't know how I'll feel about it. I'm just hoping they don't change his character too much because I love him just as he is now.