#i’m going to have to start making things up if this continues

[gutsby]

Honor Among Thieves

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying Brooklyn’s most dangerous man was easy. Divorcing him proves to be a bit harder—particularly when you’re pregnant with his child.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Breeding kink. Hurt/Comfort/We-Almost-Just-Died-Sex. Morning sickness. Manslaughter. Brief coerced kissing. Beefy, mob boss Bucky is a possessive expectant father who just wants to make sure he knocked you up properly

Descriptions of violence throughout.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Bucky’s words reverberated like a shotgun’s report, skimming across two dozen feet of marble, glass, and stainless steel before reaching your ears on the opposite end of the room. He was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, and your back was turned to him. Lucky thing, too, or else he would’ve seen the smile threatening to tug at both ends of your lips—effectively blowing your cover.

“Really, I don’t have the slightest idea, Barnes,” you told him, and it took everything in you not to laugh. Having just narrowly preserved your composure, you continued, “You keep me locked in this prison all day and expect me not to find ways to entertain myself? Well, this is all it is.”

Like hell it was, you could already hear in Bucky’s head. Feeling him eye you up and down from the archway, take his first steps into the room, loosen his tie, most likely.

“Prison?” You registered a low scoff, and his voice was already so much closer than it’d been five seconds ago.

Your husband was striding as quickly as his smooth, dark, tailored suit would allow, and he was undressing as he walked. You could hear the clothes coming off but pretended not to notice. Instead staring more intently at the crab bisque simmering on the stove before you, you licked the spoon you were holding and hummed a little.

“Yes,” you answered, simply, “Prison.”

Bucky was by your side in no time at all. Up close, he smelled like rosemary, oakmoss, and gunpowder.

“Well, this is news to me,” he said. He dragged out the middle syllables of his words longer than was necessary, likely to make his move sidling up closer to you. The last sound had scarcely died in his throat more than a second or two before you felt an arm loop around your back. A hand coming to rest on your hip, then his voice, again:

“See, I never knew they built ‘prisons’ up in first-class penthouse apartments in Brooklyn. Must be pretty nice.”

Bucky stepped behind you, and you were half-certain the black suit jacket he’d come home wearing was fully removed. Again, you pretended not to see, or care.

“It’s a metaphor, James.” But your voice wavered.

“A metaphor?” Bucky’s head sank into the soft groove between your neck and your shoulder, and he kissed it.

“Yes.”

Your mouth made a sound more akin to a breath than a real, enunciated word, and you knew Bucky felt it too. He sensed this headstrong, no-bullshit façade of yours was sure to come crumbling apart any second, and each new brush of his hands and lips would be making it happen. Knowing this, he wasn’t in a rush to get the rest of his clothes off. He did, however, start to toy with yours.

“Tell me more. Am I really holding you hostage, doll?”

You took a ladle and started to stir, trying to stay cool. Meanwhile, your husband tugged gently on your dress.

“Hostage, housewife, same thing,” you muttered, low.

For once, it was Bucky’s turn to break character, as he laughed. It was short-lived and sweet, and he pressed another kiss to the skin of your neck, as if in apology.

“Right, right. I forgot. You were forced to marry me.”

“Right,” you shook your head, just slightly emboldened by the way you’d made him crack, if only for a moment, “I’m forced to marry you, move into this horrific little shanty in Brooklyn”—gesturing to the multi-million dollar apartment surrounding you both—“and then you leave me here, all by myself, with nothing to do while you go play Godfather with your mobster friends. It’s not fair.”

By the tail end of that last sentence, you and Bucky both were already grinning a little, coming to terms with just how ridiculous it sounded when you phrased it like that. Still, your husband seemed game to keep the bit going.

“Now that’s just not true,” he said, tone all faux offense.

You felt the soft snap of a ribbon coming undone, and in a second realized it was the satin bow holding the back of your dress together. The fabric loosened, and Bucky’s hands slid down your sides, over your front—of course.

“I didn’t leave you ‘by yourself’ at all, doll,” he said, and suddenly, his palms were fanning out, over something, “Gave you this baby to keep you company, didn’t I?”

The ‘something’ he was touching now was your belly. All soft and smooth and protruding out in a perfect little globe beneath your dress, no bigger than when he’d left for work that morning. Bucky treated the bump like it was a novelty all the same—like he was seeing it for the first time and couldn’t believe he was actually the one responsible for making it get like that. It had gotten to be a hobby of his, nearly, just how much he loved watching it grow. He had his fingers splayed out across your tummy virtually every chance he could get, and that didn’t stop whether you were out in public or sharing a moment in the comfort of home; he couldn’t get enough.

Which was why Bucky was right when he’d said you knew exactly what you were doing when he came home that day. You knew just the kind of effect that wearing a tight, white dress while cooking dinner would have on him, and you hoped it would rile him up just like this: with his hands roaming over every inch of your body, making soft, sweet circles along the swell of your belly, and kissing your neck again and again. Biting some, too. Getting so worked up he was all but gnawing at the skin as he drank in your scent and got lost to pure instinct.

If it wasn’t clear that Bucky had had a breeding kink before, you saw it written plain as day across his face every morning and night since he’d first learned you were pregnant. Like all the life force within him was just a byproduct of the knowledge that you were his—and this baby, growing bigger each day, was a mix of you both.

You hated to say it, but fatherhood suited your assassin-trained, mob-heading, bloodlusting husband better than anyone could have predicted in a million years or more.

Presently, Bucky flipped you around and sank to his knees. He slid you over to the counterspace area, away from the stove, and made sure to flip each knob to ‘off’ to make sure there wasn’t a chance you’d get burned. You cast one last look at the crab bisque and knew at once your hard work would have to be put on the back burner for now, because Bucky wasn’t hungry for that.

Still, you kicked a foot in soft, muted protest when you felt him slide his hands up your legs, under your dress, and start to reach for your panties. You let out a breath.

“I spent two hours perfecting the seasoning on that, Barnes,” you chided him, gently and without much admonition in your voice as you pointed to the soup, “You say you want a good little housewife but won’t even leave me un-fucked long enough to try any food I make!”

“And I’m very sorry about that, Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky replied, head disappearing beneath your skirt so he could take your underwear off with his teeth instead.

But, much like your reproach, your husband’s strained apology held less than half of its professed sincerity. Your blue cotton panties were discarded in a second, your hips pushed back against the cool white marble behind it, and Bucky, almost too cheekily, brought his head back up from underneath your dress just to steal a quick look at your belly, then up at you. He was smiling.

“Anything you make tastes amazing, honey. Daddy just needs to eat a little something beforehand, that okay?”

He already knew what you’d say. The sweet, shit-eating grin hovering over your lower half knew all that and more. Bucky just loved to tease, taking the hem of your dress between his index and thumb, and rubbing all the more tenderly, murmuring again, ‘That alright with you, pretty girl?’ and ‘My wife likes getting tonguefucked in the kitchen, doesn’t she?’ while his breaths spread over you.

You nodded that you did. Momentarily forgetting the three-course meal you’d had planned for him since early that morning, you let your knees fall limply apart from one another, and Bucky’s broad form filled the space in between. The fabric of your dress was snug, especially so over your belly. Your husband pushed the material up your hips and let it rest just high enough to expose your warmth to him. Angling your hips back the slightest bit, trailing his fingers up your thighs and inside them, gently, Bucky let out a low groan against your body, and you could feel the vibrations of it travel up your spine.

“I really am mean for keeping you here all day, aren’t I?” he teased, sliding the tips of his fingers between your glistening folds and watching you jolt in response.

“So— so mean. Bucky, please.”

Your voice was far more hoarse than circumstances would seem to beget; your husband had just eaten you out that morning. Nevertheless, your hand was trembling as it reached for his head. Your pull was taut and dire. While your fingers threaded in through his hair and your body opened itself more and more for him, you could feel that kind smile, even if you couldn’t see it. Frankly, the swelling of eight-and-a-half months made it difficult to see much of anything below the waist, but Bucky made sure to let you know he was there. By holding your hand, skimming his lips against your skin, starting, just then, to sink his fingers in toward the heat of your body, and softly pulling his face away so he could look up at you.

“Baby?” he breathed.

Your eyes locked with his as he slid two fingers inside you. The stretch alone was enough to put your brain on the fritz, but, fighting the first shockwaves of pleasure:

“Y-Yeah?”

He withdrew. Pressed them back in and let out a grunt.

“I need you to do something for me.”

You couldn’t fathom what that might be, but you nodded anyway. ‘Anything’ was what you managed to choke out.

“And you might not like it, doll.”

Your eyes widened some.

“O— O-Okay, what?”

Bucky’s fingers curled inside you, and a short, sharp streak of dizzying pleasure pulsed through your body. Your knees felt weak, and your mind even worse, but with what little resolve you had left, you were able to keep your eyes entirely open and fastened to his. A look that struck you as almost bittersweet crossed your husband’s features, and you saw his gaze soften again.

“I need you to wake up,” he said, calmly.

“What?”

Your toes curled tight underneath you, and the warmth between your legs leapt up to over a thousand degrees.

“Melaya, I need you to wake up.”

At the same time, your blood ran cold in your veins. Surely, you couldn’t be hearing him right if the voice he used was so gruff and low—and laden with a Russian lilt.

“Bucky? What— What do you mean?”

But you knew. Or suspected something of it anyway.

Now the sound from your own throat was hardly one that you recognized as yours, so shrill and high and strange—what could he mean by that? Why was he watching you in that way? Your husband wasn’t smiling so brightly anymore, and the once-gratifying conflagration between your legs had grown to an almost scorching degree, no longer nice, generous, or pleasurable in the slightest.

“We need you to wake up now, honey. Right now.”

His tone, too, was distorted. Grating.

“Bucky, I-I don’t underst—”

“WAKE UP!”

“WAKE UP!”

Natasha shook you hard, and it hurt.

She didn’t mean for it to. She just needed you up and out of bed, and you’d been asleep for almost fourteen hours.

You started at the fifth or sixth shake, nearly punching yourself in the face when you tried yanking a set of covers up and over your head and discovered, shortly, that there was none. You were splayed out on a bed in an as-yet unfamiliar home—Steve’s new place—and, while you slept, you’d kicked all of the blankets you’d been given the night before off your body and onto the floor.

Your eyes were wide as saucers as they darted to Nat’s.

There was no need to say what had happened—she knew these dreams were getting worse by the day.

It’d been a week since you fled your Brooklyn apartment in an all-out terror. A week since a senseless, short-sighted idea on your part had led to the discovery that your husband was once part of a HYDRA sleeper cell whose activation phrase turned him into an agent of total destruction at will. A week since you’d seen a half dozen bodies litter your living room floor, more still being bludgeoned by the so-called ‘Winter Soldier,’ as Bucky had formerly been known. A week since you’d sobbed in Natasha’s arms and begged her not to let you go back. A week since you’d been obliged to hide out in Steve Rogers’ new bachelor pad upstate, because, frankly, there was nowhere else you could safely live until this whole ordeal with Bucky was settled—if it ever would be.

A full week since you’d learned you were pregnant, too.

As far as you knew, your husband was wholly unaware of this fact, and of Steve’s most recent real estate purchase up in Buffalo, and you’d been existing in a semi-serene and largely dissociated state for the past seven days.

Your gaze adjusted to the light, and you blinked up at Nat, feeling damp in just about every place on your body. You looked down and found yourself drenched in sweat.

“Hydrate. Please.”

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a standing order: Nat holding out a glass of water and instructing you to drink. Though your first instinct was to make a face and shake your head—you’d found that any new fluids in your body this early in the morning would only get thrown back up when you made your first frantic trip to the toilet—you accepted it anyway. You drank three big gulps to appease the woman standing next to the bed, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled

“I’m gonna go puke now,” you said.

“Aim for inside the toilet bowl if you can,” Steve called out from the doorway. By the look on his face, you’d been doing a pretty shit job of aiming vomit lately.

“My bad, Rogers.”

You had a hand on your stomach, slowly easing back up into a seated position, when you heard something being flung across the room, followed by a ‘HEY!’ and a crash.

“Your aim sucks, too, Romanoff,” Steve griped, loudly, “And I was kidding. She can puke wherever she wants.”

By the door, a hefty hardcover book lay open on the floor. Apparently Nat’s options for projectiles had been limited.

“All good, Rogers,” you offered anyway. Fighting a smirk.

You were starting to stand, and your head felt as if you’d just taken your first steps off a rocking boat. Your other hand jumped to your mouth, and you muttered, ‘Fuck’ before brushing past Nat and her outstretched arms.

She held your hair while Steve retrieved the glass of water, as well as a towel. The unsightly first trimester ritual proceeded as it had for all of the last week, with Nat rubbing circles in your back and Steve making well-meaning but completely useless live commentary like, ‘Babies are a real pain in the ass, aren’t they?’ At the conclusion of each new stupid remark, Natasha would shoot a dirty look his way, but you never let her shoo him away. Through no conscious choice of your own, Steve had become something of a comfort blanket over the course of the past chaotic days. At the very least, you two were no longer at each other’s throats flinging accusations and exorbitantly-priced tumblers in the other’s direction, which was a marked improvement from where you were the day after you and Bucky’s wedding.

At length, you lifted your head from the toilet, and he daubed at your cheek with the towel—mostly just trying to wipe off spit and your own queasy-looking expression. He succeeded in clearing away just the former, but you forced a smile all the same, then shared it with Natasha.

Nat couldn’t smile back. In fact, the grimace on her face only etched even deeper, and her forehead creased.

“This is a horrible time to be asking you this, I know—”

“Nat, please.” Steve groaned.

Nat, what? There wasn’t a lot more that could catch you off guard after all the shit you’d come to see that week. Still, Nat’s breaths were both measured and slow, and you could see she was chewing on the inside of her cheek like she wasn’t quite sure how best to phrase her words. This, coming from one of the most astute legal minds this side of the Hudson River, gave you pause.

“Ask anything. I’m pretty numb, if you haven’t noticed.” You rapped on the side of your head for comedic effect, but neither Natasha nor Steve laughed or cracked a grin.

“How do you feel about filing for divorce tomorrow?”

At the sound of Nat’s words, you felt the bile jump back up your throat. You knew there wasn’t enough food or fluid to make much of anything now, but all the same, you craned your neck back over the toilet and retched. When nothing came out, as expected, you turned back.

“What?”

Natasha looked a little ill herself, but still, she continued.

“How do you feel about just…fast-tracking a divorce from him and taking off new? We’ll talk assets later.”

Assets? Fast-track? Divorce? What the fuck?

“What the fuck, Nat?” you repeated as much out loud.

It normally wasn’t your thing to be so blunt with her, but the inquiry certainly seemed to invite some extra candor. You swiped at your mouth for any excess spit that might’ve trickled out, crudely, and in a second, Steve was handing you the towel. Then helping you to your feet, holding your arm and lower back in a grip you could feel was secure. You were unsteady on your legs, so he and Natasha guided you over to the sink, where you could regain your bearings and freshen up a bit. Sneaking a look at your reflection in the mirror was a bad idea; your face was sallow, and the rest of your body had every appearance of being horribly weak, for lack of a better word. You caught a glimpse of a gash sitting just above your left temple and immediately looked away. Stupidly, you hoped Steve and Nat hadn’t seen it.

“He did that to you,” Nat said without missing a beat.

You winced, and you washed your hands, not looking up.

“I thought you said it wasn’t him. Soldat, you told me.” And for a second, your eyes flickered to Steve, whose expression was a touch more sympathetic, if not visibly discomfited now. Like he didn’t want to speak for once.

He did, anyway: “Doesn’t matter if it was Winter or him, really. Point is he hurt you while trying to protect y—”

“And yet, you asked me to forgive him just last week for killing my dad in the same type of rage,” you replied, and instantly regretted the accusatory tone you’d taken on.

Your anger was misdirected at Steve. It wasn’t his fault for sharing the truth about your husband’s—his best friend’s—past when you’d asked him. These were queries you’d made, helping to form justifications for your own decision to stay after what had happened in Madripoor. Obviously, Steve would be biased to help support his friend in a time of need. But now things were different; Bucky had never been activated as soldat and ended up hurting someone he’d loved before. Steve was free to change his mind after seeing that happen and urge you to leave, or at least reconsider, your marriage to Bucky.

The second look you gave him attempted to convey as much, a bit more apologetic as he and Natasha led the way out of the bathroom. Steve smiled and held your arm again, though you probably didn’t need it. You walked downstairs to the kitchen together. Over by the toaster, Sam was inspecting a charred bagel with a scowl

“Rogers, you really need to ditch this shit,” he said, gesturing to the rusted metal contraption that appeared to be from 1918, and had just burnt two bagels to a crisp.

“It was a gift from a friend, piss off,” Steve replied, grinning a little. Reaching for the blackened bread roll and even going so far as to take a bite, crunching loudly.

“Did your friend happen to fight in World War II?” Nat asked. She lent one look to the archaic machine but said nothing further, opting instead to take a seat at the kitchen table, where a sea of papers was strewn about.

Then, to you, “Come. Sit.”

Somewhere in your tentative stroll from where you stood to where she sat, and in the middle of the men’s toaster bickering, Sam called out that he’d have bacon and eggs ready in a second. Steve offered up his singed sesame bagel in the interim, and you told him no thanks. With a still slightly throbbing skull and a nauseous gait, you took the chair next to Nat’s and looked down at her papers.

Honestly, you thought your present condition might warrant some leeway when it came to holding off on the heavy-hitting topics first thing, but, to your surprise, Natasha slid a crisp white packet over almost instantly.

“Nat, what the fuck?” you groaned for the second time.

“Read it. Give it a second to digest, then we can—”

“No!” you cut in, pushing the packet back to her with a little more force than you’d meant, “I-I can’t. Not now.”

On the very first page, in bold and capitalized typeface, there was printed a brief string of words you’d never wanted—or thought you would ever need—to see:

‘VERIFIED COMPLAINT: ACTION FOR DIVORCE’

“It’s just the petition. No harm in taking a look,” Nat said.

You could hear a faintly gentler tone in her voice, even as you shook your head and looked away from the papers.

“I don’t want to. I can’t do this right now.” You kept shaking your head for a couple seconds after, turning your gaze instead to the bay window of Steve’s kitchen.

A nice, sprawling yard stretched as far as you could see. In the distance, a fuzzy white horizon was punctuated the slightest bit by the outline of a wood fence, but apart from that, the land was empty. The lot was secluded. Happy and effervescent in a nearly cloudless sky, the midmorning sun cast its rays without so much as the threat of a storm’s hinderance. You fixed your eyes on the clear expanse above and silently wished it would rain.

Before more than a minute or two had passed like that, Sam was approaching the table with two platters. Steve balanced four more by himself, watching the sway of one plate of scrambled eggs in his arms with a wary look before setting each one of the dishes on the table.

“Bon appétit,” Steve said, butchering his French just about as badly as Sam had the bagels. You and Nat thanked them both anyway and started clearing off the table, pushing papers away in favor of steaming plates. Sam and Steve sat down, and all of you began to eat.

While you dutifully piled on each scoop of eggs, bacon, sausage links, biscuits, gravy, and grits—far more than you knew you could feasibly consume—you wished again for a rainstorm, and maybe a quiet breakfast. One that wasn’t marred by talks of legal separation and lengthy battles in court, if you could help it at all. To this end, and perhaps against your body’s best interest, you shoveled two supersized spoonfuls of egg in your mouth, so that if Nat tried reviving those subjects again, you could put off the conversation by simply continuing to chew. You felt your stomach turn inside you but, stubbornly, ate more.

You had just swallowed it all, about to make way for a warm, flaky buttermilk biscuit, when a sound cut in, and your belly flipped again. Your teeth had barely sunk into the bread a second when Nat set her own food aside, then used two fingers to push something toward you.

“Just skim it. Let me explain what the process can be,” she said, tapping her index on the first line and meeting your eyes as if to plead. She had to have known she’d be met with resistance—from you, of course, but also Steve. She raised a defensive hand to him before he even cut in:

“Come the fuck on, Nat. Will you give her a break?”

“I’m saying this for her sake! I’m doing it for her.”

“And throwing divorce papers in her face over breakfast is really the best way of going about it? Is that for her?”

Sam swallowed whatever he’d been chewing on, glanced down at the top paper, and seemed to brace himself.

“Guys, is now really the right time—” he started.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Steve barked over him.

Natasha ignored the plainly disdainful look from the latter, lifted her hand off the paperwork and instead trained her gaze solely on you. Just like she had in Zurich. Focusing intently on your face, ignoring whatever Steve or Sam were saying in the moment, she turned to you and found your expression was stale. Unmoving. Frankly, half of what was running through your mind right then was how badly you wanted to puke again. As if the eggs had turned rotten in your gut the second they reached their destination in your GI tract, you felt a heavy, oppressive fog of nausea taking shape between your ears, and you just wanted everyone to stop talking.

Sam and Steve continued on without a hitch, agreeing vaguely but also appearing to bicker over other things, like when was the most appropriate time to have this conversation. Natasha was leaning in, reaching for your hand this time, and you knew she meant well. You would bet any large sum of money there wasn’t a malicious bone in her body, and she was doing this for your benefit. All the same, you were grateful when the front door swung back on its hinges, and a new person walked in. Nat, Sam, and Steve all suspended their conversations.

“Hey, wh—” the blissfully unaware, semi-stranger began.

“Sharon!” Steve cried, “Would you tell Romanoff she’s being a goddamn pest with no sense of boundaries?”

Sharon halted at the threshold of the house, skating a look between Nat and Steve at first, then Steve and Sam, then just at you. The look didn’t linger for long, and before you knew it, she was setting down a fistful of grocery bags and twisting her mouth into a frown.

“Will you shut up, Steve?” was her only response.

Sam rose from his chair and pointed as if to say, ‘Yeah, that’ before joining her in the foyer to help carry in the Wegmans bags. Natasha leaned back in her chair with a vaguely pleased look, and Steve just rolled his eyes. He slapped his palm overtop the stack of divorce papers still laying before you and, seemingly undeterred, continued,

“Do you think it’s fair for her to force divorce papers on this poor soul—” pointing to you, the poor soul, apparently, “—when it’s been a week since she left?”

Sharon started handing off the frozen stuff first, sliding a box of Stouffer’s across the counter to Sam, who then deposited it in the freezer. These exchanges took place in relatively quick succession, with Sharon only chancing a look toward the kitchen table once or twice as they did.

“I think she should do whatever the hell she wants,” she said, “And I think their divorce is none of our business.”

Fair enough take. One that you could respect, at the very least, even if you weren’t certain she particularly cared for you at all. You reckoned she had no reason to, and on the whole, appeared to be a pretty reserved person.

You wanted to add a word in her defense, reiterate to Steve that he didn’t have to go to bat for you, the poor, defenseless soul, right now. Instead of being able to speak, though, you felt an upsurge of something heavy in your throat. You clamped a hand to your mouth again, cheeks flushing with the heady sensation and also out of embarrassment, then pushed your chair back and stood.

“I— gotta—” you stammered, just audible to the table, through the wall your fingers had made over your lips.

You sprinted up the stairs without another word.

The first trimester ritual repeated, and ten minutes later, you re-emerged from the bathroom feeling two big spoonfuls of scrambled eggs lighter and still none the happier, healthier, or wiser. You took a peek in the full-length mirror at the other end of the room and discerned from a distance of ten feet that you looked like dogshit.

You flopped down on the bed face-first, heedless of the pool of sweat that still encompassed roughly half of it, and let out a weak, muffled breath into the sheets. Someone had been gracious enough to replace all the blankets and pillows you’d kicked off last night. When you heard a knock on the door, it sounded a lot like Nat’s.

You rolled to the side, eyes screwed shut in frustration.

“If you’ve come to tell me my marriage is a fucking dumpsterfire, I agree completely, Natasha. I’m dumb.”

A little huff of a half-laugh sounded from the doorway. You opened your eyes and saw Sharon standing there.

Up close, she looked a little paler than you’d remembered seeing her last in Switzerland. Soft beads of perspiration dotted her neckline from what had likely been a hot and arduous journey walking up the driveway with all the food, and presently, she seemed tired. She wore a simple gingham blouse that had her eyes shining with vibrance, though, and both hands, you noticed, were full—she had a mug in one and a spoon in the other. She smiled kindly.

“The mob tends to have that effect,” she said, strolling in. Setting the mug on the nightstand and easing the spoon into it, stirring, “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

You had no idea what all she knew about your marriage. You weren’t so sure you could extricate yourself from all the blame of having the thing go up in flames in four short weeks. Nevertheless, you smiled back and offered up something good-humored in return, like, well, I’m not exactly winning wife of the fucking year anytime soon.

Again, Sharon chuckled. It was small. She leaned back against the nearest armchair and, pointing to the cup she’d left to rest on the nightstand, said in a soft voice,

“Give that a minute. It’s hot.”

You glanced over and saw a little string that you guessed was attached to a teabag sitting at the bottom of the mug. The drink smelled like chamomile, maybe. You sat up, readjusted your pyjama top, then slid your socked feet underneath you so you could scoot closer to the edge of the bed. On a deeper inhale, you decided the tea was definitely chamomile. And too hot, as Sharon said.

“Thank you,” you told her.

“It’s not poisoned, I promise,” she replied. Letting out that funny little chuckle of hers—one too low to be considered a full laugh, but very close—and then, seeming to realize what she said might’ve sounded off, “Like— I heard what happened with Schröder. Him trying to drug you after the wedding and all…that. I— I’m sorry.”

Bad time to be making jokes, she appeared to chastise herself, but you just nodded along with the faintest grin.

“It’s OK. I’d pay money to be knocked the fuck out now.”

You grinned bigger, and she smiled too.

“It should make you sleepier, if you wanted to nap.”

You replied that you would, in fact, love to be unconscious right now if it meant not having to put up with all this bullshit morning sickness, and you slowly reached for the mug. Sharon stood up, and while you took your first sips, she fluffed the pillows behind you.

She was right. The tea felt like a hug. You settled under the covers and brought the cup to your lips once more, taking two big draughts before setting the drink aside. Yeah, that shit’ll put you right out, no drugs needed. You sank even further under the sheets and watched Sharon hover between the bed and the doorway, looking around as if trying to find something to do—some way to make herself feel more useful, if you had to guess from the pensive look in her eyes. Finally, she settled closer to the door and gave you one, fairly sanguine look. The warmth of your drink had already begun to nestle inside your weary bones, and your eyelids felt heavier. Still, you tried to return the sunny look before getting fully settled.

“Thanks again, Sharon. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She started to leave. In fact, she’d already made it three-fourths out of the room when something stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to you, and you looked up.

“This…probably doesn’t mean a whole lot coming from me, but—whatever you decide to do with Bucky…is okay. We’ll support you, whether you choose to raise this baby with him or do…whatever it is you want to do. Don’t let Nat or Steve or Sam or anybody tell you differently. It’s your choice, y’know, whether you wanna stay married…”

Sharon trailed off, and somewhere inside, you could tell she meant to finish with words like, ‘…even if you didn’t get to make the choice to get married in the first place.’ You appreciated it. You beamed with just your head poking out from over the covers and thanked her again.

And, before she left, for the second time, she stopped. She walked over to the nightstand and bent slightly at the waist, just enough to set something small down. You turned to the side and saw a vial—a minuscule tube—on the surface. Your eyes widened, realizing what it was.

“Sam picked it up in Madripoor. He said Steve had given this to you…to, uh, give to Schröder, and I thought you should have it back,” she said, pausing, “Just in case.”

You eyed the little vial of poison on the nightstand and nodded, still not completely understanding. Your head throbbed, your stomach was still turning, churning. Your brain was about ten blinks away from logging off entirely and drifting to sleep. All you could do, then, was repeat what Sharon had said as you exchanged one final look.

“Just in case.”

Your eyes closed, and you fell asleep very soon after.

You couldn’t have been out for more than an hour; you were sure of it. However, the next time you glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, you saw it read 11:04.

P.M.

Shit.

SHIT.

That chamomille tea was no fucking joke.

Just as your thoughts drifted back to Sharon, the conversation you’d shared, the drink she’d given you, the poison she’d left behind for you to keep, you heard her voice all over again—and now, not just in your own head.

Presently, she was standing over your bed again, though the room was much darker this time around. She pressed a finger to her lips, hey, please, please, be quiet, alright? At first you wanted to make a sharp and strangled sound. A cry for help? You weren’t sure. Didn’t know. Couldn’t see very much of the woman at all, except for the outline of her face from the moonlight streaming in through the window. She stared and ‘shh’ed’ some more.

And you were contemplating yelling out a loud obscenity in response to it when next she cut in, markedly gentler:

“Keep it quick. Nat and the guys will be back in thirty.”

You blinked hard into the darkness and waited for your vision, or else your still-missing voice, to return. It didn’t. You just stared back, eyelids going up and down and up and down like a goddamn idiot gone sluggish off one too many Quaaludes, and it was several seconds more before she gestured behind her, into the shadows.

You tensed under the covers, chock-full of terror. You squinted, and shrank, and might’ve nearly pissed yourself were it not for the intervening force of a face.

A familiar face.

Bucky’s face.

You leapt up from the bed, displacing each one of Sharon’s cool and careful warnings from your mind all at once. You didn’t mean to, and as soon as she’d shushed you again, you shut your mouth. Fell still. Sharon slipped out of the room, reminding you both, again, that you had to be quiet, and you had to be quick. Then it was just you and Bucky. Silence and slightly less than five feet of space between you two. Then, shortly, no space to spare at all, as you ran to meet each for a hug a second later.

Your head struck his chest, and it was hard. That, alongside the python’s squeeze he wrapped around your body, hugging you to him in the tightest embrace imaginable, had your mind reeling, skull pulsing just a bit. You pulled back and stood smiling up at Bucky, whose eyes were wide, drinking the sight of you in.

‘Are you hurt?’ were his first words.

You shook your head that you weren’t, still unable to talk.

“Why are you— Who— who brought you— I didn’t—”

It seemed Bucky was equally hard-pressed to form a sentence himself, while his eyes were roaming wildly, all over you. Looking for bumps or bruises or cuts, whatever the wound might have been. He stumbled to the lamp and flicked it on. You tilted your head left, reflexively.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you said. Sudden and swift, “I’m good.”

But you didn’t move your head too far to the right, either, for fear he might see the cut above your temple—the one soldat had caused when he’d pushed you to the floor, trying to protect you from a threat he couldn’t see.

As it was, your husband seemed to be too much in shock to see anything else apart from what stood immediately in front of him. He hugged you again. He kissed the crown of your head. He constricted your body so tight in his arms you felt a pressure start to build behind your eyes, and suddenly you weren’t so much pulling away as you were wrenching your body from him. When you met Bucky’s gaze again, the sweet blue irises were glossy.

“Nat wouldn’t say where you were, just that you were safe and needed to be…be alone for a while, but I—” He stopped, and it was as if he couldn’t even finish with the words, because his breath was stuck in his throat and his eyes were stinging too much. He looked down, briefly.

You wanted to reach for his hand but hesitated. He took yours a second later, holding extra tight as he continued:

“I thought I’d— thought you might’ve…left. I don’t know. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and then she— Sharon, she called me tonight, said you were here, so— so—”

You felt a pang of guilt holding his gaze, seeing how all the hurt that had come to accumulate behind those eyes over the last week went spilling, at length, into emotions he was either too overcome or sleep-deprived to express. The weight of this suffocated him, made him extra quick to speak his mind but slow to make sense of just about anything that was coming out of his mouth. He stopped, sucked in a breath, then pinched your hand in his, and you didn’t know what to do. You had no idea what to say.

“I was scared, Bucky.”

It sounded pathetic coming out of your mouth. Your husband nodded as though you’d just said the most profound thing in the world. His knuckles went white from just how hard he was gripping your hand, his head bobbed along in agreement, and for a moment, you winced to think that he might hug you again. Instead, the fingers tangled between yours just made a tighter knot.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said.

“You scared me,” you added, voice wavering.

Your left hand was going numb. You didn’t want to give him pause—possibly hurt his feelings—by freeing your touch from his, but that grip was brutal. Deathly rigid and unforgiving. Thoughts of Brooklyn and Madripoor came flooding back; Bucky was so much stronger than he realized. His tone, in contrast, was dulcet and soft.

“I didn’t know I’d get like that. I should’ve told you, doll.”

“I shouldn’t have tried the activation in the first place.”

You shouldn’t have tried digging into Bucky’s past all. When all there seemed to be at every turn was a brand new way for him to hurt you, or the people you loved, maybe there came a time when you had to stop asking questions altogether. Maybe that was what his mother and all the women who’d gone before her had known to do, what you had been too stupid to see all along. There was no knowing these men at all, only taking them as they were and learning to cope with what they became.

