#in a way it's impressive how netflix has had its finger so far from the pulse for so long

[therewillbekpop]

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Seven

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Reader Get’s Chased, Reader Get’s Injured, Blood, Exposition Heavy, Possessive Morpheus (Emo Boi Doesn’t Like Sharing).

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~3.3k

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“You have got to be kidding me,” The words slipped from your mouth before you even had a chance to realize you were saying them. You ask for one night of peace and you end up in the one place you wanted a break from! Your dreams. Tapping your hands on your legs, you looked around and observed the crumbling place you were in. You had been here before, at least in that memory. The one where you got choked that is. You weren’t too keen on coming across the monsters again, but so far, the ruins were silent. Stepping forwards, you meandered down the crumbling path that led to the castle ruins. The stone path was dark and riddled with dust and chunks of stone from nearby structures. Large spaces on either side of the path were devoid of what you suspected used to be glimmering water. You had to weave around the rubble, which made your trek to the castle slow. Slow, but enjoyable for now.

Moving your way though what felt like a crumbling ghost town that was once a thing of beauty, you ran your fingers lightly over the remnants of carved stone, silently wishing you could have seen it when it was in its glory. It was a kingdom, clearly, but where were its inhabitants? Where was its ruler? Someone wouldn’t just abandon what had to be a beautiful city such as this one, not on purpose at least. Stopping at a statue of what looked like a dragon, you peered closer at the gold plated placard. It was heavily dented but you could make out a a name.

“Xermei, Lady of the Skies,” You spoke softly, running your fingers over the inscribed name. Your eyes returned to the crumbling dragon. The size of the statue was impressive and you were surprised that it was still so well put together. Stepping around to the front, you peered at the eyes. One eye socket was empty, the other held a beautifully cut gemstone. A glittering red orange color that seemed to have light flickering within. It was quite beautiful and a shame that it was missing it’s other ‘eye’ so to speak. Your eyes dropped to the chunks of white stone that littered the marble slabs on the ground. It was pretty dusty poking around, and you coughed a few times, waving out a few dust clouds. But eventually your search was rendered successful. Beneath a chunk of stone was the matching eye, layered in dust and grime. Picking up the gem, you wiped off the dust and grime clinging to the stone until the warmth of the gem glowed once more. “Let’s get you back where you belong, shall we?”

Climbing the crumbling dragon wasn’t easy but the broken parts of the statue provided enough of a grip for you to haul yourself up the neck where you clung to it with your legs and stretched forwards to place the eye back in place. Satisfied that it was safely tucked back into place, you let your body slid down the neck before hopping back to the ground. You dusted your hands on your pants and turned around to continue on your way… only to come face to face with a stern looking woman holding a book in hand. She looked at you over her spectacles, lips pursed.

“It seems you are back, despite my repeated warnings.” She stated, tilting her head to the side. “How many times must I tell you that you do not belong here?”

“Sorry?” You spoke, a little confused. She must have met you before… which obviously you didn’t remember. “I’m not doing this on purpose, you know. I just fall asleep and find myself in this bloody place. Do you know how long I’ve been wishing for a night of sleep where I am free of these dreams? It’s driving me mad.”

Her eyebrow went up, clearly unimpressed by your words. You sighed and waved your hands about.

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m just along for the ride… okay?” You then continued on your way. The woman decided to follow, her disapproving gaze heavy on your back. You probably weren’t going to lose her anytime soon. “Well since you feel the need to follow me, care to tell me your name?”

“I am Lucienne, Head Librarian and Record Keeper of The Dreaming.” She replied crisply.

“And why have you stayed in a place where everyone has left?” You asked, looking up at a nearby lamp post, whatever it had been using for light was hanging from where it had been mounted. Broken, just like everything else in this place. “This place is a crumbling ghost town full of shadows.”

“Because my loyalties will always lie with my king, even when he is absent.” Absent? Your eyebrows went up and you glanced around.

“Looks more than just absent, Lucienne,” You commented quietly. “Kingdom’s don’t crumble like this over night, or even in a few years. How long has your king been gone?”

Lucienne looked down at the book in her hand. She then cleared her throat and looked back up at you.

“Over one hundred years.” She answered rather uncomfortably. “But the king will return.”

“You’re very sure of that.” You murmured, studying her.

“The king is the very life blood of The Dreaming. Without him we would not exist.” Lucienne said as you passed the castle gate and proceeded into the front courtyard. It had plants that were either dead or overgrown, and a fountain that had long since dried up. The ground was littered with dead leaves mixed with dust and even with all the death and decrepit stone, you could picture what it once looked like. Pausing in step, a confusing sense of nostalgia overtook you. You knew this place, but not from that terrifying memory. You turned back to Lucienne.

“What is he? Your king?” You asked, your eyes lingering on her pointed ears. Lucienne stared at you for a minute before speaking.

“He is Dream of the Endless, King of Nightmares and Dreams, Prince of Stories, Lord Morpheus.” Lucienne responded, moving towards the large doors to the castle. “Come, it is time to figure out what you are and why you are here.”

Your eyebrows rose once again and with a shrug, you followed her into the castle.

The library was extraordinary and you were sad to know that no matter how many dreams you had, you’d never be able to read all the books found on these shelves. Lucienne had grabbed a bunch of books and placed them on a table in the center of the library before starting to flip through them. You had taken to looking through the books on the shelves, tracing their spines with your fingers. The only sounds in the library were the sounds of pages being flipped and after a while, you were feeling restless.

“What are you looking for?” You finally asked, meandering over to where the librarian sat, concern on her face.

“Information telling me what you are,” She said, her finger running down a page. “This book holds all of your dreams and it is here where I shall find my answers.”

“Bloody hell,” You breathed out, inching forward to take a closer look. “All of my dreams?”

“Quite,” You shuddered, the thought of Lucienne being able to see all of your dreams frightening. Lucienne’s eyebrow rose and she tilted her head. “In my reading I have decided that it will be helpful to visit Cain and Abel, as you seemed to frequent them quite often.”

“I don’t remember much of them but if it helps,” You replied while rubbing your forehead. “How rare are lucid dreamers?”

“Rare,” Lucienne responded. “But I can cross that off the list of possibilities. You don’t fit the qualifications.”

“So what else could I be?”

“A vortex, among other things. Pray that you aren’t.” You didn’t like the sound of that.

“Got it, vortex bad…” As you trailed off, a stick figure with a pumpkin head emerged from the shadows of the library.

“Cleaned up the east tower rubble but I think the garden on that side is close to collapse.” The pumpkin spoke as you stared wide eyed at it, wondering if you were tripping on something. The pumpkin’s black carved eyes landed on you. “Who’s this?”

“This, Mervyn, is Y/N, and I don’t know what she is… yet.” Mervyn’s eyebrows would have gone up if he had them.

“Wow, something you don’t know?” Lucienne looked like she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I don’t know everything, Mervyn.” She corrected him, shutting the book in front of her. Mervyn grunted and looked at you.

“Call me Merv,” You raised two fingers and gave him a small wave with them.

“Now that greetings are over, can we please get back to the task at hand?” Lucienne questioned sternly, looking at the both of you over her glasses. “The Dreaming is barely holding together as it is, I don’t need you causing more destruction.”

“Yeah and I don’t want to keep cleaning it up.” Merv complained, crossing his stick arms. “Maybe since Y/N here can—“

Mervyn’s words were drowned out by a howl. That sound made a shiver go up your spine, and not the good kind. You remembered that howl and it hadn’t ended well for you.