Bucky shook his head.

“No, doll, it’s not on you,” he murmured low. Still forceful

Thankfully, he released your hand to cup your cheeks, and he kissed your forehead. You felt your pulse in your palm, throbbing from where he’d held it. When he let go the second time, his expression was considerably softer.

“Listen, I’ll take you home, we can talk things over. As long as I know you’re safe, it doesn’t have to— to—”

Hey. He was already halfway toward the door before he realized you weren’t following him. He turned and gestured forward. He beckoned you, brows drawing in.

“Baby? C’mon.”

You didn’t budge.

Your feet were rooted in place, as though cemented to the floor. No matter how much you wanted to appease him, go along with whatever he asked, you couldn’t. You shook your head, and Bucky tilted his own, confused.

“Baby?”

“I’m leaving, Bucky.”

You couldn’t hear your own words slipping out between your teeth, only the blood rushing through your ears. Bucky stopped and turned to face you completely.

“What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What— what do you mean, ‘you’re leaving’?”

“I want a divorce.”

That part you did hear yourself. You wished you hadn’t.

You wished you hadn’t seen the light break off from Bucky’s eyes, expression going limp the instant your words registered with him. You nearly wished you hadn’t said them at all, seeing just how far his face fell and how hurt he looked by them—but quietly, from somewhere more rational-headed inside yourself, there was a voice reminding the rest of you that it needed to be done. You couldn’t keep pretending like this wasn’t what had had to come next. What you’d been skirting with Nat all day and hadn’t been able to bring yourself to admit before now.

Your husband still didn’t seem to be computing it fully. He walked closer to you, and his gait was unsteady.

“Divorce?”

Your vision was bleary; you hadn’t even realized tears had begun to brim at your waterline as you watched him.

“It’s what we need, Bucky,” you could barely get it out.

“I don’t,” he shot back, not missing a beat, “I don’t.”

“It’s what I need.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His voice was hoarse, face shifting from lax incredulity to one of a wince—screwed up in a way that said he felt ill. You shook your head but couldn’t look away from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated.

“It’s what I want,” you pressed on, just as sick yourself.

“You said what you wanted was me.” Again, Bucky’s voice splintered, and you could feel the pain in it.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.”

Gritting your teeth, unsure where else to fix your stare on his face but those eyes—while your own betrayed their feelings too easily, fraught with wet, rolling tears—you shouldn’t have been surprised when his went wider.

“What are you talking about?”

The question was short, sharp, and biting, spoken with such haste as might be mistaken for anger, but the eyes softened his look at once. The anguish painting them now as he stared back at you were a proof, beyond a doubt, that it was betrayal, not rage, which steered him. He turned, and it was as if he couldn’t see a thing but you; his elbow clipped the lamp and knocked it over, but still, he just stared. In turn, the ceramic appliance rolled onto its side, toppled the mug and the vial beside it, and all three went crashing to the floor. Bucky didn’t blink.

“Wh—” he started again, but you didn’t hear the rest.

You remembered Sharon. Heard a flash of her last admonition in your head—be quiet, be quick—and without thinking, you fell to your knees. You tried retrieving what pieces of chipped lamp and shattered mug you could, quickly. You spotted the small vial on the floor and shoved it in a pocket. Your hands swept over the broken pieces without any real idea of what you were doing—all except needing to clean Bucky’s mess—and then swiftly, stupidly, you tried picking it up by yourself.

Of course, a shard cut you. The little slit that was left in its wake could have been no wider than a fraction of an inch, but still, it bled. You looked down at the cut, just then starting to sprout red from left to right along the side of your palm, when a new sight crossed your vision. It was fast, too. All but thoughtless in the way it broke in, gripping your hand in his, and yanking you to your feet. Bucky hadn’t seen that you’d cut yourself, it seemed, and, out of instinct, had grabbed your hand to help you up. As before, his grasp was like a vice, and his thumb pressed right inside the lacerated flesh, sending a whole new maelstrom of pain shooting up your wrist and arm. Now, as then, he was heedless of his strength and his sheer, brute force, that he didn’t even see the effect of his grip. He just held on, held you, tighter, tighter, and—

“STOP!” you shrieked.

You shoved him off. Pried his touch off your palm and gripped your forearm in your other hand and pored over the sight, seeing the gash almost doubled in size from just where Bucky’s finger had sunk into the fresh wound. You let out a sharp, muffled cry through lips that tried to stay closed—remembering Sharon again. You shook your head, clenched your jaw, and tore off the other direction.

And when your husband reached out, eyes wide with their own shock and apologies, ‘Baby, fuck, I’m so sorr—’ you threw him off again. With your non-bleeding palm, you thrust your hand against his chest and pushed hard:

“Don’t touch me!”

When he reached for you again, as if by force of habit, you held up a defensive arm and sobbed out, ‘Stop!’

‘Don’t touch me, don’t—don’t—don’t fucking touch me.’

You screamed it. You didn’t mean to. Thinking only vaguely of the need to be quiet, and almost entirely on the stabbing pain in your hand, the imprint of Bucky’s touch on your body, and the blood trickling down your forearm, you darted into the bathroom and threw the door closed behind you. You locked it. You meant to.

Twenty minutes might as well have been twenty years in Bucky Barnes’ mind. In a moment like this, following yet another supreme fuck up on his part, he felt powerless. He had had to fight the instinct to barge into the next room over with every fiber of his being, and, making fists by his sides and pacing the floor and hating himself was all that seemed capable of occupying his mind just then.

He’d knocked on the bathroom door at least ten times. He’d been ignored each time, no matter the duration.

He still had your blood on his thumb, and it made him ill.

You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.

While he uncurled his hand from a fist just long enough to stare at the streaks of red stretched over his finger, he heard those words replay over and over again in his head. He’d said it—swore it—himself, and still your blood was turning a cool, dark, dry shade of crimson on his thumb.

This wasn’t how he’d meant for any of this to go. Still, notwithstanding his best intentions, none of it mattered. He’d seen a sincere look of fear in your eyes looking up at him, and nothing in the world would change what he’d done, or who he was. He’d caused you pain tonight, last week—though his memory of that was still so hazy and dark he hardly knew what else had happened, even now—and above all, he’d failed you as a husband, a protector.

You were likely curled up in a ball by the bathroom sink, cowering in fear because of him. The thought sent another tidal wave of nausea thrumming through his skull, a lump in his throat growing larger alongside it, and before he knew what he was doing, Bucky was striding back to the bathroom door. He banged his fist against it.

“Honey?”

No answer.

“Baby, please open the door.”

More silence.

The moment brought to mind a memory from the night you two had been married. How you’d fled to the en-suite bathroom and locked yourself in it; how Bucky had rattled the whole doorframe with the force of his knocks, demanding you come out. He’d hardly known you then. You hardly knew him now. The realization of this made the weight in his throat all the more excruciating as he stood, and, wincing with pain, Bucky kept knocking.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Pleading now. His voice was hoarse all over again.

Had he been the slightest bit more desperate and reckless, he might’ve been tempted to muscle through, kick the door in with his boot. But Bucky knew better. He could already guess how much that action would terrify you now, while tending to an injury that he himself had inadvertently made worse. Barreling inside would be neither romantic nor sweet, just sinking what may then be a lethal dose of salt in the deeper, metaphorical wound. He refrained. Instead of continuing to knock, he dropped his forehead to the door and closed his eyes.

“Please believe me, baby,” he tried again.

He’d said it so quietly he feared you might not hear it. Then, a little bit louder, ‘Please, please believe me.’

No sound to be heard inside but running water.

“You mean everything to me, doll.”

By now, his voice was clogged with pain, teetering on the brink of agony as he rested his hands on the door, and willed you to open it. Say something to him. Anything.

“I’d never mean to hurt you. Not in a million years.”

For a moment, he heard nothing more. Just how desperately he needed to hear a voice in reply could not be overstated. Craving a new sound worse than oxygen in his lungs. At first, when he heard something other than himself nearby, it nearly knocked him back with joy.

A voice right next to his ear, “But you did, didn’t you?”

The joy lasted less than a second.

The voice beside him was low. And close. Not coming from the other side of the bathroom door, as he might’ve reasonably expected from you, and not even in the tone of a female’s voice, as he might’ve seen, were Sharon to have appeared by his side. This new voice was deep, and masculine, and in his ear now, chuckling some as a gloved hand pressed the barrel of a gun to his temple.

Bucky didn’t blink.

You stepped outside not wanting to see him.

The bleeding had long since stopped, thanks to the aid of a cool, damp washcloth and a few minutes’ pressure, but even once it ceased, your legs were reluctant to carry you back. You dreaded the thought of having to resume your conversation with Bucky—of having to look him in the eye and tell him all over again that it wasn’t safe for you to be married to him. But you didn’t have much of a choice now, either. This wasn’t your honeymoon, where you could stay locked in the bathroom, try climbing out a window, and hope for the best like you’d done before. You had the man’s child inside you, for fuck’s sake.

That uncomfortable subject and at least a dozen more were already swarming your brain as you made your way out of the bathroom. You’d taken a few extra squares of toilet paper to press into the cut, were looking down at it with a tense, uncertain gaze as you ventured out, when you were obliged to stop just a few steps into the room.

“Hi, honey.”

It wasn’t Bucky.

Your eyes snapped up to the source of the voice in an instant, and, on seeing you were right—that it wasn’t Bucky but a gaunt, grinning blond with a gun to your husband’s head—you almost screamed at the sight.

You’d wanted to scream, anyway. It would’ve been the sane thing to do, and one that nobody could’ve blamed you for in the moment, you reckoned, but strangely the sound never came. You just stared at the two, eyes wide and jaw slightly more lax as your lips made an ‘o’. Bile jumped up in your throat. You wished it would choke you.

‘Please. Don’t.’ was all you could get out.

Johann Schröder’s smile stretched wider.

“Don’t what?”

The question was clearly meant to be derisive, rhetorical. Still, with your fingers trembling, you tried answering:

“Don’t hurt h—”

“Why?”

You watched the gun sink deeper against your husband’s face, and he flinched. Your stomach clenched inside you.

“Why shouldn’t I hurt him, hon? Seems like he’s gotten pretty damn good at doing it to you,” Schröder sneered.

His words stung. The grin didn’t flinch. And, as if to punctuate his sentence, or else remind your husband that he was tied to a chair and entirely at his mercy now, Schröder struck Bucky in the face with the butt of his gun. If an onlooker hadn’t known better, they might’ve mistaken you for the one who’d been hit, though—at last, you unleashed that scream, and you reached out for Bucky, hands open and pathetic and desperate to help.

“Think it hurt as bad as your hand?” Schröder hummed.

Your feet were stumbling forward, “He didn’t mean—”

Another resounding thud against Bucky’s skull, this time hard enough to split his lip in half. If he’d grimaced in the slightest, you would’ve seen the teeth smeared with blood. But, true to form, James Barnes didn’t wince. He hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge the blow as it landed. Just stared at you and, with eyes as hollow and deadened and faintly pleading as you’d ever seen them before, manifested their silent apology to yours—again.

“Bet he didn’t mean to hurt anyone as the Winter Soldier, either. Still couldn’t have felt too good for all the folks he butchered, though.” At that, Schröder’s sick amusement morphed into a laugh, and he was taking Bucky’s collar in his other hand. Shaking him lightly while he spoke.

“Couldn’t have felt all that great for your dad, I bet.”

The diversion turned to you, all toothy smiles and mocking eyes. He didn’t care. He let you stagger another step toward the two of them, even try to get your hands close to Bucky. But when you’d drawn too close, he stopped you cold. Not thinking much else in the moment, you made a move to push Schröder’s arm away, hard, and were shortly rewarded with a shove of your own. He knocked you sideways onto the bed, and you landed on the hand you’d hurt. Before you could let out so much as a sound yourself, Bucky’s voice tore in:

“Schröder.”

Schröder turned. He raised his Ruger to your husband’s head again, as casually as if he’d asked him for the time.

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch her.”

Schröder turned to you. Though he didn’t move the Ruger again, he did point his finger at your form, haplessly curled into itself amidst the covers and pillows.

“Why? Saving all the rough stuff for later, are we?”

You cowered as his free hand reached for you, and just as your husband’s eyes went wide and a vein nearly tore through his skin from how hard it protruded, you cried,

“What do you want?!”

Schröder stopped. He brought his hand to a halt just south of your thigh—and then he dropped his weight on the bed beside you. He gestured indistinctly, almost disbelievingly, toward Bucky. The latter appeared near-apoplectic, nails raking down either arm of the chair.

“What do I want?” Schröder quipped, incredulous, “What do you want, doll? To stay married to him?”

And you knew he’d intended the question to be hurtful; you knew it by the glint in his eye, the goading tone of voice and the look he’d flitted to Bucky—nondescript and yet saying a world more than words could ever convey. He knew what had gone on between you, had likely heard your last conversation in its entirety, and was now using it against you. Mostly to taunt, then to injure your husband with truths he hadn’t yet uncovered himself.

Schröder’s eyes were shining with sadistic delight as he took your hand in his. He didn’t waste another second.

“No, no, that isn’t what you want at all, is it?”

Ignoring the screech of Bucky’s restraints as he tried to lunge out of his chair. Hearing him curse when he failed.

“—you said you’re leaving him, right?”

Schröder slid the thin, glistening ring off the hand he’d been holding before you could even think to stop him.

“—said you want a divorce, is that it?”

Then his grin got so big and conceited and enlivened by the sight of pain working its way onto Bucky’s face that any good sense you’d had left inside you was abandoned in a blink. You didn’t hesitate, or else try and make a pass to retrieve your ring—you just hit the man in the face.

Your fist was small, and his chin was hard. You knew before you ever threw the punch that it’d probably hurt you more than him, but you did it anyway. It succeeded, at the very least, in catching Schröder by surprise and swiftly pissing him off. Seeing this and feeling a bit bolder, you were somehow able to dodge his hands when he lurched for you again. Inside, your own anger flared.

“Why the fuck do you care?” you spat.

You found momentary respite in the corner of the bed, sliding back against a wall that would only protect you for so long. As soon as Schröder regained his bearings, he had you back in his sights and his grasp just as quick.

He dragged you back. He pulled you up. He dug the tips of his fingers so hard into your side that you thought the flesh might tear in two across your ribs. But it didn’t. Crescent-like indentations did leave their mark in a grisly set of five, though. You felt the sting of it as Schröder loosened his grip, then sucked his next breath through his teeth as if calming himself. Your gaze only hardened.

“I care,” he said, once he’d completed this slow inhale. He replaced his touch by pinching your face in one hand and bringing it up to his, expression more like a snarl. Then, raising the gun to your face in his other hand, “because I made a deal with your father. Remember?”

You did. Your head jerked back by force of instinct, but he held it. From every direction, then, you had nothing to hear but the sound of your own pulse thrumming a fast, panicked tempo in your skull. You tasted blood in your mouth without a drop on your tongue. And, had that deafening fear and revulsion been anything less, you likely would’ve heard something else beneath it all.

Would’ve felt it, if you weren’t already so numb: Schröder’s hand sliding its way down your body, diamond ring still stuck to the tip of his index finger. You sensed it as though seeing yourself from another perspective—watching his hand trail lower, lower, lower until something in Bucky split in two and he bellowed:

“SCHRÖDER—”

He said something more after that; you were sure of it. You just couldn’t hear him, or see him, or discern much of anything else but your own racing heart as the man who’d just beat your husband twice and lifted a gun to your head proceeded to press his touch to your belly. Almost conscientious and gentle as he lowered it.

“Was this part of the deal, too, doll?”

Your eyes widened. Realizing—then feeling fear seize you completely. Forgetting the metal at your temple and shaking your head with a force, but slow enough that your husband wouldn’t see it. Meanwhile, across from you both, Bucky seemed more than sufficiently occupied by his own blinding rage—he spit a glob of blood to the floor and, with his teeth bared again, swore he’d kill him.

Over and over and over again, oaths of taking Schröder’s life and making it gruesome and painful and slow filled your ears, but none of it stuck, for either you or Schröder. Instead, your maniacal captor just smiled, leaning in.

“I said, was this part of the deal, Mrs. Barnes?”

The heel of his palm sank into your stomach, and as the shock of his first words began to fade, a pain replaced it. His hand made an impressive demonstration of flattening and forcing itself so hard against the skin that a flurry of stars cropped up in your eyes, and you cried:

“Stop! I-It wasn’t— just— just stop. Stop.”

“Stop? Was it part of the deal or not?”

Schröder bore down even harder.

“It just happened!” you keened. Unsure why you felt compelled to answer for what had gone on at all—addressing the baby in this awful, oblique way—though reckoning it had something to do with the pressure he was applying to your stomach. You tried to squirm back.

But your stuttering pulse and your pleading gaze and the ache in your stomach proved to be all too much for any real progress to be made. You’d scarcely moved off an inch before he drove his palm deeper, and with the agony of a body about to rupture beneath it, a shriek clawed out of your throat. Your mouth fell open, and for once, you couldn’t curtail the pain, or fear. Schröder’s hand had just forced the noise from your mouth, along with some mindless, broken pleas to stop pushing, it hurts, please, please, when the face above yours only brightened. Schröder’s cruel, snide mouth flashed a smile above you, and before you could whine again—

He kissed you.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second.

Still, the moment seemed to stretch indefinitely. And felt perverse. So deeply nauseating and unsettling to every last nerve, muscle, tendon, and bone in your body that the response it evoked could be nothing less than visceral. You didn’t need to think at all to shove him off. Whatever might’ve given you pause with a loaded gun to your head was forgotten in a second, and soon enough, you weren’t alone in letting your reproach be known.

It started off with a crack, then a harsh, crude splintering of wood. A violent rift, from what you could hear of it, and when you turned your head, your suspicions were confirmed: Bucky had snapped half the arm of his chair away from the seat, and his right hand was almost freed.

Whatever barrier he faced in being bound more than four times over with rope seemed immaterial to him now. He could strain as hard as he pleased—feel the coarse synthetic fibers dig into his flesh and leave streaks of red, if not break the skin itself—and any pain, as before, hardly appeared to register with your husband at all. He just muscled through it, thrusting his wrist even harder. The whole force of this movement rocked the chair on its legs, and just when you sensed it might collapse beneath his weight, you felt Schröder stand up. The man didn’t need to move too far or do much else other than drop his hold on you and flip his gun to point it at Bucky instead.

Even when he had, though, Bucky didn’t flinch. His hands were in fists and his drive was like a machine’s—he tried forcing his way out of the right hand’s restraints, and the second the wood gave way, he was shoving it off.

Blind to the firearm Schröder was holding, or his words:

“Stay where you are, Barnes.”

Bucky was just then shaking off the rope that had been loosened by the break in the wood, jaw still tight as ever.

“You’ve got three other limbs to free, my friend, just—”

Schröder was still speaking when you saw his finger slip to the trigger, and it seemed to you it was itching to pull.

“James, stop!”

That plea came from you. More of a strangled cry, really—no more pleasant for either man to hear than it was for your throat to shriek. It did, however, stop Bucky cold. Your husband paused just long enough to meet your gaze. And in it, you saw, at least, that he was all there, if not enraged. But not soldat, or anyone else but himself.

You sighed in relief, despite what seeing two red rivers seeping out of Bucky’s mouth might otherwise provoke.

It was him. You might’ve smiled if another hadn’t cut in.

Schröder seized Bucky’s wrist. With it, you saw his hand just as mangled and bloodied as his lips. Knuckles cracked, slit, and soon to be littered with bruises of every shade, he shocked you again by how calmly he took it. Even when Schröder sank a thumb inside a big, gaping crater of a flesh wound he’d found on the back of his hand, your husband didn’t blink; he just looked at you.

‘I’m sorry.’

When the barrel of the gun returned to his head—this time, at the rear, as Schröder had circled back around the half-broken chair and was leaning over him—you could see the apology lodged in his eyes on full display.

“For safekeeping.” The man wielding the gun seemed almost pleased as he dropped your ring inside the breast pocket of your husband’s shirt, before patting it gently:

“Now where were we?”

A beat. Bucky’s right hand twitched beside him, but evidently, he knew better than to move in that moment.

“Right, right—” Schröder pretended to be remembering, tapping steel to Bucky’s skull, “She’s leaving, isn’t she?”

More silence.

You wanted to speak, beg Schröder for mercy, anything.

“Do you know why that is, Bucky?”

But before you could utter even a word of protest, the voice pressed on. Schröder was leaning in his ear.

“—what you did to her?”

The baby. Brooklyn. All the bloodshed that had ensued last week, leaving your husband completely in the dark. Of course, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been himself, and was scarcely more able to control his actions as the Winter Soldier than he could in a dream.

To your horror, Schröder reached down for Bucky’s hand, and, still holding the gun to him with the other, lifted it.

Pointed it.

Pushed it closer to you.

“C’mon, Buck. You don’t want me touching her, right? Why don’t you feel for yourself what she’s been hiding?”

Your blood turned to ice. You’d never felt so immobile—paralyzed—in your life, but seeing the hands drift closer and closer and feeling defenseless to their course, your body went numb. Your limbs grew heavier than lead.

And when you felt the smug, smiling blond guide your husband’s touch toward your head, you understood it all.

You were perched at the edge of the bed a foot away. Schröder was nudging Bucky forward in his chair, urging him to reach out and tilt her chin a little, go on, that’s it. And neither one of you had a choice, so he touched you. His fingers, directed by someone else, were obliged to brush the skin of your chin, your jaw, your cheek, and your brow, before finally settling above your left temple.

Your husband felt the cut—touched the stitches.

You winced, but not from any physical pain. It was Bucky’s face as the tips of his fingers skimmed the wound. The look of chagrin that crossed his eyes. Then bewilderment. Fear, as plain as anyone could see it— was he the cause of that? Had the hurt been from him?

You couldn’t bear to answer him, so you looked away. It was Schröder, again, who had all the power to speak.

“Can’t remember pushing her down?” he said, tone dark, “Making her split her head open on the bedside table because soldat didn’t know his own strength—only that he had to keep her safe—and sensed a threat outside?”

Bucky shook his head. His face was grave.

Schröder kept making him prod the skin.

“It’s bruised here, too. You feel it?”

Your husband did, and you thought it might break him. So tender and forlorn were the eyes, raking over every spot where a touch, his touch, had left you hurt before.

If nothing else could bring you back to your senses, the wounded look in Bucky’s gaze was sure to get it done.

You hardly thought again, just croaked: ‘It’s not his fault.’

Schröder’s hand then descended your neck, your torso.

As if he hadn’t heard you at all—

“You already saw what happened to her hand.”

—and forcing Bucky’s touch lower still.

“But what about here?”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt your husband’s hand come to rest on your stomach.

It was like a fire had ignited in your lower half, and nothing close to the soft, pleasurable kind. Not the flutter felt in anticipation of a touch from your husband, not the desirous sort. In fact, you dreaded it now; seeing Schröder over his shoulder, urging him closer, making him flatten his big, broad, scorching palm over your belly.

What should’ve been the ecstatic scene you’d conjured in your mind at least a hundred times since marrying him—the picture of domestic bliss as you said it, smiling, I’m pregnant—was now nothing short of torture. Choice all but stripped from you here, forced to emerge inside this terrible place, you found yourself needing to shrink back, shake your head, look to Schröder’s stubborn, unyielding gaze and beg him not to make you do this now. Not now.

Not here, with Bucky’s skin a shade of glacial white and his eyes going wide, taking on a look you’d never seen.

“What do you—”

He stared hard at the hand on your belly, but it didn’t last for long. As if realization were trying to seep in, he couldn’t meet it. His eyes flitted back to your face.

“Baby, what’s—” he tried again, stammering.

“—right, that’s it, Mr. Barnes.” That was Schröder.

Satisfied in the suspense of the moment keeping your husband still, he lifted his hand from Bucky’s and snapped, that’s it, and clapped him over the shoulder.

Congratulating him before the truth had even sunk in.

“A baby, that’s right! You’re going to be a father, Buck.”

And how far was the look on Bucky’s face from the one you’d dreamed before. The lips you’d envisioned in a smile now twisting bleakly, parting slightly, and the eyes you’d once hoped to be bright and elated only staring back with rings of red enveloping the irises. Whatever tears formed at his waterline were decidedly not of joy.

Only guilt.

“You did it.”

Desperation.

More moisture in his eyes as his hand started to tremble across your stomach, voice hoarse and soft, “Is it true?”

You didn’t need to nod. You just watched him, let your own eyes fill with the worst, stinging tears you had felt in your life, and from the silence that followed, Bucky knew.

As if the life beneath his palm were something dear, but still too much for him to comprehend, he shook his head. He stroked his thumb over the cotton of your pyjamas and tried inching closer, as much as his restraints would allow him. Then, with words that were audibly strained, but always gentle, he lowered his voice—as if to keep the communication between you two, despite your position:

“I love you.”

His hand was still on your belly as he said it. He reached up to cup your face. Even lower than before, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

That much was evident from every look he’d given you tonight. Every move he made a de facto apology, all actions in the vein of atonement, it couldn’t possibly escape your mind or his that he knew he’d done wrong. It was only a matter of accepting this—maybe coming to terms with the fact that your life wasn’t safe in his hands—for the guilt plaguing Bucky to multiply. Paralyze him.

There was no better time for Schröder to strike. Just as the anguish had flooded Bucky’s face completely, and his hand had had to lower itself from want of strength, a sound split the air. Bucky was so lost in his thoughts that it didn’t even register at first, but the impact was real, and it was harsh: Schröder punched him squarely in the jaw. The next, swift snap was his nasal bone taking a blow, and breaking beneath it. Blood breezed down and into his mouth. Feeling warm, his lips and chin doused in a second, he sensed nothing else. He might’ve groaned.

He caught another swift right hook, and his mind went blank. Nothing of substance threatened to materialize between his ears, save for the rush of blood through and from his skull and the dim recognition of something ugly.

Something horrific.

He couldn’t protect you.

His body was as much an idle waste as it was a danger. Useless now, as he was tied to this chair, and a risk to your well-being even if he weren’t. The hazard was him.

Schröder hit him again, and Bucky realized that the ringing he’d heard in his ears was your screaming.

“I’m doing her a favor,” Schröder spat before shoving him back in the chair, almost knocking it sideways.

The blond advanced with ease. His knuckles were drenched in blood; none of it was his. When he reached for Bucky again, the resistance was slight, and a simple, firm grip on the collar was all that was needed to drag his frame to sit straight. Bucky was barely upright for a second before the next—and worst—blow struck his face. His whole head rang with it, reeling, but still, he could make out the words as they were spoken to him.

“She’ll never be safe with you, Barnes. Never—” and at the last, Schröder lowered his gun. Started to loosen the rope from Bucky’s left arm, “—I could free you now, and you still wouldn’t get within an inch of what you want.”

He nudged the rope away and let it fall to the floor. Bucky lifted his hand, but the effort was in vain. No sooner had a finger of his stirred than Schröder was delivering a kick to the chair and letting it splinter. Topple. Skitter a half-foot across the hardwood floor with Bucky’s ankles still bound to it, before finally, gracelessly, breaking apart.

Bucky was on the floor, blinking through a stream of blood and a sea of muddied thoughts when Schröder kicked the chair again. The rope slackened some more.

“Her own father knew as much, so he made me a deal to take her off of your hands. Settle his debts the way he should’ve done the first time around,” Schröder said, and now his tone was lower. Lethal as it ever was, and stern.

“I know how much you hate to lose your playthings, Buck, but this one’s better off with me, I promise.”

And, as if to emphasize his point, Schröder turned and reached for you. Bucky’s own hands were slow, fumbling in fits and bursts to get the rope unwound from his ankles, but they were determined. He just couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, the ringing to subside, or his brain, in its concussed state, to let him move with a little more agility. He’d been hit too many times. He could barely lift his head off his shoulders and hold it straight, so he was forced to stay where he was, keep at his task, and listen.

“You’re weak when you’re not soldat.”

Using his knuckles, Schröder brushed the blood that was evidently all Bucky’s across your cheek, and you flinched.

“When you make the switch, still…you’re inhuman.”

Then he tilted your head, making you show them both the mutilated, stitched-up flesh above your temple. Again, you tried to slink away, but his touch was firm.

“Don’t you think your bride deserves better than that? Your child? Forced to live in fear of that thing you are?”

Blood coursed down Bucky’s face, and his lips were curled apart in a grimace, mouth hanging slightly ajar. His eyes fixed their look on you. The rope was undone.

He’d just started to try and stand when the edge of his vision blurred. He felt the lacerations in his face pulse as one, and with it, half his sight went skewed to the left. Schröder couldn’t help but crack a smile seeing him stumble, pitch back, and barely catch himself on the bedside table. When he stood, he was mostly hunched.

“Look at you, Buck. You can’t try and save her like this,” Schröder taunted, drawing you closer, “So stop trying.”

The man’s hand was like ice holding your face. The grip grew tighter when he saw your husband limping your way, and before either one of you could move, the index of Schröder’s other hand had slid down to the trigger. He didn’t wait to give another warning before he did it—just pointed the gun and fired one shot over Bucky’s head.

His aim was good. The bullet missed your husband by less than an inch. The gun had gone off by your ear, and immediately, you seized the side of your head as a sharp, searing pain cropped up. Your skull was still ringing when you heard the thing discharge again, and you realized it had been aimed at Bucky’s neck. He’d ventured another step, and Schröder had fired a second round to graze the top of his shoulder. Crimson bloomed through his shirt.

Bucky should’ve stumbled again. He might’ve staggered back with a grunt of pain, lifted a quick, reflexive hand to feel the wound, but the sense of it all was slow to reach him. The moments that passed him were delayed just the same, as if the world around him were distorted—the fibers of time tugged and stretched before his eyes—and he could hardly keep himself straight. When he got another look down the barrel of the gun, he didn’t blink. Couldn’t see, really. It was all misshapen sights and sounds and a dim recognition that his mind was in a fog.

Somewhere from within that mist, he heard, faintly:

“I’ll go— I’ll go— I’ll go with you, I’ll go— just stop.”

Schröder turned to you, and the smile that he wore was cruel, but Bucky wasn’t able to make out the expression.

All he could see then, to the faintest extent, was you—your face, gripped hard in another man’s hand, eyes pleading and wet with tears, and a slightly slack jaw.

“Leave him for me?” Schröder repeated, sneering.

You nodded. Blinked. Rolled your tongue along the inside of your cheek before pulling it back and biting down once. There was a hint of a wince in your eyes, but, from what Bucky could tell, it vanished just as fast as it came.

Your lips parted again. Your eyes widened a little.

“So the girl has some fucking sense.” That was Schr��der.

He’d had his weapon re-holstered and your face firmly seized in both of his hands in no more than a second.

What came next surprised no one, though the sensations of disgust and rage were as quick to turn a stomach as the shock would have done. Schröder bent down and, having pulled your face closer to his, kissed you again.

Schröder’s mouth was glistening with a grin and Bucky’s own blood—smeared all over your face from how hard he’d been holding you—when he looked up and turned.

“Sensible and sweet, isn’t she? Tastes like it, too.”

Bucky saw nothing but red. It wasn’t just blood crowding his vision now but violence and rancor and outright hatred, stirring his limbs to start moving again when the rest of his body was plainly too battered to venture an inch in that condition. He staggered again, watched you again, and had made it almost halfway across the room when another sight slowed him, if only for a moment.

Schröder’s lips were back on yours, as if to mock him, but what startled him, really, was the way you’d opened your mouth. You couldn’t mean it. Clearly. Schröder was gripping your jaw, forcing it open—it had to be—and he was coaxing your tongue out from inside and weaving it with his. Once more, time moved like molasses, and that was all your husband had had to see: you kissing him back, gripping his arm through the thick, black tactical gear, and still parting your lips more and more for him. Like you needed a touch, or something, worse than ever.

That stalled Bucky, though he was nowhere close to stopping now. Briefly preoccupied, and seemingly shocked as well that you’d accepted the kiss so eagerly this time, Schröder didn’t see the approach. If he had, he likely would’ve turned and made a move for his Ruger, but as it was, he had only to blink—and there was Bucky.

He hit him with a force that was blinding, directly to the side of his head so hard that he’d had no choice but to separate from you. Schröder was stunned one second and on the floor in the next. Bucky threw him there, kicked him down, and, wavering for only a moment to cock back the shoulder that’d been shot, he ignored the pain and punched the man again. And again. And again.

There was a callousness, an indolence, and an ease with which he was able to inflict the pain, that much was evident. What didn’t seem so natural, at least in Bucky’s mind, was the weight that was in his hands: Schröder’s body felt limp before he’d even landed the second blow.

The pressure grew heavier and heavier in his hands the harder, and more frequently, he delivered each hit, but for now, he didn’t care. Bucky kept on punching until the face beneath him was gnarled and bloody, and his own fist, too, slashed every which way with more cuts than he was able to count. He would’ve kept going—could’ve ignored the stabbing pain in his shoulder for as long as it would take to ensure the man was dead—but as it was, he refused to ignore the voice he heard. It was yours.

Muffled now, as your body was bent to the side and your head drooped lower still. Your voice was soft but clear:

“Bucky, please, stop.”

He did.

He dropped the man’s collar from his hands as soon as he’d heard you say it, and he turned away as if nothing had transpired behind him at all. His focus was on you.

“Baby—”

To his surprise, he watched you spit on the floor.

Your face was grim and almost sick, and you spit again.

The look grew even worse, and afterward, you didn’t waste a second more; you stood and left the room.

Bucky was stunned at first, and his instinct had been to follow. Then he heard a rattling sound beside him. He glanced down and paled, seeing Schröder there.

His face had turned blue much sooner than Bucky had expected—and not from any bruising but a lack of oxygen in his lungs. He was choking, foaming slightly at the mouth while he gasped for air. Surely, it hadn’t been the hits that caused it. The whites of Schröder’s eyes were as conspicuous as he’d ever seen them. Desperate.

Bucky swiftly got the sense that the life of his former captor was lost, and frankly, he didn’t care enough to watch him die. He left what remained of Schröder’s form to continue writhing on the floor, choking and sputtering for a breath that would never come, and went after you.

Downstairs, he found you hunched over the kitchen sink—spitting, retching, and trembling, too, but breathing.

You let the water from the faucet fill your mouth, and you rinsed again. You winced as something stuck your cheek.

Bucky drew closer, quickly, and when he was right by your side, he saw you spit a shard of glass into the sink. He looked over to the counter, and he spotted three more

They were minuscule, really. Nothing quite the size to leave a wound too deep, but sharp enough to cut your lips, your tongue, or the insides of your cheeks. When Bucky leaned in, he saw droplets of red joining the flow of the water beneath it. You coughed over and over again

“Don’t,” you croaked, seeing Bucky reach for the glass.

Before he could reply: “It’s the poison. From Madripoor.”

Your husband’s blood went cold in his veins. He didn’t touch the glass, but he did press closer to you, feeling his insides churn as the cogs started to turn in his head.

The vial of poison you’d been given to slip in Schröder’s drink at the Foxy Den—how the hell had you gotten it back? Why would you think you needed it, if he— but no, that couldn’t be the case. There wasn’t a shot you just—

“—put it in your mouth?” Bucky couldn’t curb the fear in his voice. He reached for you and spun you to face him.

“Did it kill him?”

Your eyes were wide for entirely different reasons. Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing; his mouth was dry.

“I didn’t want to kiss him,” you went on, voice shaking a little, “I didn’t— I just— I couldn’t get him the poison any other way. I knew he’d kiss me again, and when he did—”

“I know,” Bucky said. He smoothed the hair from your face, shaking his head. Feeling his stomach clench with fear and dread as he hurried to get a look in your mouth.

You’d snuck the vial inside your cheek, then crushed it between your teeth before Schröder had kissed you. You’d all but forced him to swallow the poison, shoving your tongue down his throat, but what of the stuff that remained? The rough, trembling fingers of Bucky’s hand were trying to pry your lips apart as gently as they could, ensure all the serum was out, but at present, you wouldn’t let him. You pushed back gently, though not too far to prevent your own touch from roaming his shoulder.

“The bullet—” you started.

“Barely nicked me,” Bucky cut in, “Baby, I need to see—”

That you’re safe. That you won’t be hurt in any way. He couldn’t finish the thought himself, having seen what the poison did to Schröder. Instead, he just held you closer and fought the lump that was starting to form in his throat. Adrenaline had worked well enough to clear his mind of the haze, but the rest of him was all high-strung.

Your clothes clung to you both, wet with blood and sweat. Your breaths were fast. Your expressions were feral, eyes no calmer as they scanned over the other’s form and soaked in every trace of what had happened. Bucky in his formalwear and you in something close to a chemise—like your honeymoon night all over again—you each got a glimpse of the gore ornamenting yourselves and let the room fall quiet, if only for a minute or two.

Your husband was the one to break the silence, at length, with cracked and grisly hands sliding down to your hips.

“You’re okay?”

His touch shifted you back in place to sit on the counter.

“I’m alright.”

You wanted to say more; assure him, in a voice as sedate as you could manage, that this wasn’t his fault. Whether he would believe a word of what you said was a separate question, but, at any rate, it didn’t matter. The next thing you knew, Bucky was slotting himself in the space between your legs and pulling you into his arms.

In spite of himself and all the wounds, he held you tight.

“You’re alright,” he repeated.

His face sank into the crook of your neck, and you felt his muscles contract again—pulling you closer—as he drew a shaky breath against your skin. You hugged him back.

“Are you?” Your voice was small.

In a blink, Bucky resurfaced. He lifted his head from your neck and, still holding you, hadn’t seemed to have heard.

“The baby,” he said quickly.

He stepped back. Lowered his gaze and his hands to trail over your hips and near your stomach, and he stared, as if trying to make sense of something dire. His blue eyes were wide, and they assumed such a look of panic that you feared a blood vessel might actually burst in one.

After all the great lengths he’d gone to, ensuring you were safe and taking extra precautions, on the off-chance you might be pregnant, here you were.

And there he went, sliding his touch lower and lower again until his hand was pressed into your belly, and the gaze you’d once thought soft before had all but melted into tenderness—delicacy. Complete, loving unreserve.

When his eyes met yours a second time, they were shiny.

Wet with the only kind of tears you’d want to see in them.

“You’re really…” he started, just to taper off, blinking.

And then his cheeks were dotted with the tiny, round droplets, and he’d finally ventured a smile for the first time in what seemed like ages and you couldn’t keep from reaching for him. The second you’d lifted your arms you were back in his, lips and nose smushed against the front of his stained white button-up and breathing deep.

Or trying to, anyway. Bucky had you squeezed so tight to his chest you had nothing but his shirt to inhale at first. You didn’t mind, and when he pulled away a moment later, you realized that your eyes, too, were filling up quick. You had to steel yourself against a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to emerge—the aftermath of a half-dozen traumas laid bare over the last hour—but the longer you were here, and the more your husband stared at you like that, the quicker your courage was depleted. In the span of five seconds, your senses were shot to hell. All you could think was what you could feel, and all you felt was Bucky: his arms and his hands and the raw, blistering heat between your bodies. The rest was noise.

It surprised you both when you kissed him. Physically, your mouth and his were hardly up to do it, injured as they were, but the impulse was strong, and it flowed between you. As soon as your lips latched onto his, Bucky was holding your face, molding his body to yours without so much as a second thought, and the mouth you met was sturdy. Hungry in the way it kissed back.

A string of words from Schröder flashed in your mind—‘Never be safe’—and you grit your teeth together, snagging the cusp of Bucky’s lower lip as you did it. He groaned. Before you could even try to apologize, though, he was gripping your face harder in his hands and coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. His front was still flush with yours, and your legs were starting to wind around his hips. Your husband nudged you back against the cabinets, and from the force of that push, you felt it.

Felt him.

Surely, it had had to take two very fucked up individuals to get all hot and bothered from a bloodbath that had just taken place; but, again, here you were—together.

And there you went, grinding your lower half with his.

“Doll?” Bucky broke out, word slurred just a little.

For a second, you thought he was going to stop you. Your eyes scanned his, and you were already planning to apologize for being so horny, it must just be the—

“You know I love you, right?” he breathed.

You blinked. You were about to nod, when you felt the bulge in his slacks start to rub against your barely-clothed heat, and something akin to a shockwave coursed through your frame. It couldn’t be helped. A monsoon of hyper-sensitized pleasure trembled over the skin in a way you’d never felt it before, and suddenly you were letting out a moan: a muffled cry of, ‘Yes, I-I know.’

Your husband swallowed and stared, slightly taken aback by the reaction his erection had produced. He’d never felt that either. At least from what he could remember.

The truth was that he’d never had a pregnant wife before—someone whose body was now extraordinarily responsive to his touch, nearly aching for him.

When you scooted your butt to the edge of the counter and dug your heels in the backs of his legs, humping him, almost, he got the idea. Bucky swallowed again.

“I love you too, I— I—” you started, already out of breath, “I just really need you to fuck me. Can you— please—”

Bucky didn’t need to be asked once, much less twice. He already had his belt, button, and zip undone before you could even look down, and then your own pyjama shorts were sliding off too. The counter was cool against your skin, but your husband’s warmth was more than enough to compensate for the loss. You smiled again, sheepish.

“It’s just…hormones,” you said, quieter toward the end.

You weren’t sure why you felt so ashamed to simply say, ‘James, I’ve been damn near insane with desire ever since you put a baby in me. Can you give me five more?’ But you did. You felt your cheeks start to heat as your lower half was left exposed to the air, and Bucky slipped his hand down between your legs, practically groaning:

“Honey, you’re soaked.”

There wasn’t one iota of shame in his tone.

He was more than happy to find you drenched beneath his touch. He had a smile on his face and a warmth bleeding from every fingertip as he caressed that soft, tender spot. You didn’t need to tell him what was on your mind, either. He sensed something was making you shy, and rather than have you say it aloud, he just touched you gentler, stroked the skin more affectionately, and tilted his head so only you could hear him, quiet as ever:

“That’s my girl. Feeling good for me?”

You felt your heartbeat between your thighs.

“My baby,” Bucky went on, voice dulcet and slow.

Your body was trembling at the edge, waiting. Impatient.

“My wife,” he said that with a smile, into your neck.

He lowered you onto his length, and you whined.

“Mother of my child.” The smile got bigger.

You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Feeling him slide inside the most precious, wet, pliable part of you, stretching you out, you couldn’t help the sounds you made. You felt full in a whole new way; the groan Bucky let out when you were impaled down to the base of his cock said he shared the feeling. He throbbed inside you.

“You’re—fuck.” Bucky’s words broke off at the sensation.

Your walls were as slick as ever, your body delicate, rolling your hips to the first gentle thrusts that his shaft carved inside. Neither one of you could last long like this.

Still, at the threat of sublime pleasure, you felt fear, briefly: Schröder’s implacable stare—and the thousands more like him in HYDRA. You couldn’t help but grip Bucky tighter, willing these thoughts away with the rhythm of your body over his. Feeling him fill you up, fuck you with quick, deliberate thrusts and hold you, ‘That’s it, take what you need, sweet girl, you’re okay.’

You wished you were. You wanted to be. With every stab of Bucky’s hips, you hoped this would be the last night you ever feared for you or your child’s life, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. This was everything your husband’s varied ‘enterprises’ entailed, and a life with him meant never knowing a day without it—fear.

The head of Bucky’s cock grazed an especially sensitive ridge in your walls, and you whimpered into his shoulder.

You smelled blood.

He pushed you back against the counter and pounded harder, breaths heavy and labored and gruff as he spoke:

“You’re okay, baby, it’s alright.”

Your mind tried clinging to that thought, nodding along as if to convince yourself. The pleasure grew stronger, and your body was hot. Everything was heightened. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes or his lips or his rough, bloodied touch from roaming you wherever he could reach, and he kept rutting his hips, assuring you gently, again and again, that it was all okay. He was right here.

The pleasure from the depths of your body was beyond your control—you couldn’t help it when the band inside of you snapped. You held Bucky closer and you moaned, more desperate and needy and soaking for him, taking something from him, and knowing the bliss you felt would only steal the dark thoughts for a moment or two.

Bucky’s eyes said it just the same. He couldn’t keep stuffing you full, feeling his pleasure hit its peak, and finally painting your insides without sharing that look.

You were less than halfway down from your highs when you felt him go still, panting fast, then hold your face.

“I love you.”

It was desperate. Hoping for something.

“I love you, too,” you told him, and you meant it.

But there was more. Both of you knew there was more.

“I can’t be married to you, Bucky.”

You didn’t know why it had to come out now, but the emotions were there—his gaze had all but drawn it out.

Still sheathed inside you, your husband tensed. He looked as if he might try and shake his head, but the movement was stalled by his own momentary shock. He’d known the words were coming, but the sound of you saying them now wasn’t any less jarring to hear. Before he could reply, you found yourself cutting back in:

“Not now, at least. We need some…time. To think.”

You weren’t sure what you were saying, just that your lips were moving and every new word was hurting him more.

“Even with Schröder gone, there are so many…dangers for both—or, all—of us, and I don’t know…I just can’t—”

—imagine bringing a child into a world like this. Like his.

You didn’t need to say it.

The pain in Bucky’s eyes already communicated as much, and the conviction in your own only convinced him that you’d meant it—and what you said was the truth. You couldn’t stay in a marriage that wasn’t safe.

Just as you opened your mouth to say something more, the man surprised you when he squeezed your hand.

Nodding, almost imperceptibly, in front of you.

“I can wait,” he said, “Whenever you’re ready, doll.”

His voice was hoarse, words strained from the lump in his throat as he spoke, but the message was sincere.

“Whenever you feel safe,” he added, softly.

You wanted to hold him again. Like before, your eyes began to well with something stinging and harsh, but the look you’d fixed on him was filled with nothing but love. You would’ve reached for him then, if he hadn’t moved his hand to his pocket. He felt around inside it, briefly.

Then Bucky retrieved your wedding ring.

Holding you up against him, pressed snugly into the counter with your legs still wrapped around his lower half, he pinched the silver band between his forefinger and thumb and held it up to you. It glistened in the light.

“The next time you wear it, I want it to be because you chose to marry me. Not for anything, or anyone, else.”

Nothing arranged, no game, no being forced to stay.

You nodded and had to blink through a layer of tears.

Bucky’s thumb traced the moisture, cupping your cheek in one of his hands. He’d had to keep blinking himself, and before you could reach for him, he kissed you.

“I really hope you marry me again one day, Mrs. Barnes.”

You smiled, having parted but still holding on.

“I think I would like that, too. One day.”

The next thing you heard was a sound at the front door: what sounded like a crash. Half a dozen sets of feet stumbling inside, crowding the foyer, making a loud, frantic clamor that you and Bucky knew only too well. The two of you scrambled to get your clothes back on as Steve, Nat, Sam, and Sharon all seemed to yell at once.

You had one hell of a story to tell them.

Taglist: @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @wilsons-striped-ties @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @lunaroserites @first-edition @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @mostlymarvelgirl @yujyujj @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @5thgoddess @oogaboogabeepboop @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @mimimarvelingmarvel @counteveresttt @thepetitemandalorian @diannana @aagn360 @aka-tua-braindump @shortnloud @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @ladyvenera @gyokujyn @bigtreefest @winterschildren8 @mega-kittyglitter-1

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Lucifer turns your cockwarming of him against you (NSFW)

For @citrusbatsandhoneybees based on our chats 💜

Lucifer absolutely loves the feeling of you, he’d do almost anything to be inside you

Cockwarming is typically a go to for you two if you want to take things slow that day

Most of the time, he behaves, waiting for permission to start moving because he wants to be a good boy and listen

But today, he had different plans unbeknownst to you; he was about to test you

There you two are, sitting on his throne as your pussy completely envelopes him, your back planted firmly against his chest

His little huffs and whimpers against your skin could drive you insane; peppering kisses down your neck and shoulders, feeling his cock begin to twitch inside you

Before you can say anything, he speaks up

”Darling, what do you say we change things up a bit…would that be alright with you?”

You hesitate, but agree after only a moment, curious as to what he has planned

Almost instantly he summons a small vibrator and hovers it just about your clit

“O-Oh…”

“Is this alright, love? We don’t have to if you think it’ll be too much.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay, Luci, I-I can handle it…”

You can feel his smile against your skin as he presses the vibrator to your clit

It isn’t long before you start to writhe in pleasure from the overwhelming sensation of your sensitive bud being abused as his cock remains firmly inside you unmoving

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re already clenching me s-so tight…f-fuck. What beautiful sounds you make.~ You’re doing so well for me, so so g-good~”

“Lucifer please…p-please move…I-I can’t…G-GAAAHHH”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay hon, y-you can take it. Be a good girl for me, yeah?~ I’ll move as soon as you cum f’me…can you do that? I-I want to feel you cum around my cock…need to feel you…p-please love? I-I promise I’ll move~”

You grip onto any part of him you can get your hands on, you screams of pleasure ripple through the room as your orgasm crashes over you, squeezing his cock so tight

And just as you came, Lucifer tosses the vibrator aside, grips your hips and begins to move you up and down his cock, prolonging your orgasm.

“T-There you go, that’s a good girl…fuckfuckfuck…you’re spasming around me s-so fucking good, love, so fucking good…ssshhhiiiittt…feel better now? F-Feel better now that I’m fucking that cute l-little pussy of yours? G-GAH!! FFFFFUUUCCKKK, o-oh baby, I’m gonna fill you up so good…you want that? You want me cum, sweetheart? Y-You can have it, all of it~”

He slams into with all his might, the only thing on your lips is his name; your mind is all but gone!

You beg for him to cum, your sensitivity is absolutely through the roof, but he he shakes his head, his body trembling as he continues to impale you on his cock

“N-No, n-not yet…fuuuuuccckkk…fuck, not yet…can’t cum yet…need to feel you again…p-please love, please…need you to cum for m-me again…HNNNGG…you feel too good, way too g-good…I promise…I promise I’ll fill you, b-but please, cum f’me G-GOD FFFFUCK…one more time…one more time for me, sweetheart, p-please…”

And almost on command, you can feel your muscles contracting again, cumming hard for him and around him

It’s not a moment later that you can feel himself empty inside you as he cries out, his thick ropes of hot cum painting your walls white.

Both exhausted, he collapses against the chair as you collapse against him, absolutely spent

He lifts you up and removes himself from you, standing up shakily and carrying you bridal style

“Perfect as always, my sweet girl. Let’s get you cleaned up~”

[mischiefmaker615]

I Told You So (1 of 2)

Credit: Shoutout to @darknessawaits28 who's roleplayed this storyline with me to make this one shot(s) possible! she and i both worked hard on it so please give her a follow :D enjoy!

Summary: Ignoring Loki’s warnings, you blew off the fact that you might have yourself a bit of a stalker at work. When one thing leads to another, you find out you should have listened to your boyfriend.

Rating: R *dark warning!*

Song: Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell

Note: Happy Spooky Season!

Loki’s finger tips slowly ghosted over her skin, having made an unspoken routine by starting below her ribs and moving just above her collar bone before restarting. He had propped himself up on one arm, his cheek resting against his fist as he gazed at the woman before him. The morning sunlight gave off just enough to hide and highlight her features.. that was just enough to get him hard again.. yet it was hard to enjoy when he had woken up with a particular feeling about today as well.

He didn’t want her going to work today.

Exhaling, he did his best to let her sleep while his eyes continued to wonder her, the sheet having also been pulled away to expose enough of her skin for him to enjoy with his lips, having followed his trail right after his finger tips had been there first. His eyes flicked over to her alarm, debating whether he should mess with it or not, perhaps causing her to be late so that she could remain here rather than the strange feeling that was slowly consuming him to worsen with her out of his eyesight.

Y/N slowly stirred, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips while she embraced the feeling of her boyfriend’s lips waking her up in the best way possible. ‘’if you are trying to convince me to be late, there’s little to no chance today…’’ she sighed, disappointment of the fact in her voice while she slowly opened her tired eyes to gaze at him.

‘’work can wait, you’ve never complained about being late before.’’ He smirked before she rolled out of bed before he could pounce. It was a game of theirs, most days he would earn himself a few extra minutes with her, some she would slip away. Today was a day he was determined to keep her entirely while he sat up to ignore the negative feeling and opted to gaze upon her naked form while she looked over her shoulder.

‘’you going to join me in the shower at least or enjoy the bed to yourself?” she teased, knowing fully well Loki would never stay in the bed if it meant he was going to be in it by himself and giggled when he got up quickly- all in his naked glory.

‘’darling, if I so much as let that beautiful ass out of my sight while your clothes are off, do feel free to kick me to the curb.’’ He smirked, prowling around the bed playfully before he came up behind her, his morning wood pressing up against her perfect ass while his hands wrapped around her waist.

‘’there’d be no chance at me kicking you to the curb, you’d come back in a heartbeat.’’ She giggled, resting her dainty hands on his slender ones while he walked forward, guiding her into the bathroom in their apartment. ‘’you just can’t get enough..’’ she winked.

‘’no darling, I cannot.’’ He smirked before his mind began focusing on trying to convince her to stay.. to ease this feeling he woke up with.. ‘’Are you sure you want it to be a quick shower darling? I’m sure you have nowhere urgent to be’’ he murmured against her skin, leaving open mouth kisses between her shoulder and neck, nipping here and there as well.

His hand reached over her shoulder at the same time, feeling around while his mouth was busy at her skin to turn on the shower once they both had stepped inside. She flinched a little as the water landed on her, Loki quickly adjusting the temperature for her comfort while he paid little to no mind to it. She leaned her head against his chest, feeling the water land on her chest with a slight moan before she turned herself around for it to caress her back, wrapping her arms around his neck while his, around her waist.

‘’I’m sorry honey but.. without money, this right here won’t be possible; and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do it at my parents’ house.’’ She half teased but knew there was little to no cares when it came to Loki and sex.

‘’I’m sure your father wouldn’t be joining us in the shower so this is still possible..’’ he smirked, pulling her close so his cock could press between her thighs while her chest smooshed against his. His hands slowly traveled down to squeeze her ass, his head dipping down to capture her lips in his own while he backed them up so the water fell upon her head until it was on his, her back resting against the shower wall.

Y/N giggled before melting into his kiss, feeling how his teeth gently captured his bottom lip while his hands roamed her hips, ass and back. His cock was at full attention, trying to get as close as possible before his kisses slowly, his mind seemed to be distracted while he opted to kiss at her neck slowly and trail to her jawline. Knowing he boyfriend well enough by now, she slowly rested her hands upon his shoulders, pulling back a little to look at him.

‘’..what’s wrong?”

Loki was momentarily distracted by how the water glided down her chest, the temperature causing her nipples to react beautifully where he felt the strong urge to take one into his mouth. Yet he felt her concern and exhaled, keeping his eyes on her body rather than her eyes as his lips parted slowly to speak.

‘’darling..’’ he hesitated. ‘’..i don’t want you to go to work today..’’ he said quietly, most of him trying to vent to her about the feeling he had woken up with and the rest of him still working on convincing her to stay while his hand fell from her hip to glide between them, his fingers slowly circling her clit that had a gasp leaving her lips at first.

A shiver ran down her spin, feeling how her arousal began to grow as his fingers played her skillfully. He half debated on prolonging her orgasm, hoping to maybe throw her in a state of arousal where she’s wait willingly to fall from that delicious edge towards release, but he also didn’t want to torment her while he felt her breaths quieten while she struggled to speak.

‘’t-they’re paying me double Loki.. it’s not every day that happens..’’

‘’are we so much in a financial struggle for us to require sacrificing quality time?” he sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched what he was doing to her. How her find fought to listen and answer while her body squirmed between his and the wall behind her. Just for his own amusement while he drew her closer to climax, he slipped in a digit up to his knuckle, causing the words to fall from her mouth a moment while her nails dug into his shoulders.

‘’w-we used up more power t-this month for..’’ she exhaled, eyes fluttering as her thighs tightened around his wrist. ‘’for when I was teaching you the computer, remember? Those lessons took a bit of a chunk in our savings-‘’

‘’power should be free darling, how was I suppose to know that- never mind..’’ he shook his head. ‘’I can see what I can do for those idiot Avengers, just- you would be much more comfortable staying here today, wouldn’t you?” his voice then switched to try to allure her while he dipped his head to her neck again, waiting for her to inhale to begin speaking before he gently sank his teeth into her skin, causing her to moan to be silent again before she could gather herself once more.

As cloudy as her mind was getting with all the dirty thoughts she wanted to do with him today, she couldn’t help but ponder on his statement ‘don’t go to work today’. Why? He never had a problem with her going to work before, even with double shifts and overnights on occasion. There was little to no trouble working in a café- the most you’ll get is a Karen or two. What brought this on?

She knew he was working through his jealousy phase- how he sought to practically kill any male that would so much as look at her. Perhaps he had another dream again, something to upset him and send him in another possessive state. It was something they both had to discuss, how she was independent and required breathing room once and awhile. They were doing good, but nothing was perfect. So she figured he was just going through another wave of jealousy again by knowing there was going to be your occasional male customer enter the shop. By this, she nuzzled her cheek into his chest affectionately, as if to ease his unspoken words before she felt her body shiver and draw closer to her pleasure.

‘’you c-cant make me stay b-but-‘’ she stuttered, trying to plead with him as he stroked her painfully slowly, curling his finger before pushing into her again while his thumb took over her clit.

‘’that’s right darling.. I can’t make you stay, but I can definitely make you want to stay..’’ he murmured against her skin ‘’and if you do.. I can promise you I can make you orgasm.. all.. day.. long..’’ with each word he emphasized against her clit, stroking it with almost a ghost touch that had her move her hips forward to try to find more of his hand again.

‘’or how about this..’’ his voice got deeper, a smirk against her neck before he drew his lips up to brush against hers. ‘’you can orgasm now if you stay.. but if you go, you will be surely punished later..’’ he smirked.

‘’y-your punishments aren’t necessarily cruel..’’ Y/N whimpered, wanting release as he drew his finger out, teasing her entrance with his fingertip instead of the whole digit while his other arm held her firmly in place around her waist.

‘’oh darling I could be downright cruel if you want me to be..’’ he smirked and nipped at her bottom lip. ‘’I’m sure I could drive you mad if I edge you for.. how long are your work hours?” he threatened with a smirk.

‘’I could always pleasure myself-‘’ she tried to threaten, her words being cut off as he pushed two fingers now up her channel.

‘’darling, you haven’t been able to make yourself cum since you’ve met me.’’ He chuckled and began to pump her, focusing on proving his point while she began moaning and squirming in his hold. His arm kept her from losing her stance, knowing her legs were getting weak while she wrapped her arms around his neck for support.

‘’I always take very special care of you darling.. which is why you are going to cum for me..’’ he breathed against her neck, burying his face in her hair while the shower water hit his back. ‘’right.. now…’’

Her mind then froze, snapping half a second later that had her screaming her name and feeling her orgasm wash over her. Her body quivered and tightened, clenching around his thrusting fingers while her muscles tightened and her back arched. Loki smirked against her neck, feeling her shake as she rode out her climax, his fingers taking their time slowing down before his lips pulled down ever so slightly at what he had done.

Upon his stubbornness to prove he could have her like putty in his hands any time he wanted, he had also lost more of his leverage to keep her there. While his mind secretly ran quickly to find more of an excuse to keep her here, perhaps to sway her with another round, she gasped and pulled back a little, pressing her lips against his to momentarily pause his mind before she gently pushed him half a step back.

‘’now I’m really going to be late for work.’’ She teased.

Hope fluttered in his chest as he looked at her, feeling the water hit his chest while he gazed through it to watch her. ‘’so you’re choosing to-‘’ his words were cut short to find her turn around, hands pressing against the shower wall while offering her backside to him, a sly smirk on her lips as she looked over her shoulder with do-me eyes.

‘’you want to get yours before I leave?”

Curse this woman.. his cock twitched and felt his chest being pressed up against her back, his hand aligning his tip to her entrance before he desperately thrust up into her, hearing her gasp and her head falling back to flutter her eyes up at the ceiling.

As much as he tried focusing on trying to get her to stay, his feral side snapped while he laced his fingers with hers, his hands over hers against the wall while his hips took over and repetitively thrust into her. Her moans and sensitivity from her first orgasm had her fluttering around him, bringing him quickly to the edge he tried to make stop to have her here longer under him. the gods seemed to be against him today and upon feeling her second orgasm milk his cock, he came as well, gasping and moaning her name before sinking his teeth into her shoulder.

He stayed put, making sure she got every drop of him while she shook and panted against him before he felt himself slowly pull away, catching his breath while she turned around and gave him a  triumphant smile and kissed his cheek.

‘’gets get clean darling.’’ She secretly smirked before grabbing a bottle of shampoo beside him.

Damn..

~

‘’Nothing.. Strange has been happening over there right? Your people in charge treating you well? Customers aren’t strange in any way?’’ Loki rambled, leaning against the back of the couch while Y/N buried herself to gather her things for work.

‘’no no no, for the twelfth time..’’ she said, half distracted as she slipped on her converse and grabbed her café apron, searching for her purse next. ‘’..Loki.’’ she warned.

Loki sighed and waved his hand, her purse appearing onto the couch beside here where she reached over and picked it up. ‘’what about those.. regular customers?”

Y/N struggled a little as she thought, looking around to double check to make sure she had everything. ‘’not really-  I mean, there’s this one dude who always comes in, buys the same stuff and stays with his newspaper all day and leaves when it’s closing time, but he rarely speaks unless spoken to.’’

‘’..and you’ve spoken to him?” Loki asked, a small warning in his voice as his body noticeably stiffened, making Y/N sigh.

‘’babe, it’s my job. Can I get you anything, need a refill, stuff like that. Honestly we’ve talked about this and your jealou-‘’

‘’I know I know..’’ Loki sighed, hoping it was just jealousy and not something else as he went over and cupped her face with his hands. ‘’I just love you.. you mean the world to me and i- don’t know what I’d do if anything happened..’’

‘’then stop jinxing it.’’ She lightly tease and turn her face to press a kiss against one of his palms, her expression turning serious again. ‘’everything is fine, I promise. If it makes you feel better, I can text you when I arrive and when I’m on my way home.’’

Loki quickly nodded at the idea and kissed her forehead, his grip tightening every so slightly to not want to release her before he did when he noticed her cheeks smooshing ever so slightly, raising his palms in a surrender position ‘’alright alright- how about I pick you up today, we can go out tonight?” he offered, mostly so he could get to her sooner than later but she bought the idea by brightening up.

‘’okay, I get off at five’’ she smiled and took hold of the doorhandle. ‘’I love you, I’ll see you later’’ she grinned before leaving.

‘’okay I’ll see you-‘’ the door closed before a wave of the uncomfortable feeling washed over him.. stronger than before as Loki tensed.

‘’soon..’’

Stay tuned for part two! Tag List is open upon request 😊

Tag List: @foxherder @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz

Special Note: @cabingrlandrandomcrap Thank you for putting the idea in the comments when i was debating on a writing promp with Loki AI art holding Reader in the street Lol this request is for you :)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could you do a part 2 to the ford and Stan fic where they were childhood best friends? I loved that one so much and I need more🥰

Threats and not a happy ending. Probs not what you was expecting for a continuation.

Part 1 is here

Taglist: @bigbeebeans @doggodnoodles12 @awitchersbard @leo242564 @emtynessinmyworld

Things in gravity falls were well..weird and you weren’t talking about the townsfolk who were under the impression that you and Ford had came as a couple. Sure Ford was handsome and beautiful man but you wouldn’t go as far as to indulge in their assumptions out of respect for him as your friend.

Ford on the other hand had cheeks like ripe tomatoes as he has to remind himself to stop being so obvious with his feelings for you, all in fear that you’d soon start watching him closely for signs of romantic pining. He couldn’t help it and knew for a while that Stan also harboured similar feelings about you, given how physically affectionate he was with you and keeping you tucked into his side tightly; which was more then enough for Ford to assume that you’d favour Stanley over him.

While he maybe the more put together of the two, the one with a future ahead of him, that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to matters regarding the heart. You’d either be rich and depressed, or poor but rich in happiness, you can’t be both. So Ford decided to value to have you however he could.

Everything was fine to being with, searching the words for anomalies and jotting them down, however your relationship with Ford becomes fractured and splinters into pieces when Bill Cipher came into view. You told him that day in the cave that the paintings on the wall were warnings, cautioning you both to avoid this triangular being at all costs but Ford didn’t listen to you and summoned him regardless. Your heart broke because this was the first time Ford didn’t listen to your council, blatantly ignored it as though your words meant little to now now, which was a stark contrast to the boy who use to hang on to every word you spoke.

During this rough patch as Ford was growing closer to Bill. You on the other hand were becoming distant and reaching out to Stanley, telling him everything that has been happening since you moved to Gravity Falls in a series of letters and phone calls. You only stopped reaching out when Bill -possessing Ford- held a knife to your throat and warned you to reach out to Stanley again and see how Ford would like it upon seeing that he had gone mad from isolation, and killed his own childhood sweetheart in cold blood as a result.