“What are hell’s beasts doing in the Dreaming?” Lucienne questioned, abruptly getting to her feet. You had an idea why they had come.

“I’m not turning into a chew toy again.” Merv muttered.

“They’re probably after me.” You spoke up, backing away towards the exit. Lucienne looked at you with skepticism.

“And pray tell, what could those beasts want with you?” You shook your head, your heart already speeding up in your chest.

“I don’t exactly know, but they’ve gone after me before. I don’t want anyone hurt because of me. Just… find out what I am, okay? This place has been haunting me long enough.” She looked conflicted. But in the end, no more words were said because from the shadows slunk one of those beasts you remember from your dream. “Oh bollocks.”

It leaped at you, and luckily, you had the brains and speed to duck. The black swirling mass flew over your head and crashed into a shelf behind the table. You didn’t even bother speaking to Lucienne or Mervyn before you tore out of the library like a bat out of hell… or at least a bat running from hell.

You really needed to work on your cardio… because by the time you made it to the castle exit, dodging broken rock and swiping claws, you were almost out of breath. Crashing your way through the gate, a shriek passed through your lips as lines of fire erupted on your arm, burning your flesh like razor hot whips coated in acid. You stumbled, body slamming into a cracked pillar before bouncing off it and landing straight on your stomach. You let out a grunt and rolled onto your back. Only come face to face with the black mass of the beast and it’s glowing red eyes. It was staring into your eyes with its menacing maw parted to reveal jagged rows of teeth.

Your heart leaped to your throat and you were momentarily unable to breath. Then it’s teeth lunged down. Your arms went up and you pushed against its massive chest, straining to keep those vicious teeth away from your body. The beast wasn’t happy with you for doing so, snarling and snapping it’s teeth at you further. You let out a growl of your own, your muscles burning as you pushed, your injured arm burning with searing pain that throbbed in rapid beats. Your injured arm wasn’t going to last long and as predicted, it shook harder and harder until it completely gave out. Teeth descended towards you…

You jerked yourself into a sitting position on your bed and grasped your left arm, biting down hard on your lower lip to smother the scream of pain that wrenched itself from your lungs. Bloody hell you might just have woken the entire manor with that scream if you had let it out! Your eyes burned and prickled as tears leaked from them and worse, the hand you had clasped against your arm could feel a warm sticky substance leaking from somewhere. You had an idea what it was. Looking down at the origin of your pain, you gasped. Crimson was slipping from beneath your fingers and rolling down your arm.

“Shit,” You breathed out. Scrambling from your bed, you ran for your bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, promptly pressing it against the set of four jagged lines that had opened up on your arm. How could this happen? It hadn’t happened when you had banged yourself up in The Dreaming when you were younger… but that didn’t matter. What mattered at the moment was running down stairs and getting a plaster. Actually, you think you were going to need more than just a plaster. Scurrying out of your room, you took the servant stairs to the first floor and darted for the butler’s pantry where you knew a first aid kit would be.

Luckily for you, it was very early morning, just around two o’clock, so no one was up save for the night guards in the basement. Making it to the butler’s pantry without being seen was no problem. You made a bit of a mess unpacking the first aid kit and then an even bigger mess cleaning up the mysterious scratches on your arm. Blood was everywhere.  A panickied thought ran through your mind.

If you got hurt in a dream, you shouldn’t get hurt in the real world, right? Wrong. If you got hurt this time, what would happen if you died in The Dreaming? You didn’t want to think about it. Wrinkling your nose as your arm sharply ached while you wrapped a roll of bandage over the gauze you had placed, you pressed the end of the bandage to ensure that it would stick to itself.

You slumped back against the counter, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the now dull ache in your arm. There were serious concerns about ending back up in The Dreaming now that the beasts were hunting you again. You needed to learn how to protect yourself from them because you couldn’t just keep running from them. If they were from hell, maybe some holy objects would help? Maybe you just needed to consult a church, or a bible? Did bibles tell you how to repel a demon? Hell beasts? You had not a clue. Turning back around, you sighed at the mess you had made. It was going to take at least three, maybe four towels to fully clean up the blood you had spilled while trying to wrap your arm.

Grabbing a few rags from beneath the counter, you packed away the first aid kit and mopped up the mess you had made. You actually ended up needing five towels to fully wipe the counter clean again. Paul and Alex might just have heart attacks if they find out you got hurt… you needed to dispose of these rags quickly. Exiting the butler’s pantry, you headed for the wash room. Turning down the hallway, you stopped short feeling like you had been caught red handed with the bloody towels in your arms. One of the night guards was punching in the code for the basement. He paused and looked at you, doing a double take.

“Mum… are yea alright?” He asked, his eyes filling with concern. You looked down at the bloody rags again and cleared your throat.

“Oh, don’t mind me. Got up for some water and walked right into one of the statues upstairs, cut my arm.” You explained, your mind quickly coming up with an excuse for the bloody rags. Your wrapped arm was good proof for your lie. Your glanced at it and let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m a bit clumsy at night, I’m afraid. Didn’t even see the statue…”

“Do yea need a doctor?” The guard questioned in concern, and you felt guilt creep in for your lie. You shook your head. “I can make a call for you if yea need?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary.” You spoke calmly and with a small smile. “I’ve wrapped it up and will have it looked at tomorrow morning. Have a goodnight.” You scurried past him, making a beeline for the wash room.

Over a century has passed since I had been trapped in this glass cage, unable to tame Dreams and Nightmares which ran rampant in this world. Unable to return home and return the balance to the Waking World, I waited. I had patience. Roderick Burgess did not. His desire for eternal life, riches, and the life of his first born son had consumed him until it was his only waking and dreaming thought. It became clear to him that I would not give him what he wanted. In his desires, Roderick called upon the Magdalene Grimoire once more and performed one last spell. One that would bind me to his lineage forever. But he didn’t anticipate one loop hole in that spell: I could choose which Burgess to be bound with.

“You were out longer than your five minutes, Fred,” Ernie spoke, not looking up from her book as Fred re-entered the basement and slunk his way over to the security desk. He dropped his body back into his seat.

“Crossed paths with the mum,” Fred grunted out, reaching for his paper once more. Morpheus shifted his eyes over to the two humans at the mention of Y/N Burgess. After years of waiting, he had finally found a Burgess to bind himself to. Y/N Burgess’s fate was tied to his, whether or not she wanted it to. But the young Burgess was quite the little troublemaker he had come to find out. Certainly in her dreams. She was quite an adventurous little thing.

“What was the miss doing up at this hour?” Ernie asked, looking at Fred.

“Cut ‘erself, was a right bloody mess when I saw ‘er.” Fred explained, opening his newspaper. That made Morpheus’s face twitch just slightly. While the connection he held with Y/N offered him a chance to watch over her, it wasn’t strong enough for him to maintain a constant watch on the young Burgess. As it had been apparent when he dragged her from the Ocean of Dreams. What had the little troublemaker gotten herself into this time?

“How’d she cut herself?” Fred shrugged, turning his attention to his newspaper.

“‘ell if I know, said she walked into one of them statues… but whatever happened caused a right mess. Arm was wrapped up like a mummy.” Concerning, but if Y/N was able to tend to her wound she was fine. But Morpheus was going to have to have a talk with her when he was free about her proclivity for finding trouble.

I had to admit, when I had bound myself to Y/N Burgess, I held little expectation for the little being. Human’s were predictably savage, selfish, and impulsive. But Y/N used her connection to The Dreaming to explore from an early age. She utilized the gifts she gained from being bound to me without even realizing it and that made her special, proving that my choice in her was the right one. But then the nightmares started interfering. The humans, in their crude and rigid ways, forced away her Dreams and thus, she forgot about The Dreaming entirely.

Many years passed were I could only watch from the shadows, helpless to shield her from the torture she endured because of our connection. I had chosen her and she suffered the consequence. But Y/N is a tenacious human and ultimately broke free of the suppressants that had built a wall between us. Now she was back on her own accord, incited by my own actions. It is only a matter of time before she learns the truth. She is mine and always has been, and I don’t plan on sharing her with anyone.

Date Published: 9/5/22

Last Edit: 5/29/23

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[bestofbucky]

Eavesdrop

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: none really, enemies to ?

A/N: This is my first time posting something I have written. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much @tuiccim for your help, couldn’t have done it without you.

Being an Avenger is tough. Of course, there are the obvious missions and kicking ass that are exhausting, especially because you don’t have any sort of enhancements or powers. You are just a regular human being, fighting with and against some not so regular human beings. Naturally when you have downtime, you spend it doing things with the least amount of effort. Watching Netflix, listening to music, taking baths, etc, meaning that your social life outside of the compound was, to put it simply, non-existent.

You had just returned from the worst date of your life, well, one of the top five worst dates of your life. Over the past couple of months Steve and Natasha had grown tired of you whining about being single but not making any effort to change it and began sending you on blind dates. Somehow, they managed five different times to find five completely awful people. This time they had set you up with Arthur, a recruit for SHIELD and a good one at that. You wouldn’t be surprised to see him on the elite squad soon, but when it came to your date, he was really blunt and inappropriate, and you had cringed your way through the entire thing.

Once you got back to the compound, you first went to your room to get changed into gym clothes for training with Nat, then headed to her room. On your way you passed one of the common rooms and heard two voices. One familiar but one you didn’t recognise, you decided to check it out and found Steve and another man.

Steve called your name inviting you over to them as they both stood up. ‘This is Bucky. He’s moving in today to begin training.’ Steve explains. You nod and smile at Bucky, remembering Steve told you about him and that he would be living here and eventually joining the team.

You have to stop yourself from gasping out loud at the sight of him. He is a 6 ft something hunk of muscle and beauty and you can’t stop yourself from trying to take him all in with your eyes.

Steve then introduces you to Bucky who looks in your eyes for all of two seconds to say, ‘hi’ before looking down at his feet. He is probably really nervous. Even from that two second glance, you could tell he had one hell of a past. They had you hooked already, you wanted to stare into those eyes and let them tell you the stories of the lifetime they had seen.

‘You were just in Wakanda right? How was it? I have only ever seen it in pictures but I really want to go.’ You let your excitement show, hoping to relax him a bit.

‘Yeah, it was nice. I was frozen for most of it though’ Shit, he curses himself. He didn’t mean to come across so rude but he was really nervous, you are really pretty and it is messing with his head a little. It doesn’t help that he has had to meet a lot of different people today and he is all socialised out. He sees your face fall slightly before you quickly compose yourself, any normal person would have missed it but he has his past of being a trained assassin.

‘Well, Nat is probably waiting for me, she told me she would show me some new moves today.’ You say realising that Bucky had probably been under a lot of stress lately and most likely just wanted to be alone, or with Steve rather than chatting to you, a stranger. At least you hoped this was the reason and it wasn’t that he already disliked you. Saying goodbye to the two of them you head off to Natasha’s room.

Not even bothering to knock, you walk into her room leaving the door open behind you, since you’ll be heading down to the gym soon anyway. Natasha is sitting on the end of the bed braiding her hair. ‘You almost ready?’ You ask.

‘Yeah, just got to finish my hair then put my shoes on.’ She tells you so you take a seat on her bed while you wait.

Meanwhile, Bucky told Steve that he wanted to go get his room sorted. Really it was just an excuse to be alone for a little while. On the way there he walked past a room with the door open and heard two voices talking, recognising them to be you and Natasha. He was just about to carry on walking to his room when he heard Natasha ask, ‘did you meet him yet?’

Bucky assumed she was talking about him and wanted to hear what you had to say. He hoped you would be understanding of his reticence after his taxing morning. 

‘Yeah, I met him today.’ You sigh and roll your eyes.

‘That bad?’ Nat asks, raising her eyebrows with a slight smirk on her face.

‘Yes, I tried to be as friendly as I could but he seemed like a jerk.’ You huff.

‘How so?’

‘He was so blunt he just came across really rude. I had high expectations, especially after hearing Steve say so many nice things about him.’

‘Maybe he was just having a bad day?’ She attempts a defence. 

‘Bad day or not, he should have the courtesy to smile and be polite even if it is fake.’

Bucky was so hurt to hear this. Yes, he wasn’t the nicest to you but your reaction seemed a bit dramatic. He didn’t want to hear you say any more so he rushed off to his room.

‘So, I guess you aren’t going to go on a second date with him then?’ Nat asks.

‘No, I really appreciate you and Steve trying to set me up but seeing as this is the 5th time and none of them were any good, I think I’ll go back to my old methods.’ You smile at her.

‘What, never putting yourself out there and waiting for the right person to just fall into your lap?’ Nat teases and you both laugh when you nod. She finishes tying her shoelaces and you head off to the gym.

The next day you were leading a meeting of recruits who have the potential to be moved up into the squad that worked with the Avengers. The elite squad. Unfortunately for you, Arthur was in the group of recruits and was probably the next one to be promoted.  You finally dismissed everyone and started getting your stuff together to leave as well when Arthur came up to you.

‘What’s the word on who is moving up next, dove?’ You look up in shock, surely, he didn’t just call you dove.

‘Excuse me?’ You look him dead in the eye.

‘I said what’s the word on who is moving up next? I think you might need to get your hearing checked.’ He laughs at his own joke so you fake laugh with him.

‘That’s confidential., we’ll let everyone know when we have made the decision.’ You say and go to walk past him but he grabs your arm.

‘Does someone need a little convincing. If it’s you, then I can think of some ways.’ He whispers seductively in your ear. You pull your arm out of his grasp and frown at him.

‘I’m only joking, dove, come on, you can’t even take a joke?’ He laughs again.

You put on your best fake smile and your customer service voice. ‘There will be no convincing necessary. You are a good agent but you also have good competition. We will inform you all of our decision when it is made.’ You say and quickly turn and walk out the door before he can say anything else. When you get into the lift you ask FRIDAY where Steve is.

‘Common room A, Agent Y/L/N’. You make your way there as quick as possible. Heading around the corner, you slam into a solid object. You hiss at the contact on your fresh bruises, a frown appearing on your face. As soon as you look up to see what or who you bumped into, the frown quickly fades into a smile when you see its Bucky. He is already looking at you.

‘Sorry I should have been watching where I was going.’ He mumbles quickly.

‘No, it’s just as much my fault as yours. I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.’ You apologise to him. As much as you would love to stay and chat  with  Bucky, you need to get to Steve to explain what just happened with Arthur and hopefully you can get him kicked off the team.

Bucky had left his room to try and find someone to help him figure out a few things with FRIDAY but as soon as he bumped into you that completely left his mind. You were all that filled his mind ever since he met you. He stood in the hallway for a while before realising he should ask you to help. Maybe this would be a good excuse to make up for his poor first impression. He heads in the direction you went but stops short when he hears your voice.