You didn’t think you’d ever hear such things come out of the mouth of your beloved friend but it terrified you and ever since you stopped reaching out to Stanley, he grew worried that something had happened to you. So he made sure to come to Gravity Falls as fast as he could for you, not Stanford.

‘Y/n sweetie are you alright!’ Stanley exclaimed as he saw your frightened face and immediately opened up his arms to you to burry yourself in. ‘Hey it’s okay, just say the word and I’ll get you out of here okay sweetheart?’ He whispered again your head as you clung to his jacket tightly.

‘I’m scared.’ You told him and it broke his heart to hear you say those words as he promised to keep you safe. Stan felt like he was to blame as usual, but couldn’t help but feel anger towards Ford for making you feel unsafe and scared. So when Ford came out of the shack to find you in his brother’s arms, Stanley tightened his hold on you and glared at his brother, who reciprocated the glare. Ford knew that things haven’t been…the best as of late between the two of you ever since the cave and he felt guilty over that, but seeing you in Stan’s arms only strengthened his fear that due to his obsession with the supernatural, it has ultimately pushed you into seeking comfort from someone else. His own brother to be exact.

Ford hated it more so than anything because while he was smart, he severely lacked a social life that Stanley excelled at beyond him, he could easily comfort you without getting awkward about it unlike him, who didn’t even stop to think how his obsession was affecting you; not even once and yet he claimed to harbour romantic feelings for you, what a joke because how can he love you when he failed at even the most simplest of mundane things.

‘Y/n I-‘ he tried to take a step towards you but you were quick to burrow your head further into Stanley’s shoulder.

‘I think you’ve done enough don’t you Stanford.’ Stanley replied, ‘you’ve gone and scared them with your obsession.’

Ford pales. You? Scared of him? Oh gods what has he done. ‘ I didn’t mean to.’ He trails off, not knowing how to fully explain himself.

Stanley scoffed. ‘I trusted you to keep them safe, happy and healthy but here they are in my arms scared as anything! What did you do!’

‘I don’t-‘

‘Not a good enough excuse Stanford.’ Stan snapped as he positioned you behind him, putting his jacket over you when he noticed that you came running to him in less than weather appropriate clothes, uncaring that he got cold in the process as he kissed your forehead like he did when you were teenagers and he needed to reassure you. ‘You’ll be okay, just stay as far away from here as you can.’ He whispered before looking at his brother.

‘Just please come and help me.’ Ford cried out to his brother and you. ‘I don’t have time.’ He then looks down at his bloodied knuckles and you couldn’t help but think of the other heinous things Bill had done to Ford, but you were too scared to look him in the eyes without seeing bill threatening you.

‘Fine but keep them out of your shit.’ Stanley said as he gestured towards your frightened form and Ford agreed as you grasped Stanley’s arm.

‘Don’t.’ You whispered. ‘Stanley don’t you dare go in there please I’m begging you.’ Your cries broke Stanley’s heart as he brought you into his arms again to calm you.

‘I’ll be okay sweetpea, I’ll come back and we can leave this town and get as far away as you want.’ He promises you but deep down you knew this wasn’t going to be true and soon enough you were right, Ford was pushed into the portal and Stanley went back on his word to rebuild the portal to get him back, all the while you decided that your time in gravity falls had come to a close and left within the night.

[achilles-rage]

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 18

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: you finally finish your assignment and talk about the upcoming holiday break.

word count: 3.1k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: believe me when i say i was not planning for this chapter to go the way it did. but it’s fine it was hot<3 i also kept the holiday reader celebrates ambiguous to keep it inclusive, so hopefully i can keep it going being nonspecific lol, enjoy<3

warnings: smut, plus size!reader, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

While Evan put up a fight at first about accepting your help, he quickly got over it. You kept trying to reassure him that you want to help, that you want him to heal as well as possible, even if you have to do things for him. He didn’t listen at first; he didn’t want to be a burden; he didn’t want you to be annoyed with him or feel like you had to help him. But still, you continued to care for him with a smile on your face, and soon enough, he started to love how much you were doting on him. It made him feel important, loved.

It’s almost exhausting when he’s finally used to you doing things for him, and you’d be a little upset if he wasn’t so cute with his little pouty lips and puppy dog eyes. 

“Princess, can you get me some more water?”

“Princess, can you get me a sweater?”

“Princes, can you…?”

You’re almost certain he’s exaggerating his injuries by now, as his concussion is gone and his ankle has been healing for a couple of weeks, but how can you say no when he asks you to stay with him for a little bit longer? You love being with him, and you love taking care of him, so it makes sense to spend most nights at his place rather than going back to your apartment.

You’re at his house again, both of you sitting on his bed as you work on the final touches of your assignment. You’re happy to finally be done with it, although you have this weird feeling in your chest that once your assignment is handed in, you won’t have any reason to see Evan. You know your worries are unnecessary; you’re dating, and he seems very content in keeping you around all the time, but you feel that minuscule voice in your head telling you what you know isn’t true. 

You look out his bedroom window, smiling as you see the soft blanket of snow covering his front yard, the sunset shining brightly off of it and making you excited for the quickly approaching winter break. It’s already December, and you can’t believe how quickly the semester has passed. A couple weeks off and finally able to spend some time with your family? You couldn’t imagine anything better. Especially for the holidays.

“What are you doing for winter break?” you ask as Evan types away on his computer. He looks up at you after a moment, his fingers stilling on his keyboard. His expression almost looks upset, but he quickly covers it with a small smile.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably stay here; hang out with some of the guys on the team that aren’t going home either.” he tells you, his voice oddly monotone. You know he’s not especially close to his parents, but you didn’t know it was bad enough for him to not go home during winter break. He’s definitely holding his emotions back right now, and it makes your heart clench to think about him alone during the holidays, with no loving family to go home to.

“Your parents don’t want you to go home?” you ask, but you already know the answer. He shrugs, giving you a soft “I don’t think they care” as he looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. Sadness fills your eyes, and you let out a quiet exhale. How can his parents not want to see him?

“What about your sister? I’m sure she wants to see you.” you try to reassure him, but you can see that your words cause sadness to fill his eyes as he shakes his head. You reach over and grab one of his hands, which pulls his gaze from his lap to your face. 

“You can’t be alone for the holidays.” you whisper. You can feel the question on the tip of your tongue, and while you know it may be a little weird to ask, it feels like the words are fighting their way up your throat.

“I’ll be alright, princess. It’s not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” he tells you with a shrug, trying to mask his sadness with a reassuring smile. You tilt your head to the side as you look at him, frowning. You feel the words slip from your mouth before you can stop him; why is he the one reassuring you right now? You should be the one telling him that he shouldn’t have to be used to that. That he deserves to feel loved all the time, but especially around the holidays.

“Why don’t you come home with me for the break?” His eyes widen at your words, and for a moment, so do yours. You know it’s probably too early for that kind of thing; he’d be meeting your entire family, for God’s sake, but you can’t imagine him sitting here alone while everyone else is with their families.

“You want me at your parents’ house for the holidays?” he asks in disbelief, although he can feel his heart pounding at the thought. He absolutely loves the idea of meeting your parents, and spending a few weeks in your hometown; learning even more about you.

“I’m sure they’d love to meet you. I know my mom does.” you tell him a bit sheepishly. You’ve told your mom about him already, although you’re not as close to her as you once were, you still talk to her fairly regularly.

“Your dad doesn’t?” he asks you curiously, using the hand holding yours to pull you towards him. You get up onto your knees and crawl across the bed, then straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his neck loosely.

“I haven’t told him. Not sure how he’d react.” you say with a shrug, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. He hums softly, and although he’s a little nervous about your answer, he also feels an overwhelming urge to prove to your father that he’s good for you.

“Yeah? Tell me about him, so I know what to expect.” You lean back, looking at him with an unsure smile, disbelief in your eyes. 

“You’ll come?” you ask, your smile widening when he nods. You laugh softly and lean in to give him a chaste kiss, but he quickly deepens it, his hand moving to your jaw and tilting your head slightly. You smile into the kiss, and let him continue to kiss you for a moment, one of your hands making its way into his hair while his other hand moves up and down your thigh.

“So, tell me about your parents.” he speaks after he pulls away, looking up at you with a gleam in his eye. He loves the way you look sitting on his lap, lips puffy and eyes in a slight daze. He thinks it’s adorable that even after the countless times he’s kissed you, you still always pull back with wide eyes and a soft smile, almost like you’re surprised he’s kissing you.

“Well, my mom will love you, so you don’t have to worry about her much. I think she’ll just be happy I’ve finally brought someone home. My dad’s sort of protective, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s a firefighter, and he’s an extrovert, so all you have to do is ask him about his job, and the heat will be off of you for hours.” you explain to him, laughing softly as you explain your dad’s tendency to talk about his job. He’s always wanted to be a firefighter, and he loves the job, so it’s become a joke between you and your mom about how quickly he can change the subject to work during conversations with anyone that will listen. 

Evan hums softly, nodding as he listens to you. He laughs along with you, feeling his nerves settle slightly as you tell him how to get on your dad’s good side. He can’t believe he’s agreed to this so quickly; a few months ago, he would never have pictured himself being introduced to a girl’s parents. But now, with you, he feels both excited and like his heart is about to stop from his nerves.

“You think he’ll like me?” he asks a bit nervously. You smile, shrugging as you think about it. You’ve never introduced a guy to your father, so you’re really not sure how he’ll react. While you want to reassure Evan, you don’t want to give him a false sense of hope. 

“I like you. I think he’ll see that. He might just have to warm up to you.” you tell him after a moment of silence. He nods again at your words, licking his lips as he averts his gaze from yours, beginning to think about it maybe a little too much. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. He’ll probably just want to make sure you’re a good guy. It’s not like he’ll find out you’re, like, a murderer or something.” you tease in a low voice, giving him a cheeky smile. You want to calm his nerves; you can see the wheels turning in his head. He chuckles as his eyes refocus on you, and he pulls you in by the back of your neck, lips level with your ear.

“Maybe not, but I definitely wouldn’t want him to find out what I’ve done with you, how I think of you most of the time.” he rasps, and you feel your cheeks grow hot. 

“Yeah? What are you thinking about right now?” you get out, your voice just above a whisper. Although your words are teasing, your stomach is filled with butterflies. Even after months of being with him, there’s always a split second that you forget you’re not still the shy, inexperienced person you were before.

“I’m thinking about taking you in your childhood bedroom. Your parents in the other room. Having to put my hand over your mouth to keep your quiet.” he says, nipping at your neck between sentences. You bite your lip, feeling a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re crazy if you think my dad’s gonna let us share a room.” you tease softly, tilting your head back as he continues to kiss your neck. He chuckles against your skin, which causes you to shiver as his hot breath hits your neck.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” he whispers in your ear, then continues his trail of kisses down your neck. You roll your eyes, giggling softly, but it’s cut short when you feel Evan’s hand dip below the waistband of both your leggings and your panties, and move straight to your core.

“You’re so wet already. You like that idea? Having to keep quiet for me?” he says in a cocky tone, looking up at you. You bite your lip as your hips buck against his hand instinctively, trying to gain more friction as his fingers ghost against your clit.

He chuckles as he feels your hips move, but doesn’t tease any further. He pushes a finger into your dripping cunt, pumps it into you a few times, then adds another. You mewl softly, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss, which he happily returns. His thumb finds your clit after a moment, and he groans as he feels you clench around his fingers with a soft moan.

“You’re so good for me, princess. Always so good for me.” he says against your lips, then curls his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You tilt your head back with a whine, rolling your hips as you feel the familiar feeling growing in your belly.

He increases his movements when he sees your face contorting in pleasure, knowing you’re approaching your high, but you stop him before you can get there. You pull his hand away with quick, albeit reluctant, movements.

“Need to feel you.” you whisper in an almost pleading tone, and that’s all it takes.

He grabs your hips and flips you over onto the bed, then moves to kneel in front of you. He reaches for your leggings and makes quick work of pulling them and your panties down your legs, you lifting your hips off the bed to help him out. He makes you sit up once your bottoms are discarded, and pulls your knit sweater over your head, not even bothering to take your bra off before his hands are pulling on his shirt. Once he’s taken his clothes off, he’s on top of you, using one arm to hold himself up, and the other pumping his cock a few times before moving the tip over your slick folds.

“Please.” you beg as you look up at his face, pupils blown and lips turned in an almost-pout. He licks his lips as his eyes move up from your cunt to your eyes, smirking. He doesn’t waste any more time, and he sinks into you with a breathy groan. His head falls to the crook of your neck as he buries himself to the hilt, feeling you stretching around him so perfectly. 

“Oh my god.” you whine as your hands find his shoulders. Your nails dig into his skin as he starts to move, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his size. He fits so nicely inside of you, but you’d be lying if you said there’s not a second when he first pushes into your dripping cunt where you think that you’re too full, that you won’t get used to the feeling of all of him.

“That’s it, princess. Let me hear you.” he drawls. He picks up the pace as he begins to kiss down your neck, making sure he leaves light spots around your collar bones and tits. He loves marking you, but the last time he marked your neck, you got mad that you weren’t able to cover it up easily, so now he leaves them in places for his eyes only. 

You let out a shuttered cry when his fingers find your clit again, and your nails dig into his back more harshly, which makes him groan in a mix of pain and pleasure. He loves to be marked by you too, loves having reminders of you on his skin. He leans back to look into your eyes again, and he almost smirks when he sees you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body moving with each thrust. He looks down at your soft tummy and chest and he moans again. He loves seeing your tummy move as he fucks you; almost as much as he likes to fill your belly with his seed.

“Keep making noises like that and I won’t last long, baby.” he teases, then meets your lips in a deep kiss. His hips move in rough thrusts as his fingers circle your clit, and you know that you’re not going to last long either.

“Feels so good.” you rasp against his lips, and he smirks as he pulls back.

“Yeah? You like that, princess?” he asks in a cocky tone, feeling his high quickly approaching as he looks down at your fucked out expression. All you can do is nod as you feel the pit in your tummy growing, your words coming out in incoherent babbling.

With a few more thrusts, Evan is right on the edge, but as he’s about to pull out, you wrap your legs around his waist. He raises a brow as you look up at him, soft pleas escaping your lips.

“Come inside me. Evan, please.” you get out, keeping your legs firmly locked around him. He groans, trying not to cum right then and there. The way you say his name makes his head spin, and soon enough, he’s nodding, his hips snapping against yours with increased fervor.

“You want me to fill you up? Huh, princess?” he asks, leaning in to whisper in your ear. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and you know he’s almost there.

“Please. Fill me up.” you plead, your back arching off the bed as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.” he grunts in your ear, and after a few more thrusts, you feel his hot cum hitting your insides. This, paired with his fingers ghosting over your clit causes you to fall over to the edge with a high pitched squeal, clenching around him as your vision goes blank. You squeeze your eyes shut as your body goes stiff, your hands still firmly on his shoulders.

“There you go, princess. God, you’re gorgeous.” he whispers against your skin. He slows his hips to a stop, staying inside of you for a minute or two as you both catch your breath. He moves his head down to the valley of your breasts, pressing soft kisses all over the skin not covered by your bra as he stays lying on top of you, and you hum happily.

After a few minutes, he finally pulls out, groaning at the sight of his cum dripping down your soft skin and onto his sheets. He grabs a towel from his closet and cleans you off carefully, pressing kisses on your plush belly as his hands moves, and once he’s done, he crawls back into bed beside you and pulls you in to lay your head on his chest.

“We can’t do this at my parents’ house.” you tease as you lay your cheek against his chest, and you smile when you feel the rumble of his laugh ripple through his chest under you.

“No? Don’t think you can keep quiet?” he replies in a similar tone, squeezing your shoulder as he holds you tightly against him. 

“I’m more worried about you.” you tell him in a serious tone. He can hear the smile in your voice, but he still rolls his eyes as he scoffs.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” he says in a quiet tone, voice trailing off as he looks up at the ceiling. 

If you’re really serious about not doing anything for two weeks, he thinks he’ll go crazy. He’s been able to have you pretty much anytime he wants for the past few months, and imagining you at your house, forbidden fruit dangling in front of him with your father around, he knows it’s going to be torture for him.

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[cuubism]

last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

--

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

--

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

--

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first. 

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow part 36

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 33, part 34, part 35

Steve opens the door for them before they even have a chance to ring the bell. With a large smile meant just for Eddie. They make their way through the door, Eddie immediately in awe about the height of the ceilings, for some reason. They two of them talking, if that’s all they’re doing, instead of making their way to the welcome party.

Wayne gets it. Eddie’s out of the hospital, it’s big news. But there are other people here waiting to see him.

Like the boy standing in the middle the hallway with tears forming in his eyes. Who’s waited for this day since the moment Eddie got hurt. To know that he is really alive. And will continue to be alive.

“Aw, taking pity on me, are you, Steve?” Eddie teases, making Wayne want to groan.

“Shut up.” A great retort, really.

Wayne clears his throat. Breaking the two of them out of the little bubble they’ve formed. He nods his head down the hall, making Eddie finally see Dustin.

No matter how much Wayne is happy to see his boy out of the hospital. Walking. This moment isn’t for him. It’s for Dustin.

“Hey, Henderson,” Eddie breaths out, relieved.

“You’re here,” Dustin says so softly Wayne can barely hear it. But it’s enough that his own tears find their way to his eyes.

Eddie makes his way over to Dustin. Just barely wincing with the pain, but not complaining about it. He’s got other things on his mind in this moment. He balances himself on his crutches just enough to pull Dustin into a hug. Careful to not put all of his weight on the kid.

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers. “I’m here.”

Wayne blinks away the tear that wants to fall down his cheek. Sparing a look at Steve and seeing he’s in the same boat. Somehow in agreement that this moment isn’t for them to ruin. They could hold off for the time being.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” Eddie asks when Dustin pulls back. “And a seat, I can only stand for so long.”

Dustin snorts, wiping his cheeks. “In the living room. They’re really happy to see you.”

Eddie motions for Dustin to lead the way. Following him down the hall and into the living room. Steve and Wayne hang back. Letting their moment be their moment.

Someone knocks on the door, Steve turning around to go answer it.

“Sorry, are we too late?” Nancy asks before stepping in. Robin close behind her.

“No, you’re fine. He just got here.” He looks behind them looking for someone else. “I thought you said Jonathan was going to come?”

Nancy makes a pained face. Starting to say something but Robin beating her to the punch. “He’s avoiding her.”

“It’s not like I blame him,” Nancy defends. “I did break up with him. We’re not going to be friends again that fast. How long did it take up to be friends after we broke up?” she asks in Steve’s direction.

“Almost two years,” he deadpans.

Nancy gets a partially defeated look. “See, we’ll get there eventually.” She turns toward Wayne, hiding the shock that he was standing there the whole time. “Hi, Mr. Munson. It’s great to see you again.”

“Please, just call me Wayne.”

“How did things go at the hospital? Was it all taken care of?”

Wayne nods. “Yes. They came around in the end.”

It was a relief, really, to see the bill come out with zero. All Wayne had to do was sign the papers and set up Eddie’s follow up appointments. His twice a week physical therapy appointment. Get the prescription for his pain killers. Then, they were one their way.

“Good.”

Someone calls Steve from the living room. All of them migrating to the living room. There’re so many voices in that room, Wayne doesn’t know which conversation to pay attention too. What he ends with, though, is the one that Eddie’s in. Talking about the game he loves with the kids. One of them there he doesn’t recognize, but that’s not really surprising.

Sometime later, the bell rings and Steve comes back with an armful of pizza. Setting them along the kitchen island with sodas. Yelling at the kids to use a plate and to eat in the kitchen instead of the living room.

Wayne can’t stop looking at the smile on Eddie’s face. It’s like he looks alive again. Out of the hospital and back to himself. Goofing around with the kids and making jokes. Trying to make it look like he isn’t tripping over his crutches. Still getting used to walking with them.

A smile forms on Wayne’s face. The muscles straining just a bit. Like he forgot how.

Eddie catches his eye. Brows furrowed before he realizes why Wayne’s smiling. For a second, their smiles match before Eddie’s attention is brought away again.

“Steve,” Dustin asks as the rest of the kids migrate back to the living room. An argument about movie choices ensuing. “Do you think I could stay over tonight?”

Steve thinks about it for a second before shrugging. “I guess so. Just check with your mom first.”

“She already said it was ok,” Dustin smirks. Going back to the living room with the rest of his friends.

“Of course she did,” Steve sighs. Going back to cleaning up the dinner.

Robin, Nancy, and Wayne hang back in the kitchen to help clean up. The leftovers get consolidated to one box and placed in the fridge. The plates get washed and put away. They make no move to leave the kitchen. Staying in the quiet instead of the chaos in the other room.

Steve pulls out four beers and hands one to everyone. They fall into casual conversation. Or, the three of them do. Wayne just holds back. Not much of a talker right now.

Eddie comes in from the living room a half hour later. Sitting next to Wayne at the island.

“Can I get one of those?” he asks.

“Depends,” Steve answers before Wayne can outright refuse. “How much and what pain medications are you on right now?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Sorry for trying to keep you alive.” He gives Eddie a once over. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I love them, don’t get me wrong, but they can be a lot all at once.”

“You have no idea,” Robin adds. Leaning halfway across the counter.

Nancy tosses her empty bottle into the recycling. “They’ve always been that way. And then they kept adding more people to the group. I can sometimes here them from my room. When they’re in the basement.”

Eddie winces. “Jesus.”

“No one would judge you if you wanted to turn in early. You’ve had a long day.” Steve hands Eddie a coke since he can’t have any alcohol.

“I might. The doctors woke me up at, like, six this morning for some test to make sure they could discharge me. Been up since then.”

“That’s not that early,” Nancy says.

Wayne snorts. “Maybe for you. Ed will sleep forever if you let him.”

“Like you’re not the same way.” Eddie jabs his elbow into Wayne’s arm.

“Have you seen your room yet,” Robin asks. “Dustin was micromanaging like crazy to make sure it was to your liking.”

“Really?” Eddie has a soft look on his face. “I can’t wait to see it then.”

“He’s staying the night, by the way. If that’s ok with you.”

Eddie yawns. “Yeah, that’s fine. Mind showing me where this room is. I’m beat.”

Steve sets his beer bottle on the counter, waiting for Eddie to stand. Leading him to his room with Wayne in tow.

“This is it. And the bathroom is the door right across from that.”

Eddie turns the handle, stepping in before looking at the posters on the wall. He stops for a moment, looking around. A breath of relief escaping when he finally steps all the way in. Looking like he’s back in a space that’s him.

“They did a good job.”

“Yeah, they did. Ask Dustin about it tomorrow, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it.”

Eddie nods. “I will.”

There’s an awkward silence for a second before Steve starts talking again. “Just a few things I forgot to mention. If you’re going to smoke in the house, do it near a window, but I’d appreciate it if you took it outside. And don’t play music too loud, it triggers my migraines.”

“That all?” Eddie takes a step toward Steve. A playful tone lilting his voice.

Wayne is already getting sick of this.

“Yes,” Steve stutters out. “Just, uh, let me know if you need anything.”

Eddie nods. Reaching out and pulling Steve into a hug. “Thank you for this,” he whispers. “You really have no clue what it means to me.”

Steve returns the hug, tentatively.  “It was the least I could do.”

“That is an understatement, and you know it.” Eddie pulls back, clapping Steve’s shoulder gently before letting go.

“Have a good night,” Steve says on his way out.

Robin is in the hallway now, giving Steve a look. He sighs. “Not now.”

Wayne goes into Eddie’s room to ignore whatever that was going to be. “You going to be alright in here?”

Eddie sits down on the bed. Sighing in relief that he’s not putting weight on his legs. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, my room right above yours. So, if you need anything, yell or something. I might hear it.”

“I will.”

Wayne nods. Just standing in the room. Not quite knowing if he’s ready to leave it. Eddie rolls his eyes, extending his arms.

“Come on, old man.”

With a chuckle, Wayne leans down and hugs his son. They were never huggers, the two of them. Never needed to be. They knew they loved each other and showed it in their own ways. But Eddie is finally home after almost dying. He’s finally getting back to himself again. Everything is returning back to the way it should be.

“You better not be crying,” Eddie jokes. “I won’t be far behind if you are.”

Wayne lets out a wet laugh. Pulling back and just looking at Eddie. “I love you, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie tries to brush it off, but tears gloss over his eyes. “Love you too.”

“Have a good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Heading back to a party that’s dying down. Feeling part of something much larger than he was expecting. A giant family that he’s now roped into.

Who would have guessed that?

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[sagekiosk]

🐍🐙🏹

Jamil, Azul, Rook x Reader — Yandere — Angst — TWST

You guys ; NOOOO SAGE,, ANGST AGAIN!?!?

Me ; you eat whats on your plate >:(( Hope this will feed you guys for the time being while I’m making the other fics, this is just a silly gift for @plumipal !! hope you enjoy plumi.

FOR THOSE WHO ARE CONFUSED ON WHATS THE PROMPT!! Check out Plumipals' yan twst tattoo au. Then this could probably more sense!

Also probably OOC??

TW;; Aww angst :((, pfft no I’m not biased w jamil, DEESSPPERATE BOYS, Jamil crying, Sad Azul, Emotionless(?) Rook, all of them hating on the tattoo, Bad grammar?, Rook watching you sleep, Rook's part is a bit short maybe.

JAMIL VIPER 🐍

That damn tattoo.. that stupid tattoo. He hates it so much, he hates it so so bad. Why? Why did you have to put that stupid thing on you?

And what’s even worse is that it’s because of HIS overblot. It’s because of him that you got that horrible mark on your wrist.

It’s all he can think about, all he can think about is that tattoo. He feels like he’s going crazy, like he’s about to overblot.

again.

He just can’t take it, he can’t! It’s always on his mind. You looked so happy, smiling, when you confirmed that you had that tattoo. You even showed it to him as if it was the greatest decision you made..

He just wishes that oh so beautiful smile was engraved in his brain. And not that horrible tattoo.

Poor Jamil, he can’t sleep at all. His eye bags are so visible under his eyes. He couldn't eat properly either, he couldn't bring himself to stand up and get fresh air. Whats even more annoying is that Kalim has been questioning if he's fine

Jamil just simply scoffed and told him he was fine. But really he wasn’t, you probably hate him don’t you? You probably despise him to the point where you don’t wanna see him.

Well actually, you don’t, he just can’t bear to see you. Whenever he does all he can focus on is the tattoo on your wrist. It pains him so bad for being the reason of it.

Seeing you would just make him cry right on the spot, he feels so worthless and horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore, so he started to avoid you. Like that was a good idea..

It just only made things worse than they were before, Jamil also came to a realization that he can’t live another day without seeing you.

Yes, he does hate the fact that he’s the reason you got the tattoo. But he also hates the fact of not being able to be with you. He wants to spend every second of his life with you.

Literally like a week later you were met face to face with a Jamil who looked so close to crying. He looked like a wreck, unlike the usual stoic and independent Jamil you’re used to seeing.

"Y/n.." he called out to you his eyes stuck on the ground.

"Jamil.." You answered him. How did it get this bad? You put your hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? I haven't seen you all week.. and now you suddenly appear in front of me looking like a mess.. no offense.”

Jamil balled up his fists, the hand that you put on his shoulder was the same hand where the tattoo was in. He hated it. He shut his eyes tightly wanting the image of that tattoo out of his brain.

"Jamil?" you called out for him once more.

Opening his eyes, now staring at you directly into your eyes. You could see the tears threatening to fall.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Y/n." he stammered "Please don't hate me."

"Jamil- why would I-"

"That tattoo.. it was because of me, its my fault isn't it? You despise me don't you." sniffling he grabs your other hand gently pushing the other one off of his shoulder.

He pulls your hand up to his face, your palm cupping his cheek. "I need you Y/n, I need you to love me as much as I do. I'm not second to those two right?" he continued tears slowly falling down his cheeks a smile creeping up his face.

It wasn’t because of happiness though.

"I'll be better, I promise, I'll make sure I change- anything you want from me, its yours. Just please.. please choose me."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO 🐙

When he first heard about the tattoo he couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it! You surely haven't marked yourself with those' idiots symbols, right?

You wouldn't.. yeah! Those rumours are just rumours. Theres a big chance they aren't true anyway. He would only believe them if he see's it for himself!

So for the first few days he was fine.. still overthinking. But he's just being paranoid! It's just a thing that.. will simply pass.

That was until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to silence those thoughts, they were so noisy. He invites you into Mostro Lounge's VIP room.

He asks about the tattoo and you confirm the rumours were true. You even had the audacity to roll up your sleeve and show it off proudly.

Fucking ouch, he felt his heart shatter at that point. He wishes that he just let those voices in his head be.

"I- I see, good to know you have.. such amazing friends." he spoke bitterly with a smile. shit- he stuttered.. hope you didn't notice it..

He clears his throat, are tears forming in his eyes? He has to hold it in.. He can't look like a loser. Not in front of you..

He asks you to leave.. which he rarely does. His excuse being that he has a lot of work to do. But actually, he just wants to lock himself up and never go out again.

When you leave the tears start flowing. His elbow on his desk, while his fingers massage his temple. The papers on his desk were getting soggy, but he doesn’t care.

He could recover those papers but it would probably take so much for you to remove those stupid tattoos. Do you hate him? He thought that you and him already made up from his overblot..

He's been stuck in his office for such a long time. He's put Jade in charge for now. He needs time for himself…

The longer hes stuck in there the more he thinks about that horrid tattoo. It's stuck in his mind, and it’s torturing him. He can't let anyone else see this. He can't allow anyone to see him as a stupid little crybaby.

He just wants to sink back into his octopot..

But then an idea pops in his head.. he should think of ways to maybe, earn your favor and get his own tattoo too. Thats the perfect idea!

He tries to make up a contract but all of his ideas go to the trash. They're all so horrible! No way you'd sign these..

They're just not perfect enough for you! Most of them seem childish.. and probably stupid. If he gave one of these to you then you'd probably see him as an idiot!

"No.. no.. no..! None of these contracts are good enough!" he crumpled up the contract he was holding it and threw it into the pile across the room.

How isn't he enough for you!? Why did you have to choose those two! He's- He's your friend too right? He'll do anything for you!

So why.. why did you just have to get a tattoo of them?

He starts crying again, how many times has he cried? He's not sure. He continues to sob covering his face with his eyes.

"Prefect would never love a stupid octopus like me.."

ROOK HUNT 🏹

He stares down at your sleeping figure, your tattooed wrist exposed right in front of him. What is that, mon amour? A tattoo?

Oh! how beautiful, why hasn't he heard you talking about it though?

Oh well, at least hes the first one to see it. He bends down smiling inspecting the tattoo closer.

It reminds him of something.. no actually, someone- hold on, Deuce and Ace?

..Did you seriously get a tattoo of them? W-well, its beautiful! The beauty of friendship is truly amazing. Your bond between Ace and Deuce is truly something!

But why did you have to mark your skin with those symbols though? Couldn't it be something better? Like his name, or maybe something that reminds you of him..

He's your friend too isn't he? So why didnt you get a tattoo for him too?.. He's done so much to make you happy!

He's always tried to keep you safe too.. And to always give you gifts and appreciate for the things you have done when nobody did.

So why didn't you get a tattoo of him too?

Yes he knows! Ace and Deuce have been there longer than him.. But he could treat you better than they ever could..

...

he isn't sure how to feel about this.

So for that night he leaves early going back to pomefiore.

For the next few weeks you notice that Rook has been really silent. You dont feel like anyone's watching you either.

You haven't heard Rook's praises about love in a while either.. so something must be wrong with him. You invite him to Ramshackle so you could help him cheer up.

Rook is oh so grateful, he would be singing praises about your generosity if he wasn't so down at the moment. Rook needs you. Rook wants you to like him to the point you'd get him a tattoo of him also.

Rook finds himself laying his head on your lap his arms wrapped around your waist while kneeling on the ground. You gently run your fingers through his soft silky blonde hair.

Rook sniffled and looked up at you, and you could see a single tear form in his eye.

"My heart yearns for your favor, mon amour. I wish to be as loved as much as you love Monsieur Heart and Monsieur Spade. But It seems that you haven't noticed that yet." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You tilted your head to the side slightly. You didn’t hear him clearly and ask him to repeat what he said.

He would’ve, but he just doesn’t feel like answering so he looked away from your eyes. You understood and went back to patting him gently.

He takes a deep breath in burry his head back into your stomach. "You’re so cruel, yet I still love you. The things I do for love." The things he does for you. He would do anything for you.

"I've never let anyone see me in this vulnerable state.” You’re so cruel, but he will still love you. No matter what, he will wait for you to love him back.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

BAM DONE. I had a little fun writing this honestly, silly little break. Thanks for reading up to this point. Sorry for the grammatical errors..

[peoniesnro]

In Another Universe

#7. GOOD FUCKING BYE!

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe (duh)/ kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings- Language/SMUT- Making out/ Dirty talks/ Grinding/ Dry Humping/Cuming in Pants/ Oral (M.Receiving)/ Fingering/ Public sex (kind of)/ Word 'slut' and 'whore'/ Angst toward the end/ INFIDELITY

Word count- 16k (I'm not sorry anymore.)

a/n- So, this on took so long. But I hope it's worth the wait. I worked so hard on this one genuinely hope you'll enjoy. Thakyou so much for reading.

Taglist?

Chapter Index

Previous - Next

Cold beams of sunlight are seeping through the beige curtains of the cottage room. Creating dappled patterns on the wooden floor. Your cheek is pressed against Jimin’s chest. Eyes wearily staring at his laptop screen. This is a very stupid idea. Agreeing to stay awake another day. Especially, when you’re drunk. At this moment, you want nothing but to sleep the exhaustion away. You’ve drunk enough water to sober up. Since neither of you were hungry, decided you’ll wait till the morning. A good shower refreshed you. Yet you and Jimin are still slightly drunk.

When he asked you to stay. Asked you to pretend that this is normal and keep being insane. You’ve thought he was going to continue. Continue from where he stopped. Make you cum again and again. But the moment he just dragged you inside your room, he had insisted you to take a shower. Then he did the same. From that very moment this is what you’ve been doing. Watching some interesting and intriguing drama. But no matter how intriguing the drama is, you’re a little bit disappointed. No, you’re deeply disappointed.

Why? Why isn’t he doing anything?

True, he is holding you close. You’re entangled with each other. His hand is curled around your figure. Drawing mindless patterns in your forearm occasionally. Still, that is it. It’s quite weird to be honest. Everything is weird anyway. You should feel guilty. And you do. But the sensation of his warm body and the beating of his heart make that guilt wash away. There’s an elephant in the room. Too large to be ignored. Funny how you both keep ignoring it. You convince yourself that it’s okay. You agreed to pretend this is normal for a day anyway. The thing is, however, that you thought that normal would be fucking each other’s mind out. You hoped you two would be satiated and no longer will be drooling at each other. As much as how wrong it still is, you thought it would at least put an end to the mess.

Then, here you are. Oddly wrapped in one another’s embrace. How strange.

You jump when Jimin takes away his hand from your forearm and places it in your cheek. Even after being this way for few hours, his hands are still a little bit cold. He rubs your cheek affectionately.

“You’re not sleepy, are you?” Mumbles into your hair. You shake your head without raising it. “Are you too tired? Do you wanna sleep? We can sleep if you want to. You don’t have to stay awake if it’s too hard.” Asks again. Worry etched in his voice. Makes you snort. Your heart is swelling, nonetheless. Throughout your time watching this, you really didn’t watch the drama. You more of talked and talked about many things. So, you were not sleepy. That and the uncontrollable beating of your heart. Your body and mind were restless. Now, though, your heart is calming down. Your body is starting to relax.

“I’m fine Park.” You mutter into his cozy hoodie. Lazily. Stifling a yawn. Making Jimin’s chest rumble as he chuckles at that. He pauses the drama playing on the screen. You let out a noise of protest. Not that you really want to watch it, but the protagonist is about to uncover the truth. Jimin doesn’t give a fuck about it, however. Closes the device and puts it aside. Fumbles around, making you sit up straight. He follows, leaning against the headrest. You whine. There’s no ounce of strength left in you. You don’t even want to lift a finger. But then, he slips his hand under your thigh, pulls it over his lap. Manhandling you to straddle his lap. Suddenly, you’re not tired anymore. Your droopy eyes are all wide now. Heart is back to thumping madly, making your breath hitch. You gasp.

“Jimin.” Mumble as he settles you comfortably on his lap. Knees pressing onto the mattress from either side of him. You didn’t really bring any clothes. Everything you packed was Liya’s. Hence, you’re wearing Jimin’s clothes. Yet again. Sweats and a T-shirt. Cozy. Smells like him. Drive you insane. You’re a fucking pervert after all.

Jimin hums in answer as he nuzzles his nose against yours. Wraps his arms around your waist and brings you impossibly closer. Flushed against him. Places his chin on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Asks the same thing for the millionth time now. This time in your ear. Voice low. Doesn’t wait for your answer when he starts to press his lips onto your neck. It’s okay to let him know it feels good now. So, you moan. A breathless one. Pathetic. A single touch is enough to get your head spinning. You’re certain he knows that. Of course, he does. Knows exactly what he is doing when his kisses turn into little sucks and nibbles on your skin. Focusing on the spot that gets your toes curling.

Finally!

“Are you sure baby?” He starts rubbing your back, all the while keeping his lips on you. You whimper. Your own hands clinging on to him for your dear life. One on his shoulders and the other on the back of his neck.

“I’m okay Jimin…” You want to say more but he is making you rock your hips now. His hands slipping inside your T-shirt. Touching your bare back. His touches feel so good. Better when he drags his hands to your front. Starting to fondle with your breasts. Nipples are already hard and aching. He massages them softly, with both of his hands, occasionally circling the nipples with his thumbs. You pull away from his body a little bit. Only enough to face him and find his lips on yours. Feel a little bold now. Are eagerly rocking your hips, dragging your clothed cunt over his hardening length. Can feel it hardening against you. How good that feeling is. Jimin kisses you back eagerly. Instantly sneaking his tongue inside and lapping against yours. Turning the kiss into messy and sloppy. Heated. Working against you seamlessly.

You hate the layers of clothing you have. Want to feel everything. To think about it, you’ve came every time; he never has. He has seen everything of you. You haven’t. You think that’s beyond being unfair. You pull away, tugging at his hoodie.

“Take it off, please. Wanna see you.” Plead against his mouth. Jimin let’s out a dark chuckle.

“Gosh, I love how you’re so whiny when you’re turned on baby.” His voice is so dark and teasing. Gives you goosebumps all over your skin. It’s fine if he loves it since you love how he gets you so pliant with a single touch. Jimin complies with your plead. Pulls his hoodie over his head in one swift motion. You’ve seen him shirtless before. Yet, the moment his bare chest and abs are revealed, your breath catches in your throat again. Forcing you to press your already soaked pussy hard on his shaft. You both moan at that. Jimin chuckles through his moan. Throws the piece of clothing away, eyes watching you. Amused. Glinting. Your eyes roam over his honey skin. Have no idea what you should do first. He makes the decision for you. Grabs your wrist.

“Touch me baby.” Presses your hand, palm flat against his chest. You’re thrilled to see his breath hitches and muscles tighten under your touch. He drags your palm down, through the expanses of his chest, making you feel every inch of his skin. Toward his defined abs. Makes you touch him properly. Drags your palm down and down, forcing you to adjust your hips to make room. And then he is pressing your palm on his hardened member. Through his sweats but still you can clearly feel the way he twitched, when your hand grazed over. A strangled grunt escapes his throat as he bucks his hips into your hands. And you lose your mind. Literally. Lose it again when he makes your hand rubs over his pulsing dick.

“Feel it baby?” Jimin mutters, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. You nod, taking matters into your hand and start palming his length. Squeezing. Tracing your fingers over. Trying to figure out how big he is by just touching. Taking in the outline of his bulge. Jimin lets you do whatever you want. Just leans against the headrest and watches the way you massage his cock. Play with his cock. Biting back moans and grunts. Until his patience snaps. Making you disappointed when he swats your hand away. You grumble, which turns into a moan as he drags your clothed pussy to replace your hands on his member.

“That’s so mean. You slapped my hand.” You manage to say, pouting. He kisses that pout away.

“Sorry, but I would’ve cum if you kept doing that.” He chuckles breathlessly. Softly pecking your lips in between and making you roll your hips again. You suck in a breath at his words. Stifling a moan.

“Should’ve done that then.”

“Yeah? That would be so fucking embarrassing.” He pulls you in for another kiss. Your hips continue rolling over his.

“No…. That would be so fucking hot. B... besides... it’s n-not fair, you made me cum in my pants.” You’re losing your patience as well. Are getting needy. You want more now. The friction your sodden panties are creating against your folds are not enough. That’s why you try to press even harder each time you drag your hips back and forth.

“Fuck, Lil!” Jimin is helping you the best way he can. Controlling your movements and pressing you down hard. “So, w-what? You want me to cum in pants a-as a revenge?” Asks. Oh, you love how he is stuttering a little bit. Breathless. That’s not what you want, however. Still, when he says that with dark eyes and heavy lids, it looks like a good idea. Makes you aroused even more, if it’s possible.

“N-no, I want it b-because it’s hot.” You don’t realize you’ve picked up your speed. Both of you are breathless messes now. Humping each other like horny rabbits. Jimin laughs and then nods. Agreeing with you.

“Go on then baby. Make me cum.” Starts kissing you again like his lifeline is you. His plump lips land everywhere he can reach. Your lips. Neck. Jaw. Throat. Ears. And you reward him by keep grinding. Until you can’t take it anymore. Until your desire is uncontrollable. You start whining in his ear. Begging him to take your clothes off. Jimin instantly relents. Your top goes first, then your pants. But when you try to do the same thing with your panties, he stops you.

“Keep it.” He drags you back onto his lap. You hum in confusion when he guides you back into your rhythm. He hasn’t taken off his sweats either. Humiliating since you’re the only one who got bared into your ruined panties. He doesn’t answer you. Gives you a menace look instead. You like it. Like it a little too much since you’re into whining and pleading within no time.

“Take your sweats off Jimin.” You pull your best puppy eyes. His self-control is maddening, you hate it. He doesn’t relent this time. Asks something about you wanting him to cum in his pants. You regret saying it ever. “Oh, c’mon… please. Keep your boxers. It’s the same thing.” So, you bargain.

“Yeah? You’re that desperate?” He mocks. You nod. Pathetic.

“Ask for it nicely baby. Beg.” Says again while slightly touching your clit. It’s terrifying how he makes you do whatever he wants. Freaking terrifying how you do as he says without a single thought. Where’s your pride? See, these are the consequences of refraining from satisfying your primal needs. You’re now thinking with your cunt. Only focused on chasing that breathtaking high. So, you beg again and again when he ask you to do so. Like a good little slut. That little voice inside you, which reminds you that what you’re doing is wrong is no longer there. You’ve surrendered to sin completely.

“That’s a good girl. Let me baby.” He finally listens to you. You raise your hip, allowing him to push his sweats down his thighs. Not completely, just enough to reveal his boxers because you’re so impatient. You don’t let him take it off completely as you place your cunt over his boxers in light speed. He gasps at that. “Woah... fuck. Fuck, you’re so greedy.” Says in a shaky voice. Whimpers when you start grinding again. This feels better. Better when you can finally feel his dick part your folds. Even with your panties and his boxers it feels heavenly. You can feel him twitching beneath you. Can feel the warmth against your soaked cunt. But then like he said you’re so greedy. You always want more. That’s how you are back to begging. Asking for more.

“Jesus Lil. Thought you want to make me cum in my pants.” Jimin grunts, pushing his hips upward. Aiding you with your relentless humping. He is impressive. Really impressive to have such a self-control. Get you bit worried about your abilities when he hasn’t already fucked you in hundred different positions. Make you insecure. That’s not the case though. You know he is affected. Very much so. His face is flushed, pupils dilated, eyes still very hooded. Breathing is ragged. Panting heavily and can’t stop entangling his lips with yours for a second. His fingers are digging into your thighs so harshly that they’ll definitely leave marks. On top of everything, he is rock hard beneath you. Dick throbbing but still he has his control.

“Please hm? Jimin please…” You try again. He swears. Accidentally bite your lip harsh, the steady rhythm stumbling. See, he is a goner. Yet doesn’t play it in your way. For much of your dismay.  You are about to complain and call him a mean gremlin when he suddenly hooks a finger inside your panties. Steals your breath away that you’re certain you’re dead when he harshly pushes it aside. Your wet folds directly contact with the cotton material of his boxers. You both moan in content. The friction is harsh on your sensitive clit, but you can’t complain. Being so close to the edge. Every pleasurable drag over his throbbing bulge taking you toward your edge.

You watch in awe, as Jimin’s lower abdomen tenses. At the dark wet spot you’re forming on his underwear, together with him. He is watching too. Taking in how you madly rub your pussy on his hardness. The way you’re moaning and whimpering. The way your breasts bounce. Keeps his finger hooked inside your panties to hold it away from your way.

“I’m ruining your boxers. It’s so messy.” You mumble against his lips in a quiet whimper. He groans.

“Fuck baby… It’s better when it’s messy. I love seeing you lose control, Lil. Keep making a mess baby hm? God, I need you to keep making a fucking mess for me.” He replies breathlessly. Kisses you one time more before dipping down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. Sucks harsh and that is the last stroke for you. His name leaves your mouth over and over again as your grip on him tightens. Your thighs shaking. Closing your eyes tight as the intense pleasure explodes over you. Your orgasm hits hard. Jimin moans with you, popping your nipple from his mouth to peer at your pleasure wrecked, fucked up face. Kisses you madly.

“Lil… baby, don’t stop, keep going. I’m so fucking close. Keep going for me, don’t slow down.”

Oh, he is finally losing control. Not the way you are but you’ll take it. His words make you aroused all over again despite the hard orgasm that washed over you just now. The pleasure still lingers but it’s becoming overwhelming. Yet you’re not going to stop. Of course, you’re not. How could you when Park Jimin looks like he is floating on cloud nine. When he’s letting out breathless moans. All because of you. You’re unable to stop. So, you keep going and it doesn’t take much either. He follows you quite closely, hips jerking upward and faltering. Steady you on his lap. Presses his dick hard on your sensitive cunt. Grits his teeth.

“Fuck. Fuck Lil. Goddamn it, just like that. Shit, yes.” Curses as he lets go of your panties, making you slowly rock your hips again. Using you to ride through his high. The wet spot on his boxers expanding with his cum. Oh, how hot that is. Makes you moan again. He chuckles at that, finally stops rocking you on him. Your cunt is still on fire, and you love the wet feeling. His breathless chuckle, however, makes you embarrassed. So, you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Turning his chuckle into a quite laughter. Jimin wraps his hands around your half naked figure, bringing you impossibly close to him again. Rubbing your back gently.

“Was it hot?” Asks softly, voice still breathless and trying to calm down. You nod into his neck. “So fucking hot, Park.” Assure him through your shaky breath. He laughs again. Making you both shake.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen but…”

“But...?”

“It would’ve been better to see you, you know. Like see you, see you.” You hide your face in his neck even more. You’re still high from your orgasm that you’re rambling. Embarrassing, nonetheless. To say something like that aloud. You think he might mock you. For being extremely needy. He doesn’t. Instead, squeezes you in his hold, peppering kisses on your naked shoulder.

“Fucking hell, Spring Roll. You’re so damn hot. Did I say that before? Christ, you drive me wild.” He pulls you from your shoulders, demanding you to look at him. Not quite away from him, still keeps your mouth grazing over his. It’s your time to laugh. Roll your eyes, dismissing his compliment despite the butterflies on your stomach. Dangerous. “I’m serious. Love it when you’re needy. And I really, really want to do as you say now, but knowing Taehyung…. I’ll give you five more minutes before he barge in here.” He smirks. Molds the flesh in your ass cheeks. Slaps them slightly. Your breath is hitching again.

 “So, unless you want him to see you like this- I mean if you do, we can con─” You interrupt him by hitting his chest. Causing him to grin again. Already moving away from his lap. “No thanks please.” You mutter as you reach for your discarded T-shirt. Jimin watches you for a minute before suddenly grabbing from your ankle. You stop fumbling with the piece of clothing, turning around. Surprised. The position is awkward as he yanks you to him by your leg. Bends down slightly and his hand is reaching between your thighs. For a moment, you expect him to touch your pussy again when he grazes his fingers inside your inner thigh.

“What?” You question, confused.

“You never told me how you got this.” He shifts his gaze from your thigh to your face. That’s when you notice he is touching your scar. The scar that proved to him you’re not Liya that fated day. The sudden memory of it and Liya makes you awfully uncomfortable. Your excitingly beating heart sinks. And you don’t want to act like it’s okay to get to know each other. This, the thing you’re doing. It’s just for a day. After this day, you need to stop this and do the right thing. That’s the plan and it doesn't include anything about getting close in this kind of way. Jimin curiously inspects your face for a moment. Then probably sensing that you’re not comfortable retrieves his hand fast. A pang hits your chest. Before your brain can process what’s happening, you grab from his hand. Not letting him pull away. Smile softy at him when you answer.

“I got it while riding a seesaw. Uh… it was already broken but I rode it anyway and it cut my thigh. Stupid me.” You watch the way he watches you. That warmth in his eyes are no longer there. Smile wiped off.

Oh, fuck.

See, now, no matter how heavy it feels to remember that what you’re doing is wrong. No matter how messed up this is. You still don’t want to ruin the day. The day hasn’t even started yet. You agreed to have a day. Agreed to pretend it’s normal. And you want that, want this day to be perfect without any heavy feelings. You sigh heavily. Pulls his hand to place it where it was, on your thigh. Leans forward and catch his lips with yours. Catching him off guard. Kisses him tenderly. You’ll have day. Everything’s going to be fine after.

“Any more questions Park?” Grin into his lips. He leaves a sigh as well. You don’t know what’s going on in his head but, are glad when he grins back. Is about to ask something certainly, when a loud thud on your door makes you both wince.

“Rise and shine babies… Stop fucking and get the fuck Out...” Taehyung’s voice echoes through the wooden barrier. Followed by another knock and low curses. “Fuck my head hurts.”

You and Jimin snort at the same time.

……………………………………

Jimin glances at you from the corner of his eyes while adding radish to the simmering broth. A grin spreads across his face to see your focus on what he is doing. Legs dangling over the counter. You sway them back and forth, toes curled inside your socks. Mouth agape as you peer over at the pot. Oh, how adorable you are. And are very distracting that he can’t help but to reach you and smooch your lips now and then. Squeeze your cheeks and laugh when you click your tongue in annoyance.

“Stay focus Park.” You mutter irritably. Yet throw your hands around his neck when he stands between your legs. He knows this is not normal. Knows it’s very wrong. Knows why you suddenly looked uneasy earlier. Still, he can’t help it. He deserves a day, doesn’t he? It’s all for a day. So, he nuzzles your nose with his. “You’re too fucking distractive, Spring Roll.” Passes the blame to you. You gasp, pushing him away. Ignore his protests when you slide out of the counter.

“No. No. Don’t leave.” Jimin catches you in his grasp before you can move away though. Your contagious laughter fills the room. He never knew that just fooling around with someone can be this rewarding. How relaxed he feels right now. How content he feels to see you giggle. Especially, when he starts to tickle your sides. You thrash in hold for moment before saying you won’t leave. Admitting defeat. He slowly loosens his grip, ready to catch you if you try to run. You don’t. Snort at his skepticism but still sit back on a stool. Trying to regain your composure. He likes it better if you can sit back where you were before. But he’ll have to be happy with this. Now it’s less distracting since you’re sitting behind him. 

It's your idea to make hangover soup. It’s a given that all his friends or enemies in that case, are going to feel killer hangovers, after last night’s heavy drinking. Jimin himself is having a headache but it’s bearable. Bearable after you really made him cum in his pants. Bearable when he can hear those pretty giggles of yours. Still, you and he’ll need ways to sober up other than sleeping. There’s a day to pass after all. He could have easily made the soup for just you two, but he is feeling a little bit generous. Hence, this commotion in the kitchen. You and he are the only people who are awake despite Taehyung. Who currently is in a bathroom, throwing his guts out. Serves right for interrupting you earlier.

It takes him no more than another fifteen minutes to get the soup done. Takes the hot stockpot into the kitchen island. Feeling giddy at the sight of you excited. It’s still you two. Jimin has a strong suspicion that Taehyung went back to sleep. Maybe, he decided to spend the rest of his life inside a bathroom. Whatever that is, Jimin is happy it’s just you and him.

You hum in delight at the first taste, head whipping toward him. Eyes adorably wide. Beautifully glinting. The starry fucking night. With secrets. He doesn’t know why he wants to unravel them. Just like he wanted to know how you got that scar.

“Is it good?” Asks instead. You nod furiously. “You’re a God damn good cook Park. Jesus, marry me please.” You say noncommittally as you go back to enjoy your soup. Jimin is gaping at you, however. Knows it’s a joke but here comes those unsettling feelings. Has to shake his head visibly to shake them off, glad you don’t notice. Too immerse in your food.  You hum again and then moan. Look back at him with appreciation, when he forces himself to smile.

“I’m good at everything.” says with a shrug. Is trying to lift the heaviness in his own heart. You scoff.

“I really want to disagree─” You gulp down a spoonful of stock before continuing. In a clueless and happy mood. “But...” Smiles at him. “Maybe you are. I mean you own a fucking business. A CEO. Can cook.” Put down your fingers as to state. Gasp. “Even sing. Can you dance too? Don’t tell me you can. That make me feel so useless and talentless.” Mutter that when Jimin snorts. That unsettling feeling leaves his chest. He is about to say that he is very sorry to tell you that he loves dancing when you don’t let him.

“But seriously Park, how did you do that? I mean the business. I need motivation to finish my degree. Tell me how you did that, the inspirational TED talk.” You shift in your stool, adjusting yourself to face him properly. Jimin hates this. Not that he doesn’t want to tell you. Of course, not. The thing is he can’t tell his story without mentioning one person. He doesn’t want to think about his girlfriend right now. Not when he is cheating on her. Not when he is so fucking selfish not to care what might be happening to her at this moment. On top of all, he doesn’t want you two to be in a sour mood. He likes this. All these moments with you. Loves it and doesn’t want to ruin it. What a selfish prick he is.

Just one day. Just one.

He smiles, trying to act normally. “Ah that’s nothing. I’m not doing it alone, you know? I have those three with me. And what’s TED talk?” Shrugs your request off. You’re not to let it go that easily though. Stubborn. Annoying. Cute. Pretty. Steals his breath when you lean toward his face.

“Oh, c’mon Park. Don’t be like that. We both know you’re not someone to be humble. You’ve a very arrogant ass. This is your chance to brag. So, take it Mister.” You blow breath to his face. Fucking tease. He wants to kiss you again, but you pull away fast. Attention back on your food. “Besides, you have a fancy ass apartment, a freaking expensive car and you guys come to places like this for your vacations. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.” Add that.

Yes, everything you say is true. Only he doesn’t want to say that his apartment is not just his. Liya’s name is on the contract. No, he won’t say her name aloud. He needs to distract you. Needs a distraction for himself as well. Good thing he knows exactly how to do that. You let out a surprised gasp when Jimin reaches for your cheeks. Cups them and squeezes. Making your lips pucker. He ignores your whines of complaint as he places a kiss on your lip. “I don’t have an arrogant ass lady.” Mumbles. Keeps pecking your lips yet stops squeezing your cheeks. Just like he knew, you’re getting distracted. Start kissing him without any reluctance. Well, now Jimin is no longer trying to distract you. Instead, he is the one who is getting distracted. There’s something about you that drives him freaking nuts. Can’t control himself at all. Just a goner. No use in attempting to resist you. He gives in to you willingly, grabbing your forearm to pull you to him. Making you sit on his lap while never letting you stop kissing him. Tongues dancing in sync. Lips wet and getting messy.

Fuck, he can’t get enough either. His dick goes hard instantly, head spinning. Your mouth just slots against him perfectly. That makes him wonder what else would fit that flawlessly with you. Even the thought is making his dick twitch. He intended to do just that this morning. To bury himself to the hilt inside you. Only if his best friend isn’t a pain in the ass. He didn’t take you right on this same countertop yesterday, only because he thought it would be too tiring for you. All the drinks, preparations, dancing, singing might be taking a toll on you. Didn’t want to tire you more even before the day started. Now though, when he knows you’ll be more than willing to take him, he is slowly starting to forget his surroundings.

You are addictive simply. Even though he hasn’t taken you completely yet. The way you kiss him. The desperation in it. Your sweet moans. Your scent. The way you gasp when he kisses your neck and throat. The way you say his name when his hand cups your breast over your T-shirt. He hates that you’re wearing a bra. Not that it’ll stop him. He has a mission, which is to keep eliciting those sweet sounds from you. Pleasuring you is his biggest turn-on. How odd. This is a first. So, he latches his lips over your nipple. Through your lacy bra and your T-shirt. Wets the spot with his saliva, watching your face. You’re becoming a mess quickly. Oh, he is absolutely going to fuck you right here. How beautiful you look.

“Goddammit Lil.” He only pulls away to let you know he is equally affected. Wants you to feel sexy. To know how hard you make him. Then he is back at sucking on your nipple. Biting. Kissing. And is at the verge of bending you over the counter when─

“Yah! For fucking seriously? Are you two on some kind of pill or something? Why are you ravishing on each other like there’s no tomorrow all the time?” Jimin withdraws from you in light speed at Seokjin’s voice.

For fucks sake!

Annoyance bubbles inside Jimin as he sees his older friend standing in the doorway. It pops out instantly, however, when your mortified squeak reaches his ears. You hide your face on his neck and the wet spot on your breasts in his chest. This is embarrassing really. Yet, the best thing to do when caught is to act like it’s nothing. Less embarrassing that way. Jimin clears his throat, holding you close.

“What? It’s not my fault that you don’t get your dick wet.” Answers as casually as he can. Seokjin is obviously about to counter back when his chance is stolen.

“Oh, he definitely got his dick wet yesterday.” The thief who stole Seokjin’s chance reveals themselves to be J, as she enters the kitchen. Shoulders tilting. Jimin’s jaw drops to the floor at the same time Seokjin goes red. Even you pull away from his neck to look at Jin with your mouth agape.

“What?” You and Jimin question at the same time. Get ignored.

“For the sake of fuck J, don’t you know anything about the damn privacy and secrecy.” Jin walks to J, who is now peering at the soup.

“Well, what? It’s not like I told them what we did exactly. Don’t tell me you’re the type to be wanting to fuck a young ripe bad bitch and then keeping it a secret because you’re fucking ashamed.” J says that so quickly that Jimin almost misses it. His Hyung looks taken aback.

“Who said anything about being ashamed. It’s just that─” Jin searches for the right word. Jimin pities him. Poor man. “It’s just that, it’s embarrassing to let Jimin know about my sexual escapades.” Points at Jimin. Jimin gapes at Jin with disbelief.

“Why the fuck not?” Asks. J and you agree with him by chanting ‘exactly’. Jin looks bewildered.

“What do you think Jimin. It’s like sharing it with my mother.” Jin states. Takes a seat across from Jimin.

“That’s not so bad, I share them with my mother all the time.”  J replies. Sits beside Jimin. Now everyone is gaping at her with wide eyes. Jimin thinks it’s cute how you’ve forgotten to cover the wet spot on your chest.

“That’s super weird, J. I mean, it is, right? You don’t do that right?” You mutter in disbelief. Looking back and forth between Jimin and Jin. “Of course not.” Jimin cringes at the prospect. J is weird. Everybody is weird. Especially, his friend. Never in a million years Jimin would’ve thought Kim fucking Seokjin will be interested at someone like J. Not that there’s anything wrong with her. Simply she is the polar opposite of Seokjin. But then things happens. Just like how he is keeping you on his lap. Close to him. He and you are the weirdest.

…………………………………………………….

“You want to know how to become a potato?” Jungkook asks you as all of you are slowly walking through the snow-covered pavements of a seemingly abandoned city. There isn’t even a stray cat on the roads. Apparently, this is the plan for the day. Eating at a famous yet rural restaurant, which is supposed to be somewhere around. After parking your vehicles, Hoseok suggested walking to the restaurant but without any success yet. You’ve been strolling through these streets for over an hour now. There are suspicions arousing from the group. Suspicions of being lost. But it’s still fun. Doesn’t feel like you’ve walked for such a long time when you’ve been laughing so hard. And enjoying this to the fullest.

You nod in answer for Jungkook’s question, enthusiastically, before Jimin rudely butts in. “Why the fuck would you want to become a potato?” Walking behind you, with Taehyung who is currently trying to walk with his eyes closed. Jimin isn’t the happiest of your walking arrangements but wasn’t given another option. Taehyung is clinging to him.

“Why not? That’s fun. I’d become a rock if I could. Easy life.” Yoongi joins from the other side of you. You’re walking between him and Jungkook.

“Rock is acceptable, but a potato? Potatoes get eaten by, kids. Unacceptable.” Seokjin gives his opinion. Is walking with, now not so surprisingly with J. In front of you. Yoona and Namjoon being the people in front of them. Hoseok and Seoyeon on the lead. You blinks at Seokjin’s face when he partially turns his head to look at you. Good point. You turn to Jungkook. Gape at his face, waiting for a counterpoint. He doesn’t give that.

“I didn’t think about that actually.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. Then zones out. Probably thinking about being a potato and not getting eaten by.

“That’s a shame.” You mumble. Jimin snorts. Says how he still can’t comprehend why you want to become a potato. Yoongi starts listing million reasons as to why it’s a good idea when you abruptly bumps into Jin’s hard back. Jungkook bumping into J. Jimin into you. Taehyung into Jungkook. Apparently, the same thing has happened to Jin and J as well. They are balancing on their feet after the hard collision with Namjoon and Yoona. Cursing.

“What the fuck?” Jimin bellows, as his hands grab you. Saving you from falling down. Taehyung whines next to him. Accepting his fate and just leaning against Jungkook. Jin yells at a very innocent Namjoon making him point at Hoseok with an open mouth.

“It’s him. He stopped out of nowhere.” Namjoon looks like an overgrown bunny when he does that. Reasonable why Yoona is always giving him heart eyes.

“Would you mind giving us a warning next time Hobi? I really can’t handle having my head shaken so many times.” Taehyung finally leans away from Jungkook’s hard body. Hoseok, however, is not paying any attention. Is having a heated conversation with Seoyeon.

“We are not lost. I know where we’re going.” He mutters while turning a full circle around. Eyes glued to his phone screen.

“We passed this stupid shop for three times already Jung Hoseok.” Seoyeon seethes, pointing at the floral shop to your right. All of you look at it. You squint your eyes. Now when you think about it, you’re pretty sure that you did just that. Passed it a couple of times before. And it’s confirmed when Yoona says the same.

“Oh, yeah. I remember this one too. Are you serious Hobi? You promised me the best Samgyetang and dragged us here. I didn’t even taste the hangover soup because I wanted to save space for this one.” She whines. Gives up and falls into her boyfriend’s arms. Namjoon holds her. Pets her hair. Dramatic but sweet. “Your loss.” Jimin says, hands still holding you. Sounds a bit offended. He works hard for that soup after all. Yet, Yoona is the only idiot who didn’t try it. Her loss, indeed.

“We’re not lost at all guys. We. Are. Not. I completely trust technology.” Hoseok points at his phone before starting to turn left and right. Looks extremely comical.

“You shouldn’t sometimes though.” J voices. Very subtly but obviously letting Jin wraps his hands around her. You have to bite back the amused grin that threatens to break on your face. After all, it’s just you and Jimin who know that they are hooking up. That’s what they told you at least. You wonder how and why nobody questions them being so close. Hoseok interrupts your observations. A triumphant noise leaving his mouth. Gestures to his left.

“It’s this way everyone. I think I missed it before.” Looks elated. As if he just solves the mystery of dark matter. Already started towards the side street. Is very empty, similar to the one you’ve been rounding for all these times. Strikes as a danger to you.

“Uh… are you sure Hobi? Looks shady to me.” You express your concerns, but Hoseok doesn’t even look at you. If you haven’t mistaken, Hoseok acts like he has a problem with you. Like you’ve done something unforgivable to him. For the day, you spent with these people, Hoseok hasn’t shared more than ten words with you. Even the shared ten words are concerning the important matters. Nothing personal. Nothing friendly. Everyone starts to follow him with several protests.

“Oh good. This is how we’ll die. Should’ve made this a vlog. My last ever vlog.” Yoongi exasperates. Jungkook says something about being able to drop out of college if he dies. Is thinking very positively. You turn your head slightly to Jimin before he lets you go.