‘I think he bruised me. The dick.’ You say and Steve frowns at you ‘Come on, Steve. I’m  allowed to be angry. He has been nothing but a jerk to me,’ you explain and shift to get more comfortable.

‘What did you say to him when he did this?’ Steve asks, holding your arm and examining the newly formed bruises in the shapes of fingers.

‘I put on my best fake smile and pretended like everything was ok,’  You joke and Steve laughs, ‘as much as I hate the guy, I don’t have the confidence to actually show it.’ You sigh and Steve pulls your sleeve back down and leans back into the sofa. ‘Is there any way we can kick him off the team?’ You exaggerate batting your eyelashes at him.

‘He isn’t even on the team yet and you already want to kick him off?’ Steve questions.

‘Yes! I really don’t like him. I know he is your friend but I trust him about as far as I can throw him’ You explain and Steve nods.

Bucky had heard enough. He can’t believe you could be so horrible. You had the sweetest exterior and, from first impressions, you didn’t look like you could hurt a fly. But as he heard you say, you clearly put on a fake act to come across as polite and kind when really you are rude deep down. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you. Twice now. But he is so glad he did, because now he knows not to waste his energy on you. He knows what you think of him and he has formed his opinion of you. He hurries back to his room.

‘He’s not my friend Y/N, I only said that to you to make you go on the date with an open mind. I’ve only ever had one conversation with the guy,’ Steve jokes and you playfully push his arm, ‘All jokes aside, his behaviour breaks a lot of conduct rules and is a good enough reason to have him knocked down a few squads.’ Steve replies and you sigh with relief. You hug Steve and thank him for his help, he’s taken slightly off guard but hugs you back before you go your separate ways.

 A few weeks later, you walk into the kitchen to find the whole team eating their breakfast. Sam is cooking and when he sees you, he makes a plate and hands it to you.

‘Thank you Sam.’ You hug him and take the plate, turning around at the sound of Bucky’s scoff. You haven’t had a conversation with Bucky since you bumped into each other in the hallway. You had tried to but he either completely ignored you or just rolled his eyes and left the room.

At first it hurt, you wondered if you had done something wrong. The team seemed just as confused by it as you. Bucky didn’t have a problem with anyone else. That wasn’t to say he was extremely friendly with them, he wasn’t there yet and nobody blamed him but he could hold conversation with the others. He even laughed at their jokes. You were starting to get fed up with it so after breakfast you headed to Bucky’s room to talk to him. You knocked on the door and it wasn’t long until he answered it. As soon as he saw you his face fell visibly.

‘Can we talk?’ You asked hoping he would let you into his room. He paused to consider it then stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him. He stood there with his arms crossed and waited for you to talk.

‘Is there something I did wrong?’ You ask him and he keeps a blank face.

‘Why do you care?’ He asks still arms crossed over his body.

‘I care because you are always scoffing or rolling your eyes at me whenever I try to talk to you.’

‘I’m not scoffing or rolling my eyes now.’ He points out.

‘No but you’re not exactly being very friendly.’

‘Would you prefer for me to fake it then? Just put on a smile and pretend to like you?’ He jabs. You take a moment to process what he just said. You didn’t realise he could be so mean.

‘No Bucky I would prefer for you to maybe make an effort to get to know me before making a judgement.’ You scowl at him.

‘I have a perfectly fine judgement of you. I am not going to fall for your fake smiles and fake friendships.’ Bucky snarls and walks back into his room closing his door in your face. You are left to stand there in shock.

On the other side of the door Bucky is leaning there conflicted. The shock on your face looked so genuine. No, he has to remember it is all an act with you.

From that day on you decided you weren’t going to make an effort with him. It wasn’t the most mature decision but you were tired. What used to be eye rolls and scoffs, now turned into snarky comments and you were no longer afraid to throw them right back at him.

Steve had tried a few times to talk to you about it but, when he couldn’t tell you why Bucky hated you, he realised there was nothing he could do to change how either of you felt about the other. What he could do was change up your schedules so the two of you were rarely ever in the same room together.

Unfortunately, instead of the arguments happening quite calmly but consistently over the course of the whole day. They were now much shorter, confined to just mealtimes, and much more heated and intense. None of the team knew which was worse.

You were sparring in the gym with Natasha trying to work off some steam from this morning’s argument with Bucky.

‘Your moves are sloppy, get whatever is making you emotional out of your head.’ She grunts at you but this only forces you further into your head.

You go hard at her, but she blocks every move so you go to defence. She smirks at you, ‘Has a certain super soldier got into your head?’

That causes a surge of anger to hit you and again you go hard at Natasha, but your anger only allows her to catch you off balance and you are pinned to the mat in a matter of seconds.

‘So it is Barnes.’ She  pulls you up and you brush yourself off before getting back into a fighting stance.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ You grunt at her and start your attack. Your moves are still predictable and anger clouds your mind. You feel yourself getting more and more worked up with every hit she blocks.

You retreat to take a breather, you hear the door open and you glance over, the man of the hour has just entered and you roll your eyes but continue to spar with Natasha.

Out the corner of your eye, you see him make his way over to you both, watching as you take a lot of hits from her and barely manage to land any of your own.

‘I have seen toddlers fight better than you Y/N.’ You hear him chuckle.

‘I don’t need your opinion.’ You grunt, still trying to keep your focus on Natasha.

‘Fight like that on the field and you’ll be dead in two seconds.’

‘Keep talking and you’ll wish you were dead.’

He laughs ‘Is that a threat?’ You ignore him and continue sparring. ‘Your punches are so weak, how did you become an Avenger again?’ He is still smiling knowing exactly which buttons to push.

You stop and make your way over to him. ‘I became an Avenger because of my talent and my strength, that I worked hard to earn.’ You are right up in his face, almost chest to chest. You are breathing hard, partly from the exercise but mostly because of how riled up you are. You notice he is breathing hard as well, his breath fanning across your face.

Your mind can’t help but drift, is this what he would look like in bed, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. Small beads of sweat gathered at his hairline from his recent run. You suddenly realise how close the two of you are and force the inappropriate thoughts from your mind. You hate how seeing him so riled up is actually a huge turn on. How could you let yourself be attracted to such an asshole?

‘You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.’ His voice drops so low that in a different circumstance you would have happily dropped your panties.

‘You’re right. I wouldn’t stand a chance against you and your metal arm that you were given. Or you and the super soldier serum that you were given.’ You know they are cheap shots but you just couldn’t help how absolutely fuming he makes you. He had managed to get under your skin and the thought of him being successful only made you angrier.

He leans down even more, your noses almost touching ‘I don’t know how everyone else can’t see through your little nice act. You pretend to be so kind on the outside but deep down you’re a bitch.’ Ouch. You deserved that one for what you said to him but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Especially because if you were hooked up to a lie detector and asked to say those things again, it would flash up as a blatant lie. However, looking into his eyes there was not an ounce of regret for what he said.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t have said what he did, but you had hit a nerve and it was the only thing he could think to say back. He saw the hurt flash across your eyes but it was too late to take it back now. The only thing he could do was exit the situation before it got any worse. He turned on his heels and left the room, leaving you standing there in complete shock at your exchange. 

Natasha calls your name but you quickly leave for your room before anyone can see you like this.

The team was split all across the base. This wasn’t how you would usually handle missions but as soon as you arrived the mission started to go sideways.