“Is Hoseok mad at me?” That’s a very genuine concern. Maybe, he has a problem with Liya. Who knows. You just want to know so you’ll not make a fool out of yourself by trying to make small friendly talk with him. Just to get rudely ignored. Just like now. Jimin’s eyes soften as you look at him curiously. Shakes his head. “Don’t mind him.” Says before letting you go. You want to disagree. Say that you need to know if there’s an issue, but Jungkook has yanked you to his side the moment you’re out of Jimin’s grasp.

…………………………………………….

You ended up in a forest. A freaking forest. Seoyeon nearly ripped Hoseok’s head off. Taehyung had to physically restrain his girlfriend from murdering one of his best friends. That made his headache worse. In the end, Jimin and Jungkook had to drag Taehyung back. It was an endless trail of complaints. Jimin swore in his life that he’ll never let Taehyung drink again. You all know that’s a lie. By the time you finally arrived at Hoseok’s very famous Samgyetang restaurant. After wandering over for another hour or so. Jimin and Jungkook are practically panting and sweating like two pigs.

“Gosh, why am I friends with you again.” Jimin breathes out, slumping against the wall. Stretching out his feet under the table where you all are sitting on the heated floor. Jungkook is pressing his flushed face on the cold table. Taehyung who has happened to sit between Jimin and you, chose to budge you by leaning against your figure. You decide to put up with that. No longer in a position to judge him. If anything, you and he are on the same boat. So is Jimin. All three of you are shameless cheaters. Sinners. So much for thinking, you’ll never be able to carry the weight of guilt. Now look at where you are. Enjoying someone else’s life to the fullest. Having the best of best orgasms in your life with that person’s five years of boyfriend. There’s a guilty consciousness, yes. But not enough to prevent you from seeking more. Absolutely shameless. Even now, you want to sit next to Jimin.

You take a long look at him. He catches that. Smiles softly at you before Hoseok interrupts you by reaching the table. Despite him vowing this place to be quite popular, only people here are your party. No other patrons. Empty. And funnily enough, Hoseok acts like he knows this place. When you inquire from Yoongi, if Hoseok has been here before, he assures you that he hasn’t. Just his cousin been a weirdo. Hoseok sits right across from you. His smile is so wide that it could light up the entire neighborhood.

“Food will be here in a minute.” He lets all of you know.

“And are you sure we’ll live after eating that?” Yoongi questions next to him. Hoseok gives him a look. “What? You said this place is popular. I can’t see anyone here. And the entire neighborhood looks shady man. What if these people are serial killers? What if they are feeding us their previous victims?” Yoongi keeps questioning with wide eyes. Several people let out whines of complaints at the last part.

“Shut the fuck up Yoongi.” Namjoon throws his beanie at him. Yoona practically cries. Says she is starving to death, and she’ll eat whatever they give her. Another series of whines rise up. Very fair. Yoongi is running your lunch. It’s not just Yoona now. You’re starving to death as well. And the last thing you want is to think that you’ve entered a horror movie and are about to become cannibals. The whines quickly turns out into an argument. Requests to keep their mouths shut and the possibilities of all of you dying throwing here and there. And the ways you would die becomes the main topic. For one thing, Hoseok looks bit uncertain after Yoongi’s suspicions. Practically smacks Yoongi across his head when he yet again explains the way they would keep their victims alive to kill at the right moment. Funny how you and him in unison ask Yoongi to keep it close. He doesn’t.

And you think it’s ridiculous how all of you ended up staring at your Samgyetang bowls with furrowed brows, after the food arrived.

“C’mon this is ridiculous guys.” J exclaims aloud. Pokes the chicken with her chopsticks. “It’s obviously a chicken.” Adds that part. Takes a look around all of your faces.

“What if they make the─” Yoongi opens his mouth.

“Oh my god! Will you stop you little piece of shit.” Hoseok bangs his fist on the table. The dishes clatter.

“Fuck you, Yoonigi!.” You agree. Hoseok meets your eye for a minute but looks away immediately.

“Guess what? I don’t give a fuck. I’m eating.” Yoona disrupts Hoseok’s tantrum. Waits for another moment and staying true to her word digs right in. The rest of you watch her eating. In pure disbelief. Jimin is the next to follow her.

“Fuck this.” Says before stuffing his face. And then one by one you all follow. It tastes like chicken gladly.

…………………………………………………….

The people- who were nice and obviously not serial killers- at the Samgyetang place let you know that the place is popular through the entire year but near the New Year’s Eve it’s not. That’s how it works apparently, without any specific reason. And the abandoned and shady city turned out to be pretty inhabited. It’s just that they prefer to stay inside. Unlike you guys who are now raiding a convenience store, where there is not much available to buy.

“Fuck I need Almonds.” Taehyung exclaims. Searching through the three shelves in this store for the fifth time now. You and Jimin following him.

“You’re not going to find Almond just because you keep searching Tae. There’s no Almond here.” Jimin picks up a pack of snacks. Hands it to you. You take it.

“Why would you need Almond?” You ask from Taehyung. “It helps me with my headaches.” He answers. Appear to be better than how he was an hour ago. “Oh! Maybe you should take some pain killers.” You suggest, watching Taehyung shakes his head. “Already did that. Not going to work.” Pouts hard. Jimin sighs next to you.

“Why did you drink that much you idiot?” Grabs by the back of Taehyung’s neck. In an affectionate way.

“Aahh... tell me about it Jimin-ah, tell me about it.” Taehyung looks heavenward. Something common for two best friends. You almost chuckle at that when Jin’s voice echoes through the small store.

“Taehyung!” You all snap your heads to where his voice booms. Taeyhung perking up instantly, leaving you and Jimin in light speed. Mumbles ‘Almond’ as he goes. And you finally chuckle, shaking your head. Turn back to Jimin. A soft smile ghost on your lips which he reciprocates.

“Are you tired?” Questions. To be completely honest, you are. But nothing unbearable yet. It’s not just you after all, Jimin hasn’t slept a wink last night either. You just know it’ll be harder with every hour passing by. For now, though, you can manage. So, you shake your head to let him know you’re not tired.

“Are you?” Ask the same thing from him. He says he’s fine. But then you change your mind. Just as an afterthought. Decide it’s better if you can rest your legs. No need to waste your energy wandering around a convenience store. Have no idea what your friends are doing. They don’t buy anything, nor do they want to leave. When you voice your need aloud, Jimin grabs your hand. “Want to go outside? Saw benches there.” Suggests to which you agree with a beat of your heart. He pays for your snack and in a minute, you’re munching on it. Sitting on a said bench beside the store.

It's peacefully silent for a moment before Jimin breaks it. “You ever been in a relationship?” Inquires suddenly. You slowly turn your head to him. Stop swaying your legs. He is asking you for another one. Just like this morning. You still don’t like it. One by one curious question, you are becoming closer and closer. It would’ve been just fine if you and he could keep your hands away from each other. Something normal a pair of friends would do. Now, though, when you had come on his tongue, made him come on his god damn pants, this is not fine. He is looking at you expectantly, however. You try to find a rough answer. Or a way to take his mind away from it.

“Couple of times, yeah.” You vaguely reply. Hoping he would let it go.

“What do you mean couple of times.” He chuckles. Awful. This is. That he wants to know you. Why would he want that. Then didn’t you want the same.

“Well, I had a boyfriend when I was in high school and then during my freshman year.”

“That’s just two times. Was any of that serious or just casual?” There’s an irritation in his voice. As if he is jealous. Ridiculous of you to think that. You want to change the subject. Want to talk about something that doesn’t involve becoming two people who are nothing more than a causal fuck.

“Does that matter Park?” You try to laugh. Just to add some lightness to your question. He shrugs. A scowl on his face. “What? I’m just curious.” States. You think you can change the course.

“Yeah? About what?” Gasp. “Do you want to know if my ex was able to make me cum on my pants? Like you did?” Well, that’s a stupid way to do that. Yet, he scoffs and turns to you with pure disbelief. “No… not at all but, c’mon you know he wasn’t.” Answers very smugly. It’s true though. But you’ll not let him know. Just prefer to have a conversation about coming in twelve different ways than him prying into your life. You scoff as well.

“Don’t be so sure Park. Maybe… he didn’t do that buut... maybe he did make me cum so hard I forgot my name.” You smirk. Followed by a raise of your brow. Jimin looks utterly offended. Gasps loudly.

“Are you underestimating my abilities? Are you saying I didn’t make you forget your own name?” Points an accusatory finger at you.

“Yes.” You say without a beat. Again, a lie.

“Wanna bet?”

“About what?”

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, snatches the packet of snacks away from you. You’re about to call him all the insulting names when he shut you up with a kiss. Open mouthed. Tongue very much involved. Leaves you heaving for breath when he pulls away. Only to make a demand against your lips.

“On my lap Lil. C’mon.” Straightens up to make space for you. You blink at his face. What is he about to do? Don’t move a finger until he grabs your wrist and yanks you to him. “C’mon baby.” Says again. So, you comply. Still very confused but intrigued the same. Excited. First, you think he wants you to straddle him and is about make you grind on him again. Are mortified considering you’re in public. In broad daylight. He doesn’t, however. Makes you just sit on his lap, back pressed against his chest. Gets you comfortable, his cheek is pressing onto yours. Places a couple kisses on your neck before sucking on your pulse point.

“Wh-what are you d…doing Jimin?” You’re very pathetically already breathless. All it takes is a kiss. He just hums, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then his hands are travelling south on your body. Annoyingly, both of you are wearing layers of clothing. Hence, the lack of sensation when his hands moves over your breasts. Still, it’s enough to make a low moan escape from your chest. Which quickly turns into a panicked gasping, when Jimin’s hands doesn’t stop but start undoing your pant buttons. Your hands reach to grab from his wrists. Preventing him.

“Jimin, Jimin... Wha- what are you... Jimin?” You nearly yank his hands away when he places another kiss. This time on your temple. “Relax baby. I’ll stop if someone walks in, okay? I promise.” His voice is back to being low and husky. Is murmuring in your ear. Gets your cunt clenching. Arousal seeping through. The thought that he is about to do this here, on the outside, with the possible risks gets you turned on to no end. This is a first time for you, have never done something like this before. Are very excited, nonetheless. Slowly becoming impatient.

“Okay Lil?” Jimin asks again. Despite the fact that you’ve loosened your grip on his wrists, without even realizing, he hasn’t moved an inch forward. Gives you a reassuring squeeze. You’re already aroused. “Baby?” Mumbles again. Oh, you trust him, don’t you? Well, you do very much. Your head is bobbing up and down fast. Giving your consent.

“Say it.” Jimin teasingly pushes his hand past your waist band.

“O- okay. I mean… do it.” You succumb. Which is all what it takes. Jimin’s hand slips past your pants and inside your panties in a record time. Finds your clit first. Just rubs soothing circles before goes down to your clenching hole. Gathers your wetness and spreads it all across your folds. Slowly. Teasingly. Sensually. Hums approvingly.

“Already fucking wet baby. So eager, aren’t you? Dripping─” Presses his fingers over your clit. Bit harshly that you mewl. “─wet. Say it’s for me.” Demands yet again. And you’re doing exactly what he wants. “For you. It’s for you Jimin.” Moan your words out. Bend your knees, placing the soles of your shoes on his knees. He is happy with your compliance.

“Spread.” Encourages you further. So, you do as you are asked. How demeaning and mortifying this could be if someone walks in. Your legs spread. Just for Jimin. His hand very obviously buried inside your cunt. Not that you can think things rationally. Impossible when he is rubbing his fingers over your slit relentlessly. The world fades away when one of those fingers’ prods at your entrance. Teases for a bit and then he is entering. Through your spasming walls. Adds a second one. Stretches you wide, palm pressing against the throbbing bud of nerves.

Starts thrusting slowly. Then picks up speed, curling his fingers up. Stroking your walls till he finds that spongy spot. With that you’re just a mess. A shameless, pathetic mess. You have to bite your bottom lips so harshly that you’re sure the blood is drawing, to keep the noises muffled. Jimin makes it super hard for you. Each drag on your walls, each rub on your clit, gets you crashing down in his hold.

“Fuck Lil. Like that. You like it?”

Why does he expect you to answer? When he is just doing what he wanted to do. Makes you forget your own name.

“Just wait till we’re back at the cottage baby. Fuck, I’m gonna fuck you until you fucking can’t walk. Gonna make you forget everything except my name hm? Do you like it Lil? You want me to ruin this cute hole?”

You manage a nod. A barely there one. He chuckles. More of a snicker. Picks his speed up from a notch. Keeps hitting that spot. Your walls uncontrollably clenching around his fingers. Throbbing. Bringing you closer.

“C’mon baby cum for me. Cum hard hm? Be a good slut now.”

You love the filth he spills in your ear. Makes you even closer to your high.

“Look at you. Going dumb just over my fingers, imagine it’s my cock baby. Imagine it’s my cock making you drip down out in this open. Where anyone can walk in. Aren’t you a stupid slut to like this. A whore to let me─” The rest of his words are swallowed by a groan he himself makes at the way you suddenly shriek. Your thighs shaking and back arching. Walls clamping down on his fingers. His words make you fall over the edge. A loud moan in shape of his name finally escapes your mouth despite your best efforts.

“Jimin… oh god fuck.” You whimper in pure pleasure. He says something about you being the best little girl which is drowned by the ringing of your ears. You take your time to calm down. Jimin keeps his hands still inside your pants until you do. Only then he slowly retrieves it out, making a mess on his way. Not that you truly care. You turn your head around to watch him sucks his fingers clean. What a sight. Park Jimin is. Makes a new wave of arousal wash over you. He is going to be the death of you.

You’re certain he will when he pulls you into another kiss.

“You okay?” Asks with such a gentle caring tone that your heart squeezes. You nod. Say that you’ve never been better. Got him laughing. A sight for sore eyes. Got him kissing you again. A worthy reason to die today. You reluctantly pull away from him when he stops you. Turns your face to him with your chin. Keeping you on his lap.

“Lil?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that, okay? I mean… I uh... called you...” He stutters. You know what he means. Is funny he think you’ll not ask him to stop if you weren’t okay with that. You’re pretty sure he called you a slut yesterday as well. So, you interrupt him.

“What a slut? And a whore?” Give him what he is trying to ask. He just stares at you. Nervously so. You find it endearing. Can’t help the urge to kiss him again. So, you give into that urge. Kiss him hard. “It’s fine Jimin. I would’ve asked you not to call me so if I wasn’t.” Answer. Then you want to kiss him again when he smiles. It’s getting out of control.

“Yeah? You will?”

“I will.” You assure. Jimin nods. This time it’s him who takes you into another kiss. Makes you shudder by mumbling something about wanting badly to fuck your brains out. Fix your pants while saying so, nonetheless. He is caring in a scary way.

This is fine. It’s just a day.

…………………………………………..

Ever since Jimin made you cum on his fingers. Out on a bench with all your friends nearby, you weren’t okay at all. The good thing is, he wasn’t okay either. He has his fiery gaze fixed upon you all the damn time. Undressing you with his eyes. Hell, the man even texted you and asked if you were still soaking wet, so ready to be taken, while you walked back to your cars. With Seoyeon. And you had to recite stupid lies when she asked why you were turning deep red. There was a thick tension. Swirling around you two. Even an unintentional brush against your hand made you rub your thighs. Isn’t that crazy? It is. Yet, it’s what happening.

It's mind-blowing how your head spins as he presses you against your bedroom door. Kissing you madly. Devouring your mouth with his. Neither of you is caring about how hard it is to breathe. Ignoring the way your lungs protest. It’s ridiculous how you can’t think about anything else but him. Park Jimin. You can’t get enough. It’s that simple. You want more and more. One leg is hooking around his waist. Desperately, grinding your hips for some friction. Jimin does the same. Presses his hardness against you. Not a single piece of clothing has been shredded yet. The moment you were inside this private space, Jimin had you pressed against him and the door. Attacking your lips like a starved animal. It’s good but see, you want more.

“Jimin… Ji…min. Wanna taste you. Wa- wanna suck you off.” You break the kiss to mumble that. Noting how he visibly loses his mind at that. Shuddering. Sucks in a shaky breath. Leaving out an animalistic groan.

“Ye- yeah? You want that? Want my dick on your mouth─” Asks while nearly ripping your sweater off your body. “Tell how much you want that baby.” Gets you half bare. You fumble with his belt. So, ready to drop to your knees right at the spot. He just allow you. But still knowing him, based on these few times you and he were intimate, you know he expects you to do as he asked.

“Want it so bad Jimin. Give it to me hm? I need you. Want to taste you so bad.” You’re not messing around here. Each word you utter, you mean it. Because that’s how desperate you are for him. That’s how you’re burning up with the fire. How will you ever be able to go back to normal? He has you completely ruined with bare minimum. How pathetic? You’re working on autopilot mode as you push your hand inside his pants. Palming him through his boxers. Absolutely, loving the way he bucks into your touch. For a minute before he lost it completely. As if something snap. Pushes your hand away so he can get rid of the remaining barriers between you two. His hoodie, pants. Your pants follow. Still, however, he keeps his boxers and makes you keep your panties and bra as well. He can be infuriating.

You’re completely frustrated by the time he sits back on the edge of the bed. Frustrated but enjoying it all the same. Just exciting to expect his next moves. Being curious adds more fuel to your fire. Loving it when he takes his time. Toying and playing. Especially, now as he leans back slightly, placing his weight on one arm. Using the other to palm himself through his boxers, eyes burning into you. You who are standing before him, just in your underwear. Like a vulnerable, exposed, and defenseless prey. Just to please him. For his pleasure and that’s it. And you love it. Are getting restless. He smirks, watching the way you are rubbing your thighs uncontrollably. He looks like a god. Pure sin. Gestures to the floor with his eyes. You take the hint right away. Find yourself kneeling in front of him at light speed. Gulping harshly to sooth your dry throat. He comes even closer to the edge. Stops palming himself to caress your cheek. You lean into that touch, heart pounding in your ears.

“You want this baby?” Asks in a husky voice. All you can manage is a weak yes. “Go on then Lil. Do whatever you want.” Gives you the green light. And you jump into action. Pulling from the waistband of his boxer, dragging it through his thick thighs. He helps by raising his hips up. Freeing his cock from its tight confines, making Jimin moan when the cold air hits him. Making you moan when his bare cock finally comes into your view. Hard and throbbing, straining against his skin. Flushed. Precum already leaking. You’re really embarrassed at the way you whimpered. At the way your breath visibly hitched. Most of all, you want the floor to swallow you up at the words that leaves your mouth.

“You’re pretty.” You’re mortified when you mutter that. In a very breathy and hoarse voice. Jimin actually laughs. Even throws his head back. “Yeah? Thought you said my dick is ugly.” Is petting your hair. You look at him with a pout. “Never said that. Said I assume that maybe you’re ugly, and I take that back. Happy?” You think counter back is a good way to preserve your dignity. But that doesn’t make the smug look wiped off Jimin’s face. He just snakes his hand around the back of your neck. Slowly brings your face closer to his hard member. Slowly. Until your face is just millimeters away from his throbbing cock. You keep your eyes on his face. Watch the way his amused expression turns into something feral when your breath hits the sensitive skin. So, you blow on to it. Think there’ll be no other music to compare with his shaky moan. You do it again and again. Poke your tongue out just to kitten lick his shaft, keeping your head just where he holds it.

“Holy fuck! Fucking hell Lil… God.” He groans and lets go off your head. Grits his teeth to keep his composure. But you want him to lose it. Snap. Become a mess. You’re determined to make him when you start to drag the tip of your tongue, across his shaft. Pleased at the way his dick twitched. He can be infuriating but so can you. Keep licking and kissing through, never completely giving in. Not wrapping your lips around but just dragging your tongue over the flushed tip. Tasting the pre cum. Licking and playing with his balls. You feel really proud when it doesn’t take that long. Jimin bucks into your lips.

“Oh, you fucking tease…” Grabs from your head again. “Don- don’t tease. Lil…” Holds your head in place but you don’t do what he wants. Wait patiently till he snaps. “Fuck. Do something baby. Take me in, want to feel you wrap around me.” Starts to crumble. It’s a shame you’re too impatient to wait for him to beg. But you’re fully satisfied with what you got. Hence, waste no time wrapping your lips around his leaking tip. Humming and moaning. Jimin’s moans entangling with yours. You swirls your tongue around his tip before slowly starting to take him further in. Not that you’ve the best experiences in blowjobs. Still, you know what you’re doing. Knows how to pleasure. So, you do your best. Taking him the best way, you can. Bobbing your head up and down. Dragging your tongue. Licking at his balls. Mouthing at his tip. Are on a mission. Slobbering. Sucking.

See now, you don’t think you ever wanted to make someone feel good, than now you want to make Park Jimin. His growls and grunts pared with his taste makes you blissed even without a single touch on your body. You keep your eyes at his disheveled look. Mouth opens and panting. Skin glistening. Trying so bad not to ruin your rhythm and push into you. You want him to do that. So, you pull away, spit drooling into your chin. Rub your thighs as you speak.

“Fuck my mouth.”

Jimin makes a strangling noise at that.

“Fuck, are you sure?”

“Yes, Jimin…” You whisper, breathless. “Please.”

“Lil… fuck you can’t… shit. Fuck, okay. Tap my thigh if it’s too much, okay?”

You just nod. And luckily, he is too impatient now to ask you to say it. You open your mouth, relaxing your jaw. Letting him take control and use your mouth. Feeling his cock heavy on your tongue, forcing your head down and down till you feel the tip of him hitting your throat. Jimin gives you a minute. Again, this is a first time for you. But you’re pretty confident that you can handle it.

“Breathe baby. Don’t hold your breath.” He mumbles. You nod around him. Take couple few seconds before humming, asking him to continue. So, he does. Starting slow. Bucking his hips into your mouth. Gripping the back of your head. Losing control, by every minute his dick is engulfed in the warmth of your mouth. Second by second picking up the speed. Fucking your face. And you’re drooling, sputtering. Trying bad to control your gag reflex. Eyes stinging with tears. Choking on his dick. Each time a gag erupts, Jimin becomes more feral. Fingers gripping your hair harsh, gritting his teeth to hold back. Not to hurt you. Not to push so much on you. The thing is, you’re actually loving every minute of this. Are turned on so badly that you can’t help but keep squeezing your thighs together. Desperate for some kind of friction. There’s an urge to just touch yourself while Jimin uses your mouth to get off. Think it’s embarrassing. But not to Jimin. No. Even with his blissed-out state, he has his eyes on you. Just knows what you’re thinking. You’re not surprised anymore. Not at all when he stutters through his moans and grunts.

“Go ahead, d- do it.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

You want to ask what but are unable to do so. Only capable of drooling more and looking at him with tear filled eyes.

“Touch yourself Lil. You want to, don’t you? Go ahead, rub your pretty clit while I fuck your mouth. Ah─ fucking slut.”

You nearly sob at that. Complying with his demand instantly. One hand still digging into his thigh, you take the other to slip inside your wet panties. Moaning so loud at the friction on your clit, which is muffled by his cock. Then it’s all a sobering mess. Spit. Tears. Moans. Grunts. Curses. Jimin is relentless. You hold onto him with all your strength while your free hand keep circling your sensitive nub. Willing yourself to keep going till he falls over the edge. And it doesn’t take that long.

“Fuck baby I’m close. Hold on. Shit, your mouth feel so good. You look so pretty choking on my cock baby. God─ Dumb fucking slut.” His words make your fingers work at double speed. Your throat clenching when he hits the back.

“Lil, fuck... do- do y- you want me to... inside your mouth huh? Want me to cume in your throat baby?” Jimin forces you a little bit more on his cock. Yet again, it’s a weak nod and a moan is all you can manage. Jimin loves it apparently. No matter how weak your nod is. Because he curses loudly at that. Lose the precision in his movements for second before forces your head completely down. Your nose meets his pelvis. Hips stuttering and stilling as ropes and ropes of white hits your throat. Making your sob partially due to the discomfort but mainly due to the pleasure. Pure, hot pleasure. Jimin holds you there for just a second longer before releasing you. You pull away, greedily sucking in breath to sooth your burning lungs. Saliva covering your entire chin and tears covering your cheeks. You must look like a filthy mess, but the way Jimin looks at you tell you that you’re a hot mess.

“God baby. You’re just… Fuck!” Jimin is heaving for breath as well. His chest rising up and down. Yet bends down immediately to cup your face with both of his hands. “You’re okay right? Lil?” Wipes away your tears. Rubs your face soothingly. You whimper.

“I’m fine. Just aching for─” You don’t get to complete the sentence when Jimin suddenly grabs from your forearms. Yanking you to your feet.

“Up baby c’mon.” A squeal escapes your lips. Jimin isn’t satiated it seems, the demon inside him is still there. The way he rips your bra away is humanly impossible. Your panties follows next. Got you straddling him. Instead of placing you over his crotch, however, he hurriedly lay down. Legs still dangling over the edge. Slaps your ass slightly.

“On my face Lil. Ride my face. Want to eat you out until your legs can’t hold you anymore.”

You look at him surprisingly for a moment. Then nod. If he wants that you’re not going to argue. Move forward with your knees fast as you can. Nearly hovers down your aching cunt on his face when a knock erupts on the door, freezing you. You almost panicked and run away at light speed before you remember that the door is securely fastened. Jimin annoyingly groans under you, frustrated. Your face flushes with embarrassment as you scramble off him. Sitting down beside when the interrupter speaks through. Funny it’s Jin’s voice since you expected it to be Kim freaking Taehyung.

“I’m extremely sorry to ruin your fuck session brother, but the stupid Ji Hun wants to talk to you right now. Can’t be delayed because I already tried.”

“Are you fucking serious Hyung?” Jimin sits back. It’s a comical situation. You can’t laugh though. Not when your clit is still throbbing.

“Yes. And I’m sorry. Just five minutes max. Say whatever he needs to hear.” Jin shouts. You can imagine him pressing his ear to your door. Jimin looks at you. Despite your frustration you can understand that he needs to work. You give him a soft and reassuring smile.

“That’s okay.” Mumble. Peck his lips. Jimin takes a moment to make sure you’re really fine. When he does, kisses you deeply.

“Just five minutes okay. Ten max. Take a shower if you want. I’ll be back by the time you finish.” Suggests. And you agree. Seems like a good idea.

“Be quick.” Gift him another kiss. “I’m dripping.” Purr against his mouth, smirking when he whimpered.

………………………………………………

You’ve never showered this fast before. Only twelve minutes. Precisely. A record. And sticking to his word Jimin was there when you left the bathroom. The only problem? He was fast asleep. Breathing deeply and peaceful. So, you’re just standing near the edge of the bed for God knows how long. Like a creep. If anything, you should feel irritated, annoyed. He left you hanging. Now is sleeping like nothing matters. The thing is you don’t feel anything remotely close to irritation. Or annoyance. Instead, you feel your heart swooning. Swelling. Adoration fills you up. You feel affection. A deep urge to kiss his puffy cheeks and pouty lips. He looks angelic. The amber hue of the ceiling lights creates a golden hue on his face. He looks beautiful. In most humanly way. Neck tilts to one side and has one of his hands curled into a tight fist. As though he’s holding onto a dream.

God! Why?

Why does he have to do this to you? Why does your heart skips beating when there’s nothing illicit happening? Why do you want to kiss him madly when you don’t feel aroused at all?

Fuck this is not good.

You want to kiss him for no reason. Because you feel like it. To feel closer.

Nope. No.

That wasn’t the deal. You turn around your heel fast. Then turn back again on a second thought. Cover him with the comforter and flee the room like a hurricane.

…………………………………..

It’s not that late. Just near midnight but all your friends have decided to call it an early night that day. Must be damn exhausted by all the drinking, partying, and walking. You envy them. They’ll be here tomorrow as well. You won’t. Simply can’t handle 72 hours straight. There’s a painful disappointment inside you. This day is slipping away. No scratch that, it’s already over. A day. That was your deal. You and Jimin wanted a day to pretend normal and satiate your burning desires. And you did to a certain extent but not completely. You’re still very much drooling at his sight. Heart beating madly and arousals seeping through you. Maybe if you have actually fucked, this day could’ve been a huge success. Finally satisfied.

Well, you can obviously wake him up instead of watching him sleep. But you know you can’t. Even though you shouldn’t, you care too much. How could you just wake that peaceful angel up. Too cruel. It doesn’t matter that your time in paradise is over. That you have to face reality, and you haven’t gained anything during your journey. You’ll still make sure Park Jimin is sleeping tight. Resting. Will stay awake till the sun rise, till he wake up. And to assist you to do that you need huge load of caffeine. 

That was your intention when you take the sharp corner to the kitchen. Only to collide with a hard chest as a loud mewl escapes your mouth.

“Fuck, sorry.” The person whispers. Trying to keep the quiet of the cottage. People are sleeping after all. You raise your head to look at the owner of the chest. Who turned out to be Jungkook with a glass of water in his hand. You’ve caused it to spill a little bit. He appears just as surprised as you.

“Oh, I’m sorry Kookie. Didn’t see you there.” You apologize fast since it’s your fault.

“Noona?” He whispers again.

“Yes.” You whisper back.

“What are you doing.”

“Ah, I couldn’t sleep so I just came down. Late night snack thing.” You think it’s stupid to say you need a coffee just after you said you couldn’t sleep. Jungkook hums in understanding. And just when you think he’ll leave you up to mind your own business, he speak again.

“Can’t sleep either.” He is inadvertently covering your way to the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

He hums again. You nearly round him to go past to the kitchen.

“Do you smoke?” This time he raise his voice a little bit, so he is mumbling now. You shouldn’t be surprised that he is asking random questions from you at random moments. You decide to stay honest and say yes. Ask him why he asks.

“Well, since both of us can’t sleep, how about a smoke?” Is back to whispering. Gestures to the window clearly indicating outside. “Wanna go out?” Adds that question as well. You take a minute to consider his invitation. Decide that it’s better to have some company than being alone. Mumble a simple but eager yes.

…………………………………

You and Jungkook stand under a dormant maple tree. Wrapped up in winter coats. You’re definitely not wearing yours and Jungkook’s oversized one swallows you whole. Freshly fallen snowflakes scrunch under your heavy boots. Stars glitter above you in the clear sky after the snowfall. Air is crisp and biting. Kisses your face like thousands of needles. Even with the large winter jacket, you’re shivering slightly.

“Are you too cold Noona? Want to head back inside.” Jungkook asks you as he exhales a puff of smoke. Holds the cigarette to you. You were quite surprised when he didn’t give you your own. But it’s so expected of Jungkook to wanting to share a one. In the end, you didn’t protest. You take the cigarette from him while shaking your head.

“No. I like this actually. Relaxing, isn’t it? And the sky is beautiful.” You hollow your cheeks to take a deep drag, liking the feeling of how Nicotine addictively warms you up. You’re not a habitual smoker by any means. It’s just sometimes you smoke. And you really mean it when you say it’s relaxing. Your heart is beating fast but this time it’s not due to Park Jimin. It’s just the effect of Nicotine. So, you think it’s good. To find out Park Jimin isn’t the sole reason of your body going crazy. It goes crazy over Nicotine too. That’s good. You like the way crips air battle against your exhaustion and chase away the sleepiness. Like how Jungkook’s endless talking make you forget the man who’s sleeping upstairs like a baby. Stops you from just give in and go back. Kiss every inch of his face and curl into his warm body. This, in fact, is outstanding.

“Yeah? Are you good at spotting constellations?” He glances up at the sky. You follow his line of vision.

“No. Are you?”

“Absolutely not. Can’t understand how people do that─” He points at the sky. You snort at his claim. “It all looks the same. Like fairy dust.” Muses before averting his gaze to you and taking the cigarette away.

“Oh, I actually believed they are magical lights as a kid. Fairies and their fairy lights.” You look at him too. Waiting patiently for him to share the smoke back with you. Raise your hands to take it when Jungkook casually just holds it to your mouth. You glance at his face quickly. He urges you to go on. So, you do, wrapping your lips around the abusive cylinder.

“You don’t anymore?” He questions while you take another deep drag. You answer after blowing that smoke out. Click your tongue.

“I’ll believe they are fairy lights again when I get to see a shooting star.” You dreamily look above at the sky again. Jungkook interrupts you with a gasp. That leads him to ask you series of question about how come you’ve not seen one. Which takes a turn into asking about your life. You answer him vaguely as possible. Not wanting to blow your cover. Your answers consist mainly of rough yes and nos. And it goes on until you’ve got to light up a third cigarette. Jungkook lets you take the first drag from that.

“Are you happy with him?” Jungkook’s question cuts through the conversation suddenly. A complete turnover from what you’ve been talking about. He was asking you about your (Liya’s) family. You were telling him that you don’t get along with them well. Which you don’t know to be the ruth or not. You let the cigarette slips out of your mouth as you take him.