‘Target headed towards the west elevator. Anyone nearby copy?’ You hear Steve’s voice through comms.

‘I'm on it.’ You say back, your comms crackling more than usual.

‘Copy that.’ Bucky said, his comms crackling from the two of you talking at the same time.

The rest of the team had heard both of your voices but neither of you had heard the other. So it was a big shock when you were waiting for the elevator and you heard his voice behind you.

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ He sighs and slowly walks up to you to wait for the elevator as well. ‘Did you not hear me say I got it?’ He snaps at you.

‘No because I was the one that said I’m on it.’ You snap back and thankfully the elevator dings it’s arrival. Normally in creepy Hydra bases you would avoid elevators but seeing as there was no stairwell nearby, this was the only option.

‘Age before beauty.’ You say to him, gesturing to the elevator.

‘Very funny’ he says sarcastically before stepping inside. You follow after him and press the only floor button available.

Silence permeates the small space as you prepare for what’s to happen once the doors open. Instead, the elevator jerks to a stop.

‘No.’ You panic and start pressing the floor button over and over. ‘No no no no no.’ Nothing is working.

‘Let me try.’ Bucky says pushing you out of the way, you so badly want to say something but the only thing you can focus on is the fact you might be trapped. Bucky taps the button and looks around for anything else to press but there is nothing. You can feel yourself start to get light headed as claustrophobia takes hold and the thought of falling to your death in this metal box takes over your thoughts. You shrink down onto the floor and hold your head in your hands.

‘Do you always have to be so dramatic?’ Bucky huffs. You don’t answer him, the only thing you can think about is the pain starting in your chest and your breathing getting heavier. 

‘Stop breathing so fast. You are going to make yourself pass out.’ Bucky grunts but when you don’t reply or make any effort to slow your breathing he gets worried. He kneels down in front of you ‘Hey? Doll? Can you hear me?’ You can’t answer him, you just feel the impending doom and the immense pressure on your chest. ‘I’m going to move your hands.’ He announces then you feel him take your hands and pull them away from your face. You look at him, tears in your eyes, a look of pure fear across your face. ‘Breathe with me, doll. Can you do that?’ He asks and you manage to nod. He speeds his breathing up to your pace then gradually slows it, you follow him as best as you can and eventually you get your breathing back to normal, with the occasional hiccup or sharp intake.

Once he sees you are ok, he lets go of your hands and sits on the floor as far away as he can. You both continue to sit in silence.

‘Thank you.’ You eventually manage to whisper, he nods without meeting your eye.

You can’t help but feel disappointed, you just got to see a caring side of Bucky and it felt amazing to be on the receiving end of it, but now you are back to him not giving a shit about you. You go back and forth wondering whether it is the right time to bring up the issues between you two. If not now, when?

‘Why do you hate me so much?’ He looks across at you and sighs before he answers.

‘I don’t hate you.’

‘Yes you do. It seems like you go out of your way to make me miserable.’ You push, making him lean his head back on the wall behind him.

‘I don’t hate you. I just don’t like how you formed opinions about me so early on. You wanted me off the team before I even got cleared to be on the team.’ Bucky explains. You stare at him in confusion.

‘How do you know what opinions I formed of you? I may have wanted you off the team but it was only because you were mean and that was after you were cleared.’ You could feel yourself starting to get angry.

‘Then how come I overheard you talking about the first time we met to Nat, you said I was blunt and rude. Then after I accidentally bumped into you, you told Steve you wanted me off the team.’ Bucky says agitatedly.

‘I never-‘ you think back to any conversations you had with Nat and Steve about Bucky. The only ones that came to mind were asking them if they knew why Bucky didn’t like you. Then it hits you, he had overheard you talking to Steve and Nat about Arthur. You sighed.

‘Let me guess, you overheard me and Nat talking not long after we first met. We were in Nat’s room getting ready to go train?’ You ask and he nods.

‘Then the conversation you overheard with Steve was straight after we bumped into each other. We were in the common room?’ Bucky looks confused but nods again.

‘You are such a prick. You eavesdrop but don’t even listen long enough to hear who we were talking about.’ You can’t help but chuckle at the situation, even though it’s not particularly funny.

‘What?’ Bucky looks more confused than ever.

‘Well, if you had listened properly to the whole conversation you would know I was talking about that asshat agent, Arthur.’ That came out more blunt than you intended.

‘The recruit that got bumped down a few squads even though he is really good?’

‘Yep. That’s the one’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Before you came Steve and Nat had been setting me up on blind dates with people. Arthur was the fifth one, I really didn’t want to go so Steve convinced me by saying they were friends and all this nice stuff about him.’ You pause to take a deep breath. ‘The day we met, I had just come from the date with him and it was awful. That's what me and Nat were talking about. Then when we bumped into each other in the hallway, I had just come from a meeting with the recruits. Arthur had been inappropriate and he hurt my arm, I was rushing to Steve to tell him and ask if he can be kicked off the team.’ You finally manage to say and Bucky just looks at you. You can see the cogs turning in his head as he is finally getting context to the snippets of conversation he overheard.

‘Shit. I am so sorry. I am such an idiot.’ He scolds himself and you can’t help but feel bad for him.

‘I am not going to disagree with you, but we have both said and done some pretty nasty stuff. I am sorry for any hurt I caused you.’  You say sincerely and he looks over to you and smiles.

‘So you didn’t think I was rude when we first met?’ He still holds your eye contact and you take a moment to look at him. You have never seen him look so vulnerable before, he almost looked scared.

‘No, Bucky, I thought you were probably nervous or tired from meeting loads of new people.’ You explain and his shoulders fall.

‘I feel like such a jerk.’ He sighs and you scoot yourself closer to him so he has to look at you.

‘I’m not all that innocent in this either. It was a misunderstanding. I am just glad we have cleared it up now.’ You say meaning it and he smiles earnestly back at you. It is something you have never experienced first-hand. You have seen him give those gorgeous, slightly lopsided, smiles to other people but seeing one directed at you causes a rush of heat to your cheeks and you find yourself blushing.

Bucky must have been thinking along the same lines ‘You’re cute when you blush. I have never seen this side of you before.’ He brushes some hair out of your face and behind your ear. ‘You know, part of the reason I was so nervous when I first met you was because I was taken off guard by how beautiful you are.’ His cheeks flush slightly at his confession.

Before you can say anything the elevator jerks again and starts moving, you and Bucky are quick on your feet, preparing yourself for the doors to open.

When they finally do you are met with a group of Hydra agents ready to attack. You and Bucky work in tandem, playing off each other’s strengths. When the Hydra agents realize this, they work to separate you. The majority of them are on Bucky but you are fighting four at once. You are onto the last one when he raises his gun to shoot but you force his arm down. Not quick enough, it fires and clips your calf causing you to cry out from the pain 

It is not as bad as actually being shot in the leg but it still hurts like hell and you can’t put pressure on it. The room is pretty silent apart from footsteps you recognise to be Bucky approaching. You move quickly and uppercut the guy in the nose. The crack echoes throughout the room as the guy falls to the floor at your feet.

You turn to Bucky, his mouth agape and eyebrows raised in shock. ‘That was hot.’ He announces finally, making you laugh, you go to take a step towards him but realise too late that your injured leg won’t hold your weight. You would have fallen to the floor if Bucky hadn’t rushed to catch you.