“With whom?”

“Jimin?” Says casually before his eyes goes wide with sudden realization. “Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask such kind of question from people now, should I? You don’t have to answer.” Jungkook shakes his head fast. Stammers. You’re not sure if he should or not. Simply you don’t know the answer. You shake your head to say it’s okay anyway. Say that you’re very happy. He nods in understanding.

“That’s good. I mean I’m sorry for asking that. Was just curious. You know that day... uh... the day we met, Tae said something about you two not being able to stand each other but it seems like you can’t get enough from each other. That’s why I asked. Sorry.” He apologizes again with an explanation. You can remember Taehyung saying such thing. It makes sense why Jungkook is curious.

“Well, maybe we can’t stand each other some days. But you know it’s just... relationships?” You feel odd to say that. Honestly, all these times, despite all these people believing you’re Liya, you’ve not played your part. You were just you. Even with Jimin. You were and are you. Not Kim Liya. Odd to speak on her behalf. An adorable bunny grin appears on Jungkook’s face.

“Maybe yeah…” Nods. “But you’re really weird you know? Jimin must be really fascinated by you all the time.” That grin never leaves his face as he says that.

“Yah! It’s rude to call someone weird.” You gasp.

“I mean in a good way though.”

“It’s still very rude and how come? How am I weird?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Well, first, you don’t know Midnight Symphony─” He starts to put his fingers down. “Second, you know songs that we’ve never heard about. Third, today you were so engrossed with a soda can back at the convenience store. I’ve never seen someone being so interested at a soda can. I mean what’s there to look so much? Fourth─”

“Geez, alright you have a long fuckin list. But listen. First─” You start putting down fingers as well. “It’s really possible I haven’t heard a song─”

“Yes, but not the fucking Midnight Symphony. Even newborns know that.”

“Shut up, it’s very possible and I wasn’t so engrossed with a soda can.” You absolutely were. That soda can was in stupid shape. And so was it had a label saying it’s in garlic flavor. That’s the weirdest shit you’ve found so far in this world. Can’t blame you for staring at it.

“You were Noona. You were looking at it like this,” Jungkook bends down slightly. “-and your eyes were like this,” Squints his eyes into narrow slits. “- your mouth was like this.” Opens his mouth. Looks like a freaking cartoon. You shriek in embarrassment.

“I. Was. Not. Jeon Jungkook.” Say sternly through your grin. Kick the snow underneath your foot so it hit Jungkook’s shoes. It’s his time to shriek. Jumping to his side to avoid it but failing. Comes up with a counterattack, nonetheless. You two are kicking snow at each other like it’s a real time war in a minute. Trying to compress your laughter and keep balance. You’re certain it would’ve escalated into a very serious snowball fight. But at the right moment you almost bend down to grab some handful of snow Jungkook gasps so loudly. In fear. Startle and nearly lost his balance making you hold from his jacket. When Jungkook’s sudden gasp jolts you, you spin around in alarm, only to stumble backward in shock, mirroring his startled reaction. Jungkook returning the favor by holding you steady. A yelp leaving your mouth.

There’s someone standing in front of you. In the middle of the front yard. Possible since there’s not a wall or a gate to protect the property after all. Still, isn’t any less scary or startling to see someone strange suddenly appearing behind you.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses as he drags you behind him immediately. Shielding your figure. It’s obvious that this person is not someone from your friend group. It’s a woman. A mop of grey hair on her head. Isn’t wearing a hat nor a scarf. Wearing a puffy jacket, however. Is standing very still like statue. The faint light coming from the cottage shows you that her face is covered with hundreds of wrinkles. You feel a strange shiver run through your spine. Mouth going dry and the hair on the nape of your neck is standing up. What a creepy sensation!

“Fuck I nearly had a heart attack. Who are you?” Jungkook mumbles the first part before asking the latter loudly. Still keeping you behind him. The woman doesn’t answer. See, fucking creepy. She looks too old to be a serial killer or a thief, but you’ll never know. You grab Jungkook’s jacket. Whoever this woman might be, you don’t think it’s wise to talk to her. You need to go inside. So, you tug from Jungkook’s jacket.

“Let’s go inside.” You whisper to him. Trying to walk away and drag him with you. He is a boulder though. Doesn’t even budge. Is looking at the intruder with his brows furrowed. “Jungkook.” You hiss. He takes a brief glance at you. Looks like is about to relent when the woman speaks. Halting both of your movements. Her voice calmed.

“You need to go.” She says. “Promptly.” Adds. You and Jungkook, halted in your movements, gape at her. Not understanding anything.

“What?” Jungkook is the one who questions. You wish he didn’t.

“The young lady,” Woman points at you. You stupidly point at yourself. “You need to return to where you belong, promptly. Or else, the people you know, the loved ones of you will forget about your memories. The same thing happens to Kim Liya. You shouldn’t break the order of things child.” She keeps going.

And you freeze.

You think you understand what she says. Blood drains out of your face. You might’ve turned into porcelain pale.

She knows. Whoever she is, she knows!

You almost step away from Jungkook. But halt again when she softly speaks your name. Your real name. She says it fondly.

“This is a huge mistake my child. You shouldn’t be here. Make haste and go back to where you belong.” She calmly states. Nearly turns around like she is about to leave. Your brain goes into high alert. Panick mode. She knows and she just can’t leave like that. Even though you understand her words, they don’t make sense. What does she mean by losing memories? How does she know in the first place? Who is she?

You practically run to her. “Wait!” You shout. She stops and turns around. Face still very calm. Stand still like a statue. “Yes?” Asks.

“Who are you?” You question. There’s million things you want to know but that’s the one that leaves your mouth. 

“No one very important, young child. Make haste and go back.” Turns around again.

“No wait, you obviously know who I am. You know I’m from a different world. You know I’m not Liya. And… and... that must mean something.” You blurt out. She just sighs but says nothing. So, you continue. “You are saying that I shouldn’t be here and should go back but you know I’ll be here the moment I sleep right?”

“Yes, I do know that.” Finally answers.

“Then what’s the point of asking me to go back. This is not under my control anyway. Tell me what’s happening here. I... We’ve been looking for answers for such a long time. A way to stop this. You do know how to stop this don’t you?” Your voice is shaky from excitement and something that you can’t quite explain.

“Listen dear human, this is not my place to meddle with human affairs. I shouldn’t be here either, just like you. I’m just here to warn you that spending more time in one world results in your permanent disappearance from the other.”

“Wha─”

“Each and every person in these countless universes have their own place. Only one place. When you are not there to fill that space, it vanishes. You can’t return back to your space. It’s already gone. You’ll no longer be a part of your own universe, but a part of this. Filling up the vacant space of Kim Liya. And as long as you are here, she can’t return… and her loved ones will forget of her memories as well. You’ll be the only one they remember. Thus, my dear child you need to go back before things get complicated.” She smiles at you fondly. You’re on the hand, are feeling like losing your balance. Legs buckling.

“Where is she? Liya?” You force yourself to keep interrogate. Funny, how you trust this woman.

“Nowhere.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why she isn’t here when I am?”

“You are not paying attention now, are you? There’s only one space. You can’t share that space. This is her space…. And you are occupying it. That’s why she isn’t here. Now, I have already said so many things I shouldn’t and especially, in front of a witness. What should we do? Wipe this young gentleman’s memory off.” The woman turns to Jungkook. God, you really forgot he is here. He looks bewildered. Eyes still wide and mouth open. Confused. Takes an uncertain step back when the attention falls on him.

“Wh- what’s really happening here?” Looks between you and the old woman. Gulps harshly. Him witnessing what’s happening here isn’t good. It doesn't mean you want his memory erased, however. Hell, you don’t even know what that even means.

“No. What? You can’t do that.” You ignore Jungkook completely to answer the woman. She gives you an amused look. “Are you sure?” Asks. “Of course, you can’t wipe someone’s memory off like that and─” You don’t get to finish what you want to say when she shrugs and turns around again. No. She still hasn’t told you half of the stuff you want to know.

“Wait, wait please.” You almost grab from her hand.

“You already know enough children. Do the right thing.” Takes another step.

“At least tell me how to stop this.” You won’t let this opportunity slip like that. She sighs heavily again. Doesn’t turn around to look at you. A beat of silence passes before she speaks again.

“Just do the exact opposite of what you did that day.” Takes another step away. You don’t stop her this time. Are too confused to do so. What day? The day you came here. She stops again. “Since I already told you so many things, here’s another one- you only have one week. And it’s quite okay to believe in miracles sometimes.” With that, in front of your very bare eyes, and with Jungkook to witness, she vanishes. Just like that. In a snap. Not a single sign of her existence is left there. Only you and Jungkook with your mouth hanging open. You suck in a sharp breath. Not believing what you just saw.

How? How did she?

“Fucking hell, what the hell is happening? Noona?” Jungkook breaks the stupor you two are in. Making your head whip toward him. He is still wearing a same kind of bewildered expression. “Noona? Do you know her? Did she ─ did she fucking disappeared? What’s about, fuck- did she tell something about another world? Wait? Are you a fucking alien?” He takes a step toward you. His quite voice raising an octave with every question.

Shit! This is a mess. You don’t know how to explain this. You want to, however. But not now. Not if what she said was true. The more you spend your time here you’re keep fucking things up. You need to find Jimin, tell him what just happened. You need to leave.

“Later. I’ll explain later. I need to go.” You mutter as you start toward the door. You’ll definitely explain. She said you have a week.

Fuck you only have a week!

…………………………………

It was a quick departure. In the middle of the night. Nobody except Jungkook knew you’d left. You gave him a quick hug and a promise of an explanation. And a request to let others know that something came up. He said yes. You and Jimin drove off at the very moment.

When you first woke him up, Jimin was confused. Almost kissed you, purring. Asked why you haven’t woken him up, before you stopped him. He looked taken aback. When you hurriedly but clearly explained to him what happened, he became difficult like always. So many questions and doubts. Yet eventually he had to believe you. Especially, when you pointed out that Jungkook witnessed them all. Jimin wasn’t happy. He was irate in fact. Was like that when you left the cottage and is still like that. You haven’t talked much since then. You don’t like the uncomfortable silence though. Make you feel even more awful. About everything that happened. Your brain is swirling around the guilt and confusion. That paired up with the realization that everything indeed came to an end, makes your heart ache. Except for your illicit affair of couple days, Jimin and you were close. More than close. It’s just like you knew how it would be. You knew this would become a memory to cry over one day. Only that it came a little faster than you expected. You don’t want to wallow in this feeling.

Jimin is completely focusing on the road. The roads are not in the best condition to drive fast. No matter how much in a hurry you are. He is restless. Looks remorseful. You understand him completely. He was having the time of his life with you while his girlfriend’s entire existence almost disappeared.

Still, it’s strange to be like this around him after all. You need to talk to him. It’s out of control. Need some kind of comfort. His comfort to be precise.

“She said we have a week.” You blurt that out before you can think. Jimin snaps his head at you. He knew it already but looks at you like he just hears it. Opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. Blows a breath out. Licks his lips and nods. And is looking away again. It makes you irritated. You want him to say that he is equally sad as you.

“Is that it? You have nothing to say?” You ask again.

“What do you want me to say?” He doesn’t even look at you as he asks. Knuckles turning white at how hard he is gripping the steering wheel.

You’re disappointed that he is fine with you leaving. Not that you can question it though. So, you change the subject. But apparently into the wrong path.

“I want to come clean before I leave.” You mumble. Eyes expectantly watching him when he looks at you with knitted brows.

“What?”

“You know, I want your friends to know who I am before I leave.”

He actually laughs at that. Humorless. Gets you annoyed.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” Looks at you like you’re the funniest thing in every universe.

“No, I am not Park. I’m freaking serio─”

“Are you fucking crazy Lil?” His tone and the way he nearly yells makes you snap. Ache in your heart turning into sadness. So, you yell back. Ask him what’s his problem is.

“Why the hell do you want to tell them?” He replies. Or yells again.

“And why the hell not? Because I kind of know them.”

“Stop fucking bullshitting Lil. They don’t know you at all. They think you’re fucking Liya.”

“That’s exactly why I need to tell them that I am not.”

You and he are really shouting through the top of your lungs now. This isn’t what you wanted when you wanted to talk. Things has taken a complete turn. You don’t even know why you’re fighting. Jimin hits the brake furiously. Makes you jolt forward. He has stopped the car in the middle of the road. Good thing that there’s no other vehicles on the road.

“And then what Lil? What happens after that? You want them to see me as a fucking cheater? Is that what you want? You’ll fucking leave and I’ll be the one left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and relationship.”  He is burning you down with his glare. You shut your mouth instantly. Oh, you haven’t thought about it that way at all. You don’t know why you want to come clean. What’s the purpose? It’s just you want to say something and that’s what came to your mind. And then his dismissive answers made you irritated. Does he not care at all? You’ll be leaving in a week.

“Right? That’s what I thought.” Jimin says again when you don’t reply. Sighs. “So, is this like you want some kind of revenge?” Questions again. Your eyes go wide instantly, jaw dropping to the floor at the same time your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. What is he talking about?

“Why the fuck would I want a revenge?”

“No right? Then what the hell is this? Why are you being difficult? Why can’t you just stick to the plan and leave like you came? Everything resolved, you get your life back and I get mine. Just a normal life huh? Isn’t that what you wanted?” He points it out. What he is saying is the absolute truth. That was your plan. Then why do you feel your heart shatter. He just asked you to leave quietly. Like you don’t matter. And that’s the case after all. You don’t matter. Are here by mistake. You were just a body, a temporary stand-in. A warm presence in the absence of his real love. You’re nothing. You feel your throat constricts. This is not good that you’re on the verge of crying.  You don’t want to cry at all, but his next words hit like final wave to break your dam.

“Just don’t ruin my life before you leave Lil. I did nothing wrong to you. You agreed and it was for a day. One day. You’ve no reason to do so. Just don’t make this difficult.” Says before accelerating the car again. You say nothing, too afraid to speak. Know you’ll definitely cry. Instead, look away through the window, allowing your thoughts to consume you completely. Biting on your lower lip to swallow back the sob rising in your throat.

Ruin his life?

You’ve no right to feel so hurt. Like he said you knew it was for a day. You shouldn’t expect anything from Park Jimin. This is his and Liya’s life. Their world and universe. You’re just a stranger. It’s so unfair to expect that Jimin would care about you. To say the least, you’re embarrassed to realize that you indeed expect him to grieve your departure. Ridiculous. Shameless. It was indeed a day in paradise. A dream. And the thing about dream? They always come to an end when you wake up. This is the end of your dream. Well, you’ll find a way to deal with reality somehow. You know how to manage through heartbreaks. If Jimin wants you to leave like that, you will. He can go fuck himself. If he doesn’t care, neither will you. You will show him your middle finger when you say goodbye.

Yes, just Goodbye. No, ‘I’ll miss you’. No. Nothing else. Just Goodbye.  

GOOD FUCKING BYE!

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a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

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Taglist - @chimmy-licious @graydolan12 @smoljimjim @likemeforme @sugas-baby-girl @canarystwin @jkayy @floboo6 @sunshinenmidnight @fiddlebiddls @unlikelycheesecakeenthusiast @mar-lo-pap @angelicsmilesworld @jimincrystal

[dmysterioblog]

Prompt to a request (if it is okay) 🫶

Agatha and innocent fem reader+ corruption kink

Reader hasn't even had her first kiss and Agatha teaches her how to tongue kiss and so much more(fingering and magic strap)

Breeding kink as well plsss

Neighborly Desires

Paring: Dark!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: You had recently moved into Westview. Your mother had passed away and you wanted a new start in a small town. Agatha was your neighbor there and she didn’t waste any time welcoming you into town. She thought you were so adorable and so innocent…she wanted to be the one to corrupt you. She needed to be patient, careful, and precise.

Warnings; dubcon, corruption kink, enchanted strap, fingering, mommy kink, cunnilingus (r receiving), breeding kink.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/n: This request has been sitting in my inbox since DECEMBER of 2023…I am extremely sorry but I hope this makes up for it. 😅

You had recently moved into Westview. Your mother had passed away and you wanted a new start in a small town. Agatha was your neighbor there and she didn’t waste any time welcoming you into town. She watched you struggle to carry the boxes back and forth from your car to your living room and grinned. You were wearing a cute little pink dress and she couldn’t help herself.

“Hiya hon! Do you need some help with that?” You heard a friendly voice from behind you. You swiftly turned around to look at the woman, almost dropping the boxes.

“Careful, there, sweetheart. We don’t want you hurting yourself,” Agatha chuckled, taking a box from you.

“T-thank you,” you blushed, slightly embarrassed at your clumsiness. She helped you put the boxes inside your house before turning towards you.

“I’m Agatha, your neighbor to the right,” she smiled at you kindly, stretching her hand out for you to shake.

“I’m Y/n,” you shook her hand, longer than intended, “And thank you so much for helping me with those boxes. Would you like something to drink?” You offered not knowing what else to say, fidgeting with your hands.

“Y/n...” she tasted your name on her tongue, “What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Tea would be wonderful.”

“Alright, just give me a second until I find my cups,” you chuckled nervously and disappeared into your kitchen. Agatha walked to your living room and sat down. She thought you were so adorable and so innocent…she wanted to be the one to corrupt you. She waited patiently for you to finish up, thinking of all the things she had planned for you.

“I’m so sorry! I completely forgot where I packed everything. I would forget my head if it wasn’t attached to my body,” you joked as you handed Agatha her tea.

“Thank you, hon,” she took a sip, “So, what brings you here?” She asked, curious on how a girl like you ended up in this shitty town.

“Well this was my mother’s home and she passed away a few weeks ago so decided to move in.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she held your hand, gently running her thumb over your knuckles.

“No, it’s okay. We weren’t really close and I wanted a new start.”

“Well if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to knock on my door, alright sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah,” you blushed at the nickname and she grinned. You two talked for a little while longer before you bid her goodbye and continued unpacking your things. Agatha walked home with a smirk on her face. You were too cute for your own good and she knew she was going to have fun with you. The fact that you were alone in this town was a bonus.

Days passed, and her visits became more frequent, her presence becoming very comforting. Somehow many things started to break inside your home and Agatha always seemed to be there to help. She was slowly gaining your trust and finding how truly innocent you were. You hadn’t even had your first kiss, how adorable could you possibly get? Yet beneath her warmth and sweet reassurances, a cunning plan took shape. She needed to be patient, careful, and precise.

Agatha now stood next to you in your kitchen. She had offered to help you cook dinner with the excuse she didn’t want you to eat all alone. She made sure to put her hands on your waist and press her front against your ass every time she walked past you. You, of course, didn’t think anything of this, too oblivious to think badly of Agatha’s touchy behavior. She couldn’t help but tease you a little more. She leaned in close to your ear and whispered.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

“T-thank you…” you tried to hide your flushed face and she chuckled.

“Why don’t you go clean up while I make the table?” Agatha said as you were finishing up.

“Okay!” You obediently took your apron off and started walking to your bathroom to clean up.

“Good girl~,” she said under her breath but just loud enough for you to hear, making you flush once again.

You quickly went in, washed your hands, and fixed your hair. While you were in the bathroom, Agatha debated whether or not she should put a spell on you so she could take you right then and there but she wanted to take her time with you. By the time you walked out, Agatha had the table set up beautifully. There were candles and rose petals on the table. It was almost like a romantic dinner. How did she do this so quickly?

“Agatha, this looks beautiful.”

“Just like you,” she complimented you, booping your nose.

“Thank you, Aggie.” You recently started calling her that. Agatha didn’t seem to mind the newfound nickname, in fact, she loved it.

“Of course, darling.” She pulled out your chair and gestured for you to sit down. She was such a gentleman. You were completely oblivious to her true intentions.

You both sat down and ate dinner. Agatha asked you all kinds of questions, she wanted to know every little detail about you. What made you blush, what made you upset, what made you cry, what made you break. You answered all the questions, not thinking anything of it, and asked some yourself. You liked Agatha, more than you actually thought. God, you were so naive.

Eventually, you both finished eating dinner and she helped you clean the dishes. She always found a way to touch you even if it was just touching your hand when you passed her a plate or spoon to dry off. She saw the slight tint on your cheeks when she did.

"We should do this more often, don’t you think?” Agatha asked, her voice carrying a hint of something you couldn't quite place.

“I would love that!” You said happily. Agatha smiled, her eyes seemed to glint in the candlelight. After you were done doing the dishes Agatha started gathering her things to go home but you stopped her.

“Can you stay and watch a movie with me?” You asked, not wanting for her to leave yet.

“I think it’s a bit late, sweetheart,” she said, wanting to hear you beg for her to stay.

“Pretty please?” You grabbed her hands in your, caressing her knuckles with your thumbs, giving her your best puppy eyes. Agatha pretended to think about it, a sly smirk on her face. You were just so cute, how could she possibly say no to you?

“…fine, I’ll stay, but not too late. You need to go to bed soon, deal?”

“Deal!” you said, excitedly, pulling her towards your couch. She sat back while you picked the movie, settling for Rapunzel, it was your favorite comfort movie. After you started playing the movie, you sat next to Agatha, subconsciously snuggling to her side. She smiled as you snuggled against her. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her.

“Is this your favorite movie, sweetheart?”

“Mhm!”

“Who’s your favorite character?” Agatha asked, combing through your hair.

“Mother Gothel,” you mumbled.

“Mother Gothel, huh?” she raised an eyebrow, “Why her? She’s the villain of the story.”

“I don’t know…” you frowned slightly, “I just like her character I guess…”

“Hmm.”

The movie went on and by the time it was over, you were fast asleep on Agatha’s shoulder. You looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, Agatha wanted to take you right then and there but no, she had to hold herself back. She picked you up and carried you to your bedroom, gently placing you on your bed. She tucked you in before leaning into your ear.

“You will be mine.” Was all she said before leaving to go back home.

—

Over the passing weeks you had gotten attached to Agatha, almost obsessively. Maybe it was her caring nature or your mommy issues coming to bite you in the ass. You were sitting on your couch with Agatha once again. She had picked the movie this time, telling you it was a surprise. She started playing the movie and you soon found out it was titled Carol. You had never seen it before but curled into Agatha’s side, wanting to feel her warmth.

The movie was good and all until the motel scene. Watching as Carol and Therese started kissing and touching each other made your core feel warm. Agatha noticed the way you were trying to hide your flushed face and how your thighs clenched together and smirked. She had you exactly where she wanted you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you cold?” she asked, pulling you closer, placing her hand on your thigh.

“I’m f-fine,” you stuttered out, unconvincing. She chuckled and gently started rubbing your thigh. Her touch was so warm and comforting, it made you want to melt against her. She moved even closer, cupping your face to make you look at her.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I-” you realized how close your faces were, noses almost touching, “Aggie-” she finally crashed her lips against yours. You closed your eyes, savoring how soft her lips were until you pulled away, looking away from her. She smirked at your reaction, enjoying how flustered you were. She gently turned your face to look at her again.

“Sweetheart? Did you not like it?”

“No! I loved it, it's just that…I don’t know how to kiss,” you said, embarrassed.

“Aw, sweetheart,” she cupped your face, “You’re so dumb and innocent you don’t even know how to kiss. How cute.”

“Wha-” She pressed her finger against your lips, shutting you up and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Just follow my lead. I promise you will love it,” you hesitantly nodded and she kissed you again, this time moving her lips against yours and you did the same. She poked her tongue between your lips and you opened your mouth to let her in. You did your best, following her lead and moving your lips and tongue like her. Agatha moved her hand to squeeze your thighs, sliding them closer to your soaked core making you squeal and pull away.

“Agatha I don’t think-”

“Shh,” she pulled you into her lap, your thighs on either side of her legs, “Let mommy do the thinking.” You frowned slightly at her comment but then she pressed her fingers against the wet patch on your panties, making you lose any train of thought you had.

“You’re so wet baby,” she started rubbing her fingers over your clothed clit, “Is that all for me?” she asked, her other hand gripping onto your hip.

“Hmph…” You unconsciously moved your hips against her hand.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” she commanded, pressing harder against your clit, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

“Yes…”

“That’s a good girl.” She growled, moving your panties aside to touch your bare core directly, her fingers sliding between your folds. You gasped at the new feeling. You had never felt like this before. You’ve never touched yourself let alone have sex.

“So innocent…” She said before shoving two fingers inside of you. You were so tight, so warm, so wet for her. She pumped her fingers in and out of you, rubbing your clit with her thumb.

“Such a good girl for mommy.” She praised you.

“Aggie-” you clung to her, wrapping your arms around her neck while she worked on fucking your with her fingers. Her other hand started to sneak under the thin dress you were wearing, finding that you weren’t wearing a bra at all.

“Not wearing a bra?” she pinched your nipple, “What a naughty girl…” You whimpered in response, making her chuckle. She pinched your nipple again, she started biting your neck leaving a trail of marks on your skin. She added a third finger, her thumb circling your clit faster than before and then suddenly stopped.

“Why’d you stop?” You whined desperately.

“Such a needy girl,” she picked you up like you weighed nothing and carried you upstairs like she had done before. She took you to your bedroom and sat you on your bed.

She took your dress off, throwing it elsewhere and started undressing as well. She took off her pants to reveal the enchanted strap she had been wearing. She took off her pants to reveal the enchanted strap she had been wearing. She smirked as she looked at your surprised expression.

“Like what you see, darling?” She pushed you back against the bed and climbed on top of you, your legs wrapped around her waist.

“W-wait-” You started to hesitate.

“Shh, it’s okay baby.” She gently caressed your cheek, looking into your eyes with a soft expression. Her strap was pressing against your core and she started rubbing it against you.

“It’s going to feel so good,” she pressed the tip of the strap into your entrance, “I’ll be gentle, okay?” You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded your head.

She slowly pushed the strap further inside your warm wall, watching as your mouth made an ‘o’ shape and your brows frowned in pleasure. She let out a low groan as the strap went further inside, your pussy greedily clenching around it. Her eyes roaming over your body, watching every little expression you made.

“That’s it, baby… you’re doing so good. You’re taking me so well,” she said most out of breath.

“M-mommy-” She almost lost the little control she had left when you finally called her mommy, feeling a rush of pleasure run through her body. God she was going to finally make you hers. Agatha’s grip on your hips tightened as she began to thrust into you, slowly at first, making sure you were comfortable and enjoying it.

“Oh, you like calling me that don’t you, darling?” She grunted.

“Mhm!” You nodded your head. She smirked and began to pick up the pace, thrusting faster and harder into you. She leaned down and began kissing your neck, leaving more marks as she went. Her hands roamed over your body, squeezing and pinching every inch of your skin.

“Such a good girl, taking mommy’s strap so well…you’re mine.” Agatha finally said out loud. She continued to ramble on, as she thrusted into you. She grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head, making you completely helpless beneath her.

“No one else gets to see you like this. You’re all mine. Fuck- I’m never letting you go.” Your brain had turned to mush and all you could do was chant a bunch of yeses as she snapped her hips at a brutal pace. Agatha loved how incoherent you were becoming. She loved how easily she could reduce you to a moaning mess. She began to talk to you in a soft voice, praising and mocking you at the same time.

“Look at you. Such a babbling mess. Mommy’s little dumb slut. Isn’t that right? All mine?”

“Yes! All yours!” Your voice trembled as you got closer to the edge, your orgasm building up.

“That’s right,” she moved one of her hands from your wrists to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles, “You’re all mine, and you’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?”

You tried to reply but instead let out a loud sob, tears running down your rosy cheeks from the pleasure you felt. Agatha leaned down and kissed your tears away, her movements becoming more frantic as she chased your release.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me. Be a good little slut and cum for mommy.”

Your eyes rolled back and your mouth opened in a silent scream as you fell apart. Agatha moaned as she felt your walls clench around her, sloppily helping you ride out your orgasm as best as she could as she held onto your trembling legs.

“Fuck- I’m going to fill you up nice and full of my cum, baby, you’re going to be all mine.” She came, moaning loudly as she spilled her hot seed deep inside you. She gave you a few more thrust before pulling out, making you whine in protest at how empty you felt. Her hand on your wrists loosened and she looked down at you with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“There we go…Good girl. You did so well for me, baby. So perfect,” she started kissing down your body, “Now mommy’s gonna clean you up…” She finally let go of your wrist, putting your legs together and bending them against your chest, your pussy now completely exposed to her. She used her fingers to spread your pussy lips apart. She watched as her cum leaked out of you and almost moaned at the sight.

“God look at how messy you are…” she leaned down and ran her tongue over your entrance, licking up her own cum. She lapped at your sensitive core, moaning at the taste of the two of you combined, “You taste so good, baby.”

You squirmed against her mouth, your pussy already too sensitive. Agatha chuckled and wrapped her arms around your thighs, holding you in place as she continued to eat you out. She was going to make sure you were completely clean.

“Stay still, honey. Mommy’s not done with you yet.”

“But it h-hurts-” She looked up at you with a mocking expression.

“I know it hurts, baby. That’s why you’re going to be a good girl and take it, isn’t that right?”

She nipped at your inner thigh before diving back down between your legs. You reluctantly nodded, letting her lap over your puffy folds and sucking on your clit. She moaned against your clit, enjoying the taste of your juices. She swirled her tongue around it before sucking on it again, pulling it into her mouth and teasing it with her teeth.

“Mmmm…there we go,” she kissed your clit before letting go of your legs, “All done.” She pulled you into a kiss, shoving her tongue in your mouth, making you taste yourself. You whined against her lips, finding it hard to keep up. She just chuckled and pulled away.

“Come on, baby. Let’s give you a bath.” She started picking and you absolutely melted into her. She set you on the bathroom counter while she filled the bath. You simply watched her as she put bubbles in the bath and made sure the water was at a good temperature.

Once the bath was ready, she gently picked you up and lowered you into the warm water. She sat behind you, letting you lean against her chest. She began washing your body with a soft washcloth, making sure to be extra gentle with you. When she got close to your core, you stiffened slightly, still sensitive from your orgasm and her tongue. She chuckled softly, noticing your reaction.

“Aww, is my baby still sensitive?” She pressed her fingers against your clit. You tried to swat her hand away and clench your thighs together but she took your wrist and held them against your chest while using her own legs to keep yours open.

“Just give mommy one more orgasm and we’ll be all done, okay?” She said, already playing with your clit, rubbing it in small circles.

“It hurts mommy…” you mumbled, hiding your face in the crook of her neck.

“I know it hurts, baby. But you can do it,” she continued to tease your clit, rubbing it faster and harder, “Don’t you want to make mommy proud?”

“Y-yes-” she smiled and rewarded you by letting go of your wrist and wrapping her free hand around your throat, gently squeezing it.

“That’s my good girl. Keep being good for mommy and I’ll make you feel so good, okay?” The pain finally turned into pleasure and your body pathetically melted to Agatha’s once again. Her grip on your throat tightened slightly making you light headed.

“You’re so cute when you’re like this, darling. All weak and pathetic. You’re mine to use however I want, aren’t you?” She slipped two fingers inside you, making you mewl like a dog in heat.

“I’m close!” You moaned as she nibbled on your earlobe before whispering in your ear.

“Good. Come for me, baby. Come for mommy one more time and I’ll let you rest.” Your hands clung to the hand that was still tightly wrapped around your neck for dear life as you came again. Agatha grinned, loving the way you clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you alive. How pathetic and adorable.

She kept her hand around your neck, slowly applying pressure as you came. Once you came down from your high, she loosened her grip and rubbed your neck softly, admiring the redness she left behind.

“That’s my girl. I’m so proud of you,” she soothed you, combing through your wet hair until the water in the bath became cold. She got out first, getting a towel for you before helping you out.

She gently wrapped you the towel, setting you down on the counter once again to brush the knots out of your hair. made quick work of brushing your hair, making sure it was all tangle free. Once she was done, she wrapped the towel around you tighter and lifted you, cradling you in her arms like a small child.

“It’s time to go to sleep, my sweet girl. You must be so tired huh?” she sat you down in the bed while she went to get you some pj. She made sure to be quick noticing how droopy your eyes looked. She came back a moment later with some soft, silk pajamas for you. She gently dressed you in them before tucking you into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

“Comfortable, Angel?”

“Aren’t you going to stay, Aggie?” Agatha smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Of course, I am, darling. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You promise?” She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I promise, sweetheart. You’re mine, I’m not going anywhere. Now get some sleep.”

[haodore]

guidance · sung hanbin

summary. being an idol with hanbin as your older brother.

sung hanbin x sister!reader · platonic, fluff, drabble · 0.8k words · masterlist

! : fem!reader, idol!hanbin, idol!reader, tiny bit of angst, r being hated on, everything else is just fluff and comfort.