‘Thanks.’ You chuckle, your faces are extremely close. Your eyes completely entranced in his. Your whole body warms at the safe feeling of being in his arms. You start to wonder what it would be like to fall asleep in these arms, to wake up the next morning still wrapped up in them. Protected.

You force yourself back to reality by clearing your throat. ‘We should probably get back to the team.’ You say and he nods. He puts his arm around your waist and you put yours over his shoulders to use him as a crutch.

The ride back up in the elevator goes smoothly this time and before you know it you are hobbling up to the quinjet where the rest of the team awaits. Natasha and Steve are both looking back and forth from you to Bucky in confusion.

‘What the hell happened?’ Steve asks not trying to hide how baffled he is that you and Bucky are holding onto each other and not arguing. Natasha simply smirks. Bucky helps you into a seat then sits opposite you with a wink as you smile at him.

‘No, this is too weird. Please argue, bicker, roll your eyes. Anything.’ Sam begs Bucky who doesn’t break his eye contact with you. Bucky simply laughs knowing his behaviour is unsettling Sam and enjoying the newfound comradery with you.

[1kook]

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags;  jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either  the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away.  His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

Copyright © August 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[anxious-allie-ren]

Hey everyone! I’d like to introduce the new story I am writing! You can find it on both my AO3 and Wattpad. Both of which are linked in my bio. But I’ll also be posting the chapters here for you all. Be easy on me as I haven’t quite figured out how to post chapters on here and create a master list. That is something I will be working on. Alright, now in to the good stuff.

Erota

As the only daughter from a high society family, the pressure is on you to impress the ton and find a suitable match. You hope to find love, but your fate is decided for you. Your marriage is arranged to King Kylo of Chandrila. Pain and tough decisions are soon to follow.

This story is inspired by Bridgerton and regency era.

Hello everyone! I have been dreaming of writing this fic for a bit now and finally gathered the courage to do it! Like I said in the description, this story is heavily influenced by the regency era and the Netflix show Bridgerton. I've done my best to keep it accurate to both the era and the Star Wars world. I hope you enjoy!

The Ton.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The season has finally arrived. You have officially joined the ton and are coming out into society. The debutantes of higher society are to be presented in court. This now includes you and your family.

You were the only child of the Duke of Selonia. A small territory southeast of Drall within the kingdom of Corellia. It's a quaint little area, nothing to brag about. It was cozy and calm. Many of the families had lived in the area for generations. Neighbors all knew each other. But despite its comfort and kindness it was lacking funds.

Since you had been able to remember, life was very simple. You helped in the gardens, the kitchens, and even with the laundry work. Your family took trips to town often, visiting with the people. Your mother loved to stop at the bakery and buy pastries to bring back to the estate. She told you stories from her childhood as bedtime stories. Coming from a common family and marrying into high society. Your parents married for love and not statues. Many scolded your father for marrying "below his station" but he let their words roll off his shoulders. He was attracted to your mother for her beauty, kindness, and capabilities. Your mother was no stranger to hard work, and she assured you weren't as well.

As you matured, you watched as your home aged as well. Bricks began to weather with time and vegetation started to take over. Farmers had less success each year and businesses were closing. The help your father was once so quick to provide had now dwindled into nothing. There was no help to give. The funding was nearly gone. After your mother's death, the strong and reliable man you had once called your father was gone. What replaced him was a shell of a man. He gave up on his duties as a duke and instead threw his time and money into bad habits. Gambling and drinking had become his crutch.

You lost your mother in your adolescence. Still a young girl so in need of a mother and her guidance. Her death left you confused and in desperate need of comfort. You tried to lean on your father. But in his own grief, he seemed to forget about you. Instead, you turned to your community. The maids and butlers became your family. They ensured your schooling would continue. The men even went as far as to teach you math and science. When you entered your teens, you attempted to take on the dukedom in secret. You went over all the documents and finances, trying to find a way to help your people and restore your estate. It was to no avail. Nothing could be done without your fathers signature. So you were left with no choice but to let it go. You focused on your studies and lessons with the maids. They helped bring you to maturity. Now, it was time to join society as an eligible woman.

Marriage has been heavy on your mind for many years now. The idea of meeting a man and marrying just for statues or titles didn't interest you. Neither of those things mattered to you. A marriage had become something with such a negative connotation. But love, now that was very different. You yearned for a true love match. You craved a deep connection unlike any you'd ever experienced. As a child, you'd developed small crushes on some of the neighborhood children. The butterflies and blushed looks were something you understood. But you'd never felt love before. You loved your family of course. You even loved your townspeople. But that was so different from what you hoped to find.

Becoming a debutante was not something you were looking forward to. Joining the ladies of high society was only asking for drama. But as the daughter of a Duke, it was your duty to join the ton and find a suitable husband. This had become increasingly important as your territory lost more and more money to your father's lifestyle. These thoughts scrambled around your mind as you got ready. You would be heading to the first ball of the season, your entrance into society, in moments. You were dressed in your nicest items. A deep red ball gown embroidered with golden florals along the bottom of the skirt and corset. Your hair was pinned back, allowing your face to stand out. Your maid, Jillian, was helping you put on your shoes as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Jillian had been with your family before your mother passed. She had watched you grow from a pained child to a strong young woman. She was with you every step of the way. Jillian became a motherly figure and your most trusted confidant.

Jillian pats your calf as she begins to stand, finished with clasping your heels. Her touch pulls you from your thoughts. You give her a polite smile and thank her, turning back to the mirror. Your anxiety is growing with each tick of the clock and in typical Jillian fashion, she can sense your discomfort. She comes to stand behind you, adjusting the pins in your hair.

"You know you're prepared for this. There's no need to sit and worry."

You meet her gaze in the mirror, her gentle blue eyes giving you a wave of comfort. You let out a sigh and play with your fingers.

"I felt prepared, but now that it's upon me, I'm not so sure. So much is at stake here, Jillian. The people of Selonia are relying on me to find someone who can help. What if I'm not up to standards?"

Jillian only chuckles at your words and places her hands on either of your shoulders.

"Standards? Now you're just being silly. You are a kind, intelligent, and strong young lady. Any suitor would be lucky to have you as his wife."

You turn to look at her, face scrunched in concentration.

"That's exactly the issue! It can't just be any suitor. They need to be able to fix dukedom and be the love I've been waiting for. What if that's unrealistic? How can I ever find someone to do both?"

Jillian places a comforting hand on your cheek, her thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone. She gives you a small smile before she speaks.

"Is that what you're so worried about? Dear, you're placing too much stress on yourself. Don't worry about the dukedom or Selonia. Go and find your love, everything else will fall in place."

You lean into her hand and smile, her words bringing you peace and a newfound sense of confidence. She pulls her hand away and turns towards your bedroom door. She calls back to you, "Now let's get you going! It's time."

————————————————

The carriage stopped in front of the King's summer estate. Many of the guests were already walking up the grand entrance and making their way inside. Your father hurried around and opened the door for you, holding his hand out and helping you down. Tonight he was doing his best to look and act presentable. You place your hand in his bent arm and let him lead you into the ball. Neither of you had spoken more than a few words to each other in years. You were surprised he even accompanied you tonight. His presence only made you nervous again. You weren't sure what his intent was by coming. Was he finally stepping back into his positions as father and Duke? Or was there some ulterior motive?

You found out quickly as he leaned in to speak to you, just as you were arriving at the entrance of the ballroom.

"I am expecting you to perform well tonight. I want to see gentlemen callers of high status calling on you tomorrow."

You look up at him and furrow your brows in confusion. So this is what he came for? To ensure you schmoozed with the highest titles with the most money? If so, he's going to be very disappointed.

"I'm here to find a reasonable suitor for myself, father. Not a suitor for you and Selonia."

He stops walking at your words, his head turning to look down at you. You can see his clenched jaw and anger in his eyes. His distaste for your words is written all over his face.

"Stop with your foolish girly fantasy of a love match. You're here to do as I say, and I'll be damned if you disobey me."

His words sting your heart. Your father had never spoken to you this way. When you were young, he was always so gentle and loving towards you. Now it seems you're just another pawn to be thrown around his chessboard as he pleased. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your gaze back down. Now was not the time to worry about this. You had more pressing matters.

You allowed your father to lead you to the entrance, stopping to allow the announcer to get your names. You took a deep breath as you prepared to face the ton. First impressions were everything, and you did not want to screw this up. The announcer clears his throat and stands at attention. Everyone in the room stops what they're doing to await the next debutante.

"Presented by her father, the Duke of Selonia, Miss Y/F/N."

You stare forward as your father leads you into the ballroom and towards the King and Queen of Corellia. You both stopped before them, your father unlinking your arms and bowing. You fall into a curtsy, bowing your head in respect. Your father stands back up and looks to the king. You stay still, awaiting the command to move. The king of Corellia rises from his throne and moves to stand in front of you. Everyone holds their breath, watching closely to see what unfolds. He places a gentle finger under your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze.

"Stand up for me, dear. You can relax."

You do as he says and stand quickly, giving him a polite smile as you return his intense eye contact. His finger never leaves your chin. He smiles back at you and begins to speak again.

"You are a true beauty, my dear. You know, they say the eyes are a window to the soul. I can see the love and strength living within yours. Hold onto that, they will be your biggest asset."

Your eyes widen at his words. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face.

"Thank you, your majesty."

With that, he removes his finger from your chin and climbs back to his throne. He turns his attention back to the room and declares, "Let the festivities continue."

Your father grabs ahold of your arm again and leads you away from the thrones. You can feel the crowd staring at you, but you can't find it in you to care. King Luke of Corellia spoke to you! Not only that, but he complimented you. This was a great honor bestowed on very few. You would take his advice to heart.

It seems your father had a different perspective. He leads you to a table with dance cards placed neatly in rows. You begin to search for your name as he smirks and begins talking.

"Compliments from the king will help greatly in gaining potential suitors. You'll be the most desired lady in the ton. Seems finding you a husband of high title will be easier than I thought."

You finish tying the card to your wrist and turn to look at the room. Your father continues to talk as you observe your surroundings. You look up at the elegant chandelier. It shines beautifully in the light, casting sparkles all over the room. You watch as they dance across the guests, creating an angelic and light atmosphere. A waiter comes by and offers you and your father glasses of champagne. You take a small sip and return your attention to the crowd. Many of the ladies are giving you glares or speaking with the eligible men in attendance. You take notice of their attire. Many have much more elegant gowns and jewels on. Their appearance shows how much they have to offer. Your feelings of inadequacy begin to creep back in. You don't even notice a man approaching.

Your gaze stops on a young man across the room. His dark brown curls and bright smile grabbed your attention. He was speaking to another man, seeming to be in deep conversation. His face was so expressive as he spoke, hands moving about to help prove whatever point he was trying to make. You couldn't help but be captivated by him. If there was anyone you were hoping to get a moment with this evening, it was him.

You snap from your thoughts as your father greets him and motions towards you. This man must have been reaching his thirties. Much older than any of the debutantes here. His bright ginger hair stands out like a sore thumb. He makes eye contact with you as your father talks. An uneasy feeling sweeps over you. For some reason, something about this man doesn't sit right with you.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet the Earl of Drall, Lord Armitage Hux" your father says as he motions towards the man. Lord Hux takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The contact makes you cringe internally. Your father looks at you expectantly and you quickly pull yourself together.

"Hello Lord Hux, it is so nice to meet you."

Your father smiles at both of you and claps a hand on Lord Hux's shoulder.

"Lord Hux here is a good friend of mine. I was hoping to introduce you both tonight."

The uneasy feeling now makes sense. Any friend of your fathers is likely a crook. Not at all the type of man you want to be speaking to. You nod politely, biting your tongue from speaking your mind freely. The men then turn away from you and begin a discussion of their own, leaving you out. You lift your glass of champagne back to your lips and turn your gaze back to the direction of the man you had spotted before.

Instead of finding the curly haired man again, you met eyes with someone else. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back was a raven haired man. He stood tall and broad, much larger than any other man in the room. His gaze pierced through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You wanted to approach him, but to do so would make you look indecent.

Your eye contact is cut off by Lord Hux coming in front of you. He holds out his arm to you in invitation.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Y/N?"

You wanted nothing more than to say no and go speak to the mystery man. Or even go find the curly haired man from before. But you know you had no choice in the matter. To deny him would make you look bad to the ton. Plus, your father would never stand for it. So you placed your hand in his arm and nod.

"Of course, Lord Hux."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I really hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

Love,

Allie

[gloster]

FAVORITE FANFICS OF 2020

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

I know I speak for all when I say....I cannot wait to toss 2020 out the door the way Uncle Phil constantly did with Jazz. One of the things that got me through this rough year, besides family & friends & BTS, were fanfics.

It’s that time of year again where I make a list of all the fanfics that I absolutely adored. Some are by veteran favs of mine, others are new to me who just knocked it out of the park. If you’re interested in past lists, here is 2019′s list and 2018′s. If y’all are interested in doing your own fanfic favs of the year, please do so and tag me. Always on the hunt for new favs. 

So without furhter ado, my fav fanfics of 2020:

1). Another Word for Forever series by stardropdream (sheith)

Summary: Shiro knows better than to expect love in an arranged marriage. This is all for the sake of universal peace, after all, and solidifying a Terran-Galran alliance. At the very least, Shiro can hope to make a friend out of this. Becoming friends would be much easier, though, if he and his husband could actually communicate. 

With a language barrier and a mountain of cultural differences between them, getting to know Keith proves to be a challenge. Luckily, Shiro's always worked well with challenges.

2020 shockingly became the year of sheith. I ended up rewatching the show w/my bestie @littlenightdragon​. Diving more deeply into it w/my other bestie @kila09​. She and I spent the better half of this year devouring so many fanfics of them in various AUs. I came across new fanfic authors, and stardropdream is among them. 

If I could describe this series & stardropdream, I’ll take a cue from Lady Gaga: “ talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it”

This series was just PERFECTION. I’ve gotten into arranged-marriage AUs and this has been one of the best I’ve read. It was just perfection. The language barrier definitely added an extra charm to it, in which Shiro finds his own ways to get to know his husband better: both creative and funny ways. So many cute moments, so many funny moments with Hunk being the translating middle man between them, and the smut. THE SMUT. THE SMUT. THE SMUT. Just *chef’s kiss* Incredible. It was just so so sweet, and such a comfort read. I reread this series 5 times already and hope Robin (the writer) does more stories in this AU.

Please read this series. You’re not gonna regret it. It will MELT your heart. 

Honorable Mentions:

If I Called You Mine

Sail Across the Sky Just to Get to You

Finding Shelter (The Alien Baby Remix)

Say You Do(n’t)

2). The Golden Hour by @goldentruth813​ (sheith)

Summary:  After a space mission failure, Shiro loses his arm and his career. Two years later he's settled into a quiet and simple new life on his farm, but when a beautiful alien crashes in his field, he discovers the answers to his questions—and possibly the keys to his future—will come from the stars.