You were Hanbin’s biggest fan—before the world ever got to know who he was. You cheered him up when he was at his lowest, and you cheered him on when he was announced as second place for the new k-pop group ZeroBaseOne. You couldn’t be prouder.

It was really encouraging to see what could be achieved. You saw him living out his dreams as you continued to practice hard. His words of comfort were always sent to you through a message, over the phone, or in person as he hugged you and pat the back of your head.

Part of you was beginning to lose hope that you would ever debut, but you pushed forward.

Thank goodness you did, because you soon found out you were going to be finally making your debut. You were in a group with four other girls, and they were some of your closest friends. You had been training with two of them for some time, and had gotten to know the other two a few months ago. They were like your family.

When Hanbin found out, he was overjoyed. He found the nearest time in both his and your schedule to visit you, bringing you flowers and some of your favourite snacks as a gift. You almost burst to tears from both the gesture and from the exhaustion you went through to make it to this point.

He saw the way your lower lip trembled almost immediately and he pulled you into his embrace, a warm laugh leaving his mouth. “Don’t cry~“ He had said, a hand on the back of your head. “You finally did it.” He said pridefully.

By the time your debut came around, you were more stressed than ever. Endless promotions, sleepless nights… it was a lot. The one thing that kept you going? The nightly messages from your big brother. ‘First performance today! You did amazing 🫶’, ‘Make sure to rest well :)’, ‘Try not to overwork yourself. Take breaks when possible ❤️’.

It was amazing what a quick text message could do for your motivation. It helped so much.

When things eventually took a turn, and you made a small mistake in one of your performances, the amount of hate you got was unbelievable. Who would’ve thought people would have so much to say about you tripping over your feet? It was only the slightest stumble. ‘All that training… just to mess up in the first month of being an idol?’, ‘This girl wasn’t ready. Maybe i’m an ot4 stan now…’, ‘Why did the company even put her in this group? She’s not even adding anything to it.’

K-Pop fans don’t seem to think their idols see everything they post, but they see a lot more than anyone would even think. And when suddenly you’re a trending topic amongst multiple K-Pop fandoms?… you definitely heard the things that were being said about you.

You knew you shouldn’t let it get to you, but it did. You cried into your pillow more times than you cared to admit, and it wasn’t until you heard your phone ringing that you realized you had someone who would be there to listen. Someone who knew you better than anyone.

“Y/nie~” His comforting voice flowed through the speaker. You tried to keep the tears back, but at his tone, they started rolling down your face again. He heard your hiccups and sniffles from his end and his lips went into a pout. “Don’t cry… I know it’s hard. I’ve been where you are before. People will freak out over the smallest things. It’s a bit pathetic.” He laughed, maybe attempting to maybe you laugh. Maybe for a moment you did laugh, the half-joyful noise breaking through your quiet sobs. You heard his hum in content at the sound.

He continued. “You made a small mistake, and that’s completely fine. you’re going to make mistakes, but since you’re so new to the industry, people are going to watch you a little closer, and they’re going to be a little meaner, but that doesn’t mean what they’re saying is true. You’re one of the most talented people i know—and I’ve known that for a long time.” He sighed, pausing for a moment. “If you ever need anything, I’m always here. You can call me any time and I’ll always get back to you.”

Your breath started to slow, and your crying started to lessen. He was right. “How about tomorrow we go hang out. You’re not doing anything right? You have a free day? Well, I’m free until noon, so we can hang out. How’s that sound?” At the end of his sentence his voice lifted up into that higher pitched tone he used with his maknae of his group often. You weren’t a stranger to the tone, and it made you laugh. “Okay, sounds good.”

You could tell that he was smiling through his light voice coming through the phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, than. Goodnight. Rest well. Love you.” You smiled. “Love you, too.”

You were Hanbin’s biggest fan first, and he was yours. It was clear in the way he checked in on you, guided you through your new career, and lended a helping hand when you couldn’t pull yourself up.

main taglist: @superlegend216

@ haodore

[bullet-prooflove]

Two Years: Michael "Mikey" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @mckinleysbones @savemeaimeemann @wabi-sabi1090 @trublu2u @navs-bhat

Companion piece to:

Mess - Mikey tries to prove to you both he made the right decision by leaving.

A Fucking Saint - Mikey thinks you're a fucking saint for putting up with him all these years.

Tomorrow - A chance run in at the grocery store leads Mikey to break a bad habit.

The Diagnosis - Mikey recieves an explaination regarding his behaviour and addiction issues.

Save It (NSFW) - Mikey tries to apologise for all the terrible shit he's done over the years.

Wild - You and Mikey have discuss three things you love about him.

In the aftermath of Mikey’s diagnosis, he starts to fall in love again, not with you, that was never in question, but with the life the two of you begin to build together.

The mornings he wakes up tangled up in you, your bare skin pressed against his as the sun filters in through the blinds. The breakfast he makes while you’re in the shower because his baby needs to keep her strength up if she’s going to get through the day teaching all those pint sized hellions.

On your days off the two of you tour the city, hand in hand, in search of the best gelato, the best cannoli, the donut. You argue the merits of each one, devising your own scoring system. In the evenings he watches the TV with his head in your lap, your fingers combing lightly through his hair. It’s the most content and most stable he’s been in years.

It starts to bleed into his work life. He becomes more organised. Invoices get paid on time, the atmosphere more jovial. The Beef starts to turn over a profit again and finally it feels like Mikey can breathe.

It continues like that for almost two years, right up until the accident.

The two of you are driving back from the movie theatre when a drunk driver hurtles right through a red light and careens into your car. Mikey will never forget waking up to the scent of copper and gasoline, your lifeless eyes staring back at him.

Killed on impact, he's told later, his head still spinning from the concussion.

He falls apart after that, starts drinking again. He swaps his bipolar medicine for Oxy because Mikey, he can’t cope with all of the grief that boils up inside of him. Every day it simmers underneath the surface of his skin, gnawing at his insides, chewing up his heart.

It should have been me, he tells Richie as he stands on the bridge where he’d written both of your names onto a padlock and clipped it to the mesh. It should have been me that was killed in that crash.

It’s that night he finds himself in his mother’s bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He’s started staying here again because he can’t stand the thought of going back to the house the two of you shared. His hand comes to rest on the gun residing on the vanity. It feels heavier today, more weighty. He knows that’s because he hadn’t taken the bullets out this time.

He closes his eyes and he remembers that smile, the one that used to light up his entire world and he starts to cry because his memory, it doesn’t do the real thing any justice. It doesn’t feel like the sun warming his skin, or fill his heart with lightness. It just hurts, it hurts so fucking bad he just wants the pain to stop and he knows there’s only one way to do it.

“I'm on my way baby.” He whispers as he raises the gun to his temple, his finger squeezing the trigger. “I’m on my way.”

Love Mikey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[eddis-not-eeddis]

How To Stop Killing Conversations

Talking is hard. People are confusing. Making friends is difficult, and interacting with coworkers is tortuous.

You want to make friends, you want to reach out, but it's hard and every time you start a conversation it dies, or limps along until both you and the person you're talking to are looking for excuses to kill it and put it out of it's misery so you can both escape the increasingly awkward situation.

As an introvert who has suffered a lot of social anxiety in my time, let me share a few tricks I've learned over the years going through hundreds and thousands of excruciatingly painful conversations until I found something that works. I've kind of distilled the process.

ALWAYS ASK A QUESTION!!!

The first thing is to always leave your partner an opening. You need to let each other talk for a conversation to get off the ground, but it's more than that, really. You need to actively encourage each other to talk. The best way to do that is to ask questions.

Here are two examples of an introduction: Example A

You: Hello.

Them: Hello.

You: Nice to meet you.

Them: Nice to meet you too.

Example B

Y: Hello, nice to meet you, how are you? T: I’m doing well, yourself?

Y: I've been really well. How are you liking the weather?

T: I'm so happy the weather's finally getting cooler, I'm looking forward to pumpkin spice season. Do you like lattes?

Do you see how in Example A the conversation wasn’t going anywhere? It just kinda died, because there weren’t any openings for new topics, whereas in Example B, there were openings to keep the conversation going.

But what do you do if your conversation partner is as socially inept as you were two minutes ago and doesn't play along? All is not lost.

Example C

Y: Hello, so nice to meet you, how have you been doing?

T: I'm doing well.

Y: That's great, are you enjoying the nice weather, then?

T: Yeah. I'm glad it's finally fall, I'm looking forward to pumpkin spice lattes.

Y: I love pumpkin spice lattes! Pumpkin spice anything, really. I recently got the best pumpkin spice candle at the shop down the road, have you been there?

Even if they don't leave you an opening, you can usually make one. It may be difficult, especially when they don't give you much to work with. This is where having a go-to script is a life-saver--me, I always default to talking about the weather, so when in doubt, you can do that.* The important thing right now is to keep fostering the conversation, so once you bring up the weather, segue into a question. When they answer the question, make a brief comment or observation from your own experience and build off of that comment or observation to ask another question.

"But I don't want to make it about me. Doing that's bad, right?"

This is why that questions are important. If you haven't been asked a question, you kinda have to make it about you, you don't have a choice. But to keep from being an attention hog, follow up your shared experience or anecdote with another question.

Example D

T: I love pumpkin spice lattes

Y: Me too. I had the best pumpkin spice latte the other day at the cafe down the road, have you ever been there?

Now you've circled the conversation back around to them again, and you aren't taking the limelight. Sharing an experience is so important, you're trying to show that you understand, that you sympathize, that you relate.**

This really is the most important element of being a good conversationalist. You have to keep asking questions.

The one other thing I will touch on is introductions. DO NOT get into turn based combat.

Example E

Y: Hello

T: Hello

Y: Nice to meet you

T: Nice to meet you too.

Y: How are you doing?

T: I'm fine. You?

Y: Me too.

This will kill any possibility of continuing a conversation. Instead, get it all out of the way all at once, if at all possible.

Example F

Y: Hi, it's nice to meet you, how are you doing?

This is good, but this is better

Example G

Y: Hi, nice to meet you, how are you liking the weather?

Don't ask how they are doing, or if you do, before they can answer, follow it up with your placeholder (weather etc.) so they have to say some thing like

Example H

T: I'm fine, and I'm really liking the weather.

or

T: Not so great, the weather sucks.

Either of those options are much easier to work with than your basic "I'm fine."

Usually, if you can get past the introduction, you can get a conversation going. And then, even if you don't end up hitting it off with the person you're talking with, you at least don't leave the conversation feeling like you've died a thousand tiny deaths.

In fact, if you get past that introduction, you may have just made yourself a friend.

Remember folks, basically everyone around you is more afraid of you than you are of them, and in this benighted age no one has been taught conversation skills, so we are all pretty much in the same boat. (Unless you were born an extrovert, in which case we are all deeply envious and would probably kill you if we didn't need you in our sad and lonely lives so much.)

Have grace for one another, and for yourselves because talking with people is difficult.

Go forth, and stop killing conversations.

*If you are one of those awful people who likes to brag about how you hate small talk and only want to talk about important and meaningful things, I have one question: Do you ever have a conversation that lasts long enough to become meaningful? I thought not. Small talk is an important skill. Develop it.

**This is how you deal with sad or difficult situations too. When you want to show you sympathize with someone going through a hard time.

Example:

Y: How are you doing?

T: Not very well. My dog died last week.

Y: Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. My own dog died last year and I still miss her a lot. How are you handling it?

Now you've circled the conversation back around to them again. You aren't making it about you.

If y'all want, next time I can share how to extricate yourself from a conversation.

[simjaexy]

★ 𝙀𝙣𝙝𝙖 𝙃𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙭 (𝙁) 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ★

౨ৎ why fight when we can just fuck?

warnings ⇀ MINORS DNI!!!, lowercase intended, crying, arguments, eating out (jay), shower sex (jake), cursing, dom! heeseung x sub! reader, hair gripping (sunghoon), overstimulation (jay), mean dom! sunghoon x sub brat! reader, blowjobs (sunghoon), rough sex, jealousy (sunghoon)

genre ⇀ pure smut, little angst

w.c ⇀ 980

a/n ⇀ sorry for not posting for awhile but i made a drabble of the hyung line! i’m planning on making a heeseung fic soon so stay tuned for that :) i hope you enjoy so please reblog, comment, like, etc! not proofread!

౨ৎ you and heeseung had a disagreement over something trivial, but it escalated quickly. the tension was palpable, and you both ended up saying things you didn't mean.

later that evening, heeseung knocked on your door, his face filled with regret. "i'm really sorry," he said softly. "i didn't mean to hurt you.” he noticed your silence and held your hand, “i think i know what to do to make you forgive me.” was all he said before shutting the door behind him.

“h-hee!” you cried out when you felt his girth dick hitting the right spots that made your eyes roll back. heeseung groaned feeling you clench around him. he pinned both of your arms down on the bed and nibbled at your neck causing you to jerk at the sensation.

“fuck you feel so tight. wanna fuck this pussy all day. would you let me baby?” he whispered in your ear. you nodded your head feeling your climax finally coming.

“fuck hee i’m cumming!” you moaned. he slapped your ass watching it jiggle. a smirk never falling off his face.

“fuck go head and cream on this dick.” he spoke. that was all you needed before your orgasm came over you. heeseung slowed down and soon he came too.

“i’m sorry baby for having that stupid argument. i love you.” heeseung mumbled, rubbing his face in your neck. you giggled and kissed his cheek.

“it’s okay hee, i forgive you.”

౨ৎ you and jay had a heated argument about his busy schedule. you felt neglected, and he felt misunderstood. after cooling off, jay came to you with a sincere expression.

"i'm sorry for not considering your feelings," he admitted. "i promise to make more time for us."

he cupped your face when he saw a few tears streaming down, “it really hurts jay.”

he kissed your cheek, “how about i make it up to you now?”

“oh god seongie!” you cried out, feeling his tongue lick your bud. he groaned when you gripped his hair. he continued nibbling and licking your bud, the sweet taste of you making him feel crazy.

your back arched and jerked when he suddenly licked your folds, “seongie too much!” you whined.

“mhm.” was all jay said. he dipped his tongue in your hole and swirled it around causing your eyes to roll back. you felt your orgasm coming and locked your legs around jays head.

“s-seongie im cumming! please!” you whimpered. seongie looked up at you, his intense hazed lustful gaze staring at you caused you to finally cum. you groaned when he still continued to lick up all your sweet taste.

“n-no. no more.” you rasped out. jay finally let go of your pussy and licked his lips. you saw him starting to unbuckled his belt.

“i don’t think i’m gonna stop anytime soon darling. i’m gonna make it up to you.”

౨ৎ you and jake had a disagreement about a decision he made without consulting you. feeling hurt, you distanced yourself. jake noticed and came to you, looking genuinely sorry.

"i didn't mean to make you feel left out," he said. "i should have talked to you first. i'm really sorry.”

you nodded your head, still feeling a bit upset. jake noticed your same expression and rubbed your hip, “how about we wash these negativities away?”

“fuck jake!” you squealed out. the sound of loud skin slapping and moans filling up the steamy bathroom.

jake threw his head back feeling your clench around him. the steamy water making him feel even more hot.

“yeah? you like that? wanna fuck you so good.” he moaned. you frantically nodded your head. you would’ve been on the ground if it weren’t for jake holding your hips in place.

“pussy feels so good. does my princess feel good?” he slurred out. you felt your orgasm coming after hearing his dirty words. the only thing you could do was nod your head.

“g-gonna cum. cumming!” you gasped. that’s when you felt your legs shaking with you pussy throbbing around jake’s dick. jake came right then and there.

“m’sorry princess. i love you.” he said.

you hummed, still tired, “i love you too jake.”

౨ৎ you and sunghoon had an argument about a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control. both of you were stubborn, but sunghoon eventually approached you with a apology.

"i'm sorry for being so stubborn," he confessed. "i value our relationship too much to let this come between us."

you rolled your eyes, “should have though bout that before flirting with that waitress.” you mumbled.

sunghoon sighed, knowing you weren’t gonna let it down. instead of saying anything, sunghoon grabbed your wrist and took you guys to your bedroom.

“fuck just like that kitten.” he groaned. you moaned around his dick, feeling it throb in your mouth. the noise of your slobber and his precum around his dick turning you on more. your pussy wet with slick. sunghoon gripped your hair when he felt you hollow your cheeks.

“ah~ fuck! that’s right kitten, such a good kitten.” he purred out. you felt tears gathering around your eyes when he started pushing his dick deeper into your mouth.

sunghoon felt your hand tapping against his thigh, but that didn’t stop him. if you were gonna have attitude after his apology, he’ll find a way to make you shut up.

he felt his orgasm coming and lolled his head back, “shit gonna cum.” he said. that’s when he let go of your hair making you lick around his tip, wanting to taste his cum in your mouth.

feeling your wet tongue licking his tip made him jerk forward and that’s when he finally came in your mouth. you swallowed every bit of it and hummed in content.

sunghoon rubbed your jaw, “don’t complain about being jealous when your the only one that can make me cum like this.”

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Eternal Blood Animate Tokuten CD ☽ Vol. 1 & 2 ・A Certain Day at the Mukami Household

Original title: ある日の無神家 Voiced by Sakurai Takahiro (Ruki), Suzuki Tatsuhisa (Yuma) English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the audio (as always, BIG thank you to @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This CD was very generous with the fan service, to say the least... I can safely say it's one of my new absolute favourites! The cooing, the teasing, the brotherly banter, Ruki's tired dad energy near the end, and both Ruki and Yuma fawning over you? _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): I hope you have as much fun listening and reading along as I had translating it!

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

00:00 [The scene starts with Ruki quietly reading in his room.]

Ruki: What a lovely day it is today. A pleasant breeze is coming in from the window, and time is passing ever so slowly... There couldn’t be a more perfect time to read.

[Ruki turns a page.]

Ruki: I see. There’s much more to this book than I thought. I only bought it on a whim to pass the time, but… it’s actually not bad at all.

[Ruki turns another page and continues reading. The sound of rushed footsteps comes from the hallway.]

Ruki: Oh. Those footsteps… Is that Yuma?

[Ruki snaps his book shut with a sigh.]

Ruki: If he’s heading this way, he probably wants something from me. I’d hoped to spend a quiet day alone, but it seems like I’ll have to let that go…

[Yuma bursts into the room.]

Yuma: Hey! This’s bad, Ruki!

Ruki: Do not run in the hallway. Knock. Wait before I answer until I open the door. How many times do I have to tell you all of this?

Yuma: There’s somethin’ much more important that I need you to take a look at. You got time, right?

Ruki: What happened? You came all this way to disturb my reading, so at least tell me why.

Yuma: You’ll know the reason when you just come to the garden ‘n look at it.

Ruki: At what? 

[The scene shifts to the Mukami mansion's vegetable garden.]

Ruki: Ah… What on Earth is this? Hey, you. You were here together with Yuma, right? Explain the situation.

[You try to explain, but you’re so worked up that you keep stumbling over your words.]

Ruki: I shouldn’t have asked you. I can’t have a conversation with you when you can't even string together a sentence.

Yuma: Well… you know how most of the veggies in the garden are pretty much ripe for the pickin’ right now? She was pickin’ them for me, and then she suddenly called out that she saw somethin’ underneath the dirt. So, I got curious and dug it up, and it was… this.

[Yuma pats the box next to him.]

Ruki: This box? It looks like a coffin. You could lock up a full-sized human in there.

02:04 Yuma: Haha. You ain’t wrong. Like you said, it might be a coffin. Might be a vampire inside that was buried while he was sleepin’ or somethin'.

[You definitely don’t like the idea of that.]

Yuma: What, you scared something’s gonna jump out at you? You’d better fight like hell. Heh.

[You ask him what he would do if something were to jump out at you.]

Yuma: Huh? I’m just gonna stand by ‘n watch, of course. I ain’t comin’ to your rescue for free.

[Yuma comes closer.]

Yuma: If you want me to save ya, you got somethin’ to give me in return, right? That sweet stuff that’s flowin’ in your veins… Make me an offer and I might give it some thought.

Ruki: Yuma. That’s enough.

Yuma: Yeah, yeah, got it.

[Ruki steps closer to the box.]

Ruki: Hmm… The lid of the box seems to have a lock on it, but it’s in really bad condition. It looks like it would open easily.

Yuma: So? Let’s take a look inside.

Ruki: Hold on, Yuma. Don’t do anything reckless. Haven’t you read any literature on these kinds of things?

Yuma: Literature?

Ruki: These kinds of boxes are often traps. I’ve read about them in books. For example, there was one case in which a box washed up on a seashore. A man opened the box and smoke poured out, which gathered into the shape of an old man. It’s likely some kind of curse.

Yuma: Those kinds of curses exist?

Ruki: And then there are also these boxes of various sizes, collectively called tsuzura. You’re pressured to choose a single box, and if you choose the biggest one, there’s a trap inside: a monster jumps out of it. There are innumerable examples.

04:01 Yuma: Really? That’s some scary shit.

[You tell them those are probably made-up stories.]

Ruki: Oh? Do you really think they’re mere myths, Livestock? I’ll let you open the box, then.

[You immediately backpedal and try to run away, but Ruki catches you.]

Ruki: Oh, no. Don’t think you can run away now.

[You tell him you don’t want to do it.]

Ruki: You’re the one who said they’re myths. This is an order from your master. Hurry up and open it. If a monster really were to jump out, you’d have nowhere to run. It could easily tear you to pieces. I wonder what happens when it sinks its teeth into this pale skin of yours…

[Ruki’s hands palm your bare skin. You get flustered and try to move away.]

Ruki: What’s wrong? Did you already imagine it just by me touching you? Ah… So you actually prefer pain over pleasure.

[Ruki pulls you closer.]

Ruki: Don’t lie to me. You’re eagerly awaiting it, aren’t you? Your body seems to be trembling in delight, actually. Show me that expression of yours properly.

[Ruki grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.]

Ruki: Oh. I see the colour has completely drained from your face. Fear is not such a bad look on you. Well, then—do as your master tells you and open that lid.

[You tell him you’re scared and repeat that you really don’t want to.]

Ruki: That’s precisely why I’m making you do it, of course.

[You’re on the verge of tears.]

Ruki: Heh. You look miserable when you’re about to burst into tears. It’s quite enjoyable. However, you seem to be misunderstanding something. I’m not doing this to punish you. It’s your reward for helping Yuma. 

[Ruki pulls you even closer while you struggle.]

06:03 Ruki: To have your will completely ignored, your body pinned down until you have no choice but to obey… you actually get off on such wretched situations, don’t you? I’ll make you humiliate yourself. Now, how about you wag your little tail in delight and do as I say?

[You violently shake your head.]

Ruki: Good grief… You really don’t know when to give up, do you? You still have no intention of obeying?

Yuma: You’ve really gotten more stubborn since you started livin’ with us. Or, well, you were prolly already stubborn from the get-go.

Ruki: Livestock who don’t follow orders don’t do themselves any favours in terms of charm. Ah. Let’s do this on different terms, then. If you open the lid, I’ll make you your favourite for dinner.

[That piques your interest. You immediately say you’ll do it.]

Yuma: That makes you agree straight away?!

Ruki: Ah… I’ve clearly been using the wrong methods to discipline you. It’s like I’ve got one more Kou or Yuma in my household…

Yuma: What do Kou ‘n I gotta do with that? Well, fine by me, though. Besides, this lid’s pretty heavy. You sure you can lift it with those tiny arms?

[You try to lift the lid but fail miserably.]

Yuma: It ain’t movin’ at all. Are you even tryin’? Put some more effort into it or Ruki’s just gonna yell at you.

[The lid still doesn’t budge despite your best efforts.]

Yuma: I thought you said you’d do it yourself. How pathetic.

[You give up.]

Yuma: You’re so hopeless it ain’t even funny. Hey, Ruki. It’ll take all day if we leave this to her.

Ruki: It certainly seems that way. It can’t be helped, I suppose. Lend her a hand.

Yuma: Gotcha. Let’s see… I’ll give you a hand, so at least put some effort into it, alright? If you can’t open that lid, I’ll sink my fangs into you so deep you’re gonna beg for mercy. Makes it a bit more thrilling, right? Really, though. You keep yapping about the lid being heavy, but how heavy’s it really?

[Yuma gives a little push and the lid gives right away.]

08:24 Yuma: Huh? The fuck? It ain’t even that heavy. You really are useless. You shoulda been able to lift it lickety-split, Sow. I’ve given you a head start, so you do the rest. I’ll let go, so don’t drop the lid, alright?

[Yuma lets go and you immediately almost drop the lid.]

Yuma: C’mon, hold it up a little higher, Sow! Are you really puttin’ all your strength into it? You look like an idiot. Makes me wanna laugh. If you don’t put in the effort like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, we’ll start from scratch again. Jeez… I’ll teach you how it’s done.

[Yuma puts a hand on your lower back, which startles you.]

Yuma: Here, right here. Focus your strength in your lower back when you brace yourself. What, you ticklish? 

[You shake your head.]

Yuma: Ah, I see, I see. So you’re just weak? Besides, you can’t really fight back when you got your hands full. Even if I were to do this…

[Yuma puts his hands on you again.]

Yuma: Hehe. That’s a great reaction. Doesn’t matter how tough a position you’re in, you still love it, dontcha? You’re workin’ so hard so hold up that lid, but I wonder what’ll happen if I do it again…

[You unconsciously brace yourself.]

Yuma: You’re shiverin’ like a little rabbit. Ah, come to think of it, there’s a lil’ somethin’ on your clothes…

[Yuma puts his hands on your waist and squeezes. You almost drop the lid.]

Yuma: Haha! Don’t let go so easily. Are your sides really that weak? Besides, I think you know already, but if you let go, you lose. Hm… You don’t wanna get punished, do ya? Better fix that attitude ‘n please your owner. Brace yourself ‘n take it. C’mon, c’mon!

[Yuma tickles and gropes you until you finally break and drop the lid.]

10:24 Yuma: Ah, for shame. Now the lid’s closed again. Time’s come for this useless little piggy’s punishment.

[Yuma grabs you from behind and pulls you against him. Your arms are trapped behind you.]

Yuma: Well, you can’t run away when I’ve got you from behind like this. Your chest’s completely unprotected. Should we punish you right here, right now? C’mon, Ruki. Join in on the fun.

Ruki: Good grief. What are you playing around for? However… You didn’t follow your master’s orders. This indeed calls for punishment.

[Ruki walks over to you. You turn your head to the side in embarrassment.]

Ruki: Are you trying to seduce me, exposing your neck to me like that? You really lack discipline.

[Ruki trails his fingers along your neck, causing you to shiver.]

Ruki: Heh. You’re already losing control of your body just from a little touch of my fingers. Did you fail on purpose because you actually want to be punished? Normally, I would’ve sunk my fangs into you right away, but I think I’ll keep you in suspense today.

[Ruki trails his fingers along your skin again—your cheek and your ear this time.]

Ruki: Your cheek, your ear… Where would you like me to bite you?

[You tremble.]

Ruki: What’s wrong? You’re already trembling from my fingers tracing your skin… Does it excite you that much?

[You deny it.]

Yuma: You can deny it all you want, but you don’t sound very convincing. You’re just covered in weak spots, right? I bet you’ll cry out nicely when I touch your back. Let’s see…

[Yuma caresses your back and your voice slips.]

12:00 Yuma: Haha. What was that shameless sound just now? That’s all it takes to turn you on? What a lewd lil' thing you are.

[You struggle.]

Yuma: For fuck's sake... What’re you actin’ all innocent for when you’re clearly beggin’ to be touched?

Ruki: Are you writhing like that because you want it so badly it hurts, then? You’re out of luck, though—I’ll drag it out. You won’t learn discipline if you always get what you want right away, after all. I'll caress you slowly, deliberately, until you’re absolutely flushed with heat...

[You quietly protest, but like Yuma said, you don’t sound convincing at all.]

Yuma: Nah, you’re actually way into this, ain’t you? If you want our fangs, beg for it.

Ruki: Where would you like me to bite you? Tell me. I can't promise that I’ll honour your wishes, though.

[You struggle against them with all your might, kicking and screaming.]

Yuma: Hey, calm down—

[You accidentally kick the coffin in your efforts to get away.]

Yuma & Ruki: Huh?

Yuma: Oh, dammit. Now part of the lid’s broken because you were kickin’ so hard.

Ruki: The coffin itself has deteriorated quite a bit, too. That said, your kicking did most of the damage. Yuma. Let her go. Her punishment is on hold for now. We can’t have her destroy that coffin before we confirm what’s inside.

Yuma: Well, whatever.

[Yuma lets you go and your knees immediately give out.]

Yuma: Haha. What’re you sittin’ down for? Didya really feel that good? Well, we’ll take our sweet time with you when we continue later. I mean, you wanna see what’s inside the coffin too, right?

[You get up again.]

Ruki: Yuma, can you open it up?

Yuma: Yeah, hold on—

[Yuma opens the lid of the coffin all the way.]

Yuma & Ruki: Oh? 

Yuma: The hell’s this?

Ruki: They look like kimono (1) and combs from a long time ago… 

Yuma: There’s a whole bunch of stuff that I don’t really recognise, too…

Ruki: I see. It seems we’ve unearthed a time capsule.

14:08 Yuma: A time… capsule? What’s that?

Ruki: People put various things from their time in a box and bury it. Usually, they’re unearthed after a long time, when someone wants to reminisce.

Yuma: Why’s it buried here in the garden?

Ruki: I don’t know what happened on this land before the Mukami mansion was built. However, whoever buried this box clearly put a lot of thought into it.

Yuma: Huh. So what’re we gonna do with it?

[You suggest burying it again to preserve its contents.]

Ruki: Easy for you to say, considering you were kicking it earlier. However, I have no objections to that idea. Let’s put it back in the ground.

Yuma: Even though we went through all that trouble to dig it up?

Ruki: We have no need for it. 

Yuma: Well, that’s true. Let’s bury it somewhere where it won’t interfere with my garden. I don’t really get it, though. What’s fun about preservin’ the past?

Ruki: I wonder. It’s a human endeavour first and foremost, though. It has little to do with us.

[You shift on your feet.]

Yuma: Huh? What’s up?

[You tell him you understand.]

Yuma: Understand what?

[You explain.]

Yuma: The feelin’ of wantin’ to cherish your memories?

Ruki: Heh. Memories are worthless. It’s truly something for shallow humans to want to convey memories from their own time period to later generations. Do not think there’s any worth in doing that.

[You disagree. You’ve made nice memories with the Mukami family, after all.]

Ruki: What?

Yuma: Haha. Well said. So, even though you haven’t had it easy since you started livin’ with us, you still made some good memories?

[You nod.]

Yuma: Heh. Isn’t that ‘cause we’ve trained (2) you to think that? Well, I do kinda get what you’re sayin’. Everyone’s got at least some precious memories, after all. Right, Ruki? 

16:08 Ruki: Heh. Still, I don’t understand the need to bury them where they’ll never see the light of day.

Yuma: Yeah, I’m with you on that.

[You try to convince them, but…]

Yuma: Nah, it’s alright. Besides, you gotta help me bury this thing again. And after that, we’ve still got harvestin’ to do!

[You’re surprised.]

Ruki: Heh. You unearthed it, so it’s only logical that you have to help burying it again. You’d better work up a sweat while you’re at it.

Yuma: Hey, Ruki. You’re already here anyway, so lend us a hand too, will ya? With the harvestin’ and all.

Ruki: What? You’re seriously asking me that?

Yuma: You’re makin’ her her favourite for dinner, right? We won’t make it in time for dinner if you don’t harvest the necessary veggies yourself.

Ruki: Tch. That’s not something I should need to dirty my hands for. Hey. Harvest whatever you’d like to eat yourself.

Yuma: C’mon, Ruki. Put in the work for once. You’ll be covered in mould eventually if you keep readin’ so much.

Ruki: You might want to consider that we’re vampires. Do you seriously think there are other vampires who think it’s healthy to work outside on days when the sun’s this bright?

Yuma: I like it, so that’s all that matters! You think so too, right?

Ruki: For fuck’s sake... I won’t do it. I refuse!

Yuma: It’s alright, it’s alright! Hurry ‘n c’mere!

Ruki: You two do it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Besides the obvious traditional Japanese clothing, the word kimono literally means ‘things to wear’ and can also be understood as ‘clothes’ more generally. I think the latter may also apply here.

調教（ちょうきょう）refers to the training of animals.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

-

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

-

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

-

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

-

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

-

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

-

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

-

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,” one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.