I’m sure no one, least of all Janel the writer herself, is surprised to see this author featured on this list. For now the 3rd year in a row. WOOOW  👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿 She is the reason I got into shieth, and she just continues to put out amazing conent with them. This story by far has been the best she’s done this year-possibly one of the best ever. 

We have Shiro trying to have a simple life at the farm with his dog and animals. A curious BOM Keith who shakes things up with his boldness/innocence-and questions bound to test blood pressure, especially Shiro’s. Loads of cute moments, loads of funny moments, and also loads of oreos. 

If summary and my thoughts don’t sell you, only one thing will: reading it for yourself.

Honorable mentions:

Two Hearts in Bloom

Mountain Men

Home is in Your Heart

3). Spun like Gold by Neyasochi (sheith)

Summary: Though Shiro is currently operating his fledgling bakery business out of a decrepit food truck he got for cheap in a repossession sale, he dreams of something more: a cozy bakery and cafe on a tree-lined street somewhere, filled with the smell of fresh coffee and sugar glaze instead of diesel. A little money could go a long way to helping him get off the ground-- and luckily, Keith has money to burn.

Or: Keith takes care of Shiro’s financial woes, in exchange for a little sugar.

OMG, OMG, OMG was this story so sweet. Neyasochi already sold me with the baking/baker Shiro trope, but went a step further throwing in sugar-daddy Keith who knows his way around his manic family and cars, but when it comes to asking a cute guy out? What better way to make an impression than becoming his best paying customer?  

Honorable mentions:

oh, devour me

Healing Touch

on your hand of gold 

4). The Destiny You Sold by @tryslora​ (drarry)

Summary: In which Draco knits, Harry makes wands, and things get very tangled up between them.

If there’s one thing I love about fanfics is how they introduce you to tropes you never would consider before. Draco and knitting was a combo I didn’t realize how much I needed until now. And I love the fact knitting played a big part of the accidental bonding. Also loved the fact everyone in their friend group shipped them like crazy. Highly, highly recommend 

5) What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd​ (drarry)

Summary: Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.

The Quidditch World Cup is only a week away; as Captain of the English National Team, Hermione has assured him that his immaturity won’t be tolerated by the Ministry.

And then Malfoy shows up.

(Inspired by the blink-182 song of the same name.)

It’s no secret that I’m such a fangirl of @lazywonderlvnd​. Any drarry story I read, I always love. Last year, I ADORED The Changing Lights, which was one of my favorites last year, and her updating/finishing the story was a massive highlight for me. I thank ya for that. 

This story was honestly refreshing. I’ve grown so used to Harry being responsible, always doing what’s right, that seeing a story where Harry pretty much has his middle finger in the air to “good reputation”, “being responsible,” because as he brought up: “I’m 25. I’ve been fighting all my life. I’ve earned my life to have fun.”

Okay, granted, it wasn’t quite like that but it was along those lines. And I agree. After all he went through, Harry deserves to have fun. He deserves to be reckless and make stupid decisions.

Also, it was such a blast reading a story where Harry is the brat & Draco has to keep him in line. LOVED.

Honorable mentions: 

Inside Your Mind

Aletheia

6). Chocolate and Pastry by agentmoppet, anemonen (drarry)

Summary:  When Pansy bets Draco that there is no chance he and Harry could carry out a genuine romantic relationship, he and Harry form a plan. But as their fake relationship progresses, Draco sees a side of Harry he never expected. Harry is struggling with something, pushing it far down inside him where he doesn't have to acknowledge its existence. Draco starts to worry, and then he starts to care, and then... horribly... he starts to fall in love.

Do not let the title fool you like it did me. Title alone, I was thinking it was going to be a fun, fluffy story involving baking, maybe chocolate crafting. However....it was not that at all. It was more. A lot deeper. A lot more angsty. It explored mental health, PTSD and the dangers of loved ones ignoring the signs, and contained an important message:

You can’t love someone out of their illness/disease/ addiction. Which is true and this story showed that. 

7). i’m still here by owedbetter (zutara)

Summary: "You see me."

And somehow, that makes all the difference.

If there’s one of the few good things 2020 has brought, it was Netflix bringing back ATLA to their library. Which in turn ignited my love for zutara & had me drag @kila09​ into that ship. 

This story was just incredible. The way it was written, it really felt like it could have been canon. Deleted scenes that a certain creator didn’t want us to see. The way Zuko and Katara came together, starting from their peaceful friendship after the Southern Raiders episode up, becoming closer along the way. 

I dare y’all to read this and not think OMG...is this secret canon bonus material? I definitely plan to read more by owedbetter. 

8). all the what ifs i never said by rosegardenlake (sheith)

Summary:  Keith is nine when he first notices Shiro. Shiro is gentle and quiet, always keeping to himself. Keith is rough and loud, running wherever his feet will take him, screaming on the top of his lungs into the wind. But despite that, they're a constant throughout each other's lives...if only that could be enough. As they grow, Keith just wants them both to be happy, but instead, he's falling apart.

Rosegardenlake is another sheith writer who I adored last year & adore this year as well. This was a story that I read during the beginning of quarantine-life and when I tell you the number of times Keith’s emotions of loneliness got to me, it’s a big number. 

Keith’s struggle with life after high school, after peaking in school, and his mental health reminded me too much of where I was at 2018, which wasn’t a good year for me at all, especially mentally. So that was triggering but it was also helpful since I saw how far I came. And it was beautiful seeing how far Keith came. 

Also the relationship between Shiro and Keith was just beautiful. It’s very funny how Keith was Shiro’s protector growing up and Shiro became Keith’s later on in life. There’s a chance your heart may be heavy, but will also be so swelled up with feelings these two bring it. 

Honorable mentions:

Where the Light Doesn’t Reach 

9). When Night Comes by Oh_Hey_Tae (BTS; poly ot7)

Summary: Jungkook’s tipsy, but he’s not buzzed enough to miss that he doesn’t recognize any of the four dozen people here. And seeing as his friends aren’t ones to ditch and there’s no way they’d play a prank this mean on him, Jungkook reaches the conclusion that he just walked into a stranger’s very expensive home, uninvited, and started eating their food and petting their well-dressed dog.

(Or: Jungkook shows up to the wrong Halloween party and meets the most powerful family in Seoul.)

I can easily say Oh_Hey_Tae easily one of my favorite BTS fanfic favs. Always come through with the stories, and this one was just amazing. We have Jungkook stumbling into a Halloween story, and soon enters into a intense, insane relationship with all six guys, who are already in a relationship with each other. Oh, and supernatural creatures at that. 

You do see certain relationships are stronger, deeper. For example, a lot of moments between Jin and Jungkook. Vmin has their own story and moments. But it was just so amazing. 

Fair warning. Halfway through, things get darker and Oh_My_Tae really loves playing readers diirty with the angst, but it’s so good. 

10). peace-weaver by magisterpavus (sheith)

Summary: You will be the peace-weaver, his mother told him, smiling though her dark eyes welled with unshed grief. The one who brings two bitter enemies together and ends the bloodshed and death between us, once and for all.

But men will always crave war. The Galra, most of all.

Yet another arranged-marriage AU that I loved. This particular one is well-loved in the sheith fandom. I can definitely say it’s considered one of the classic fanfics that’s been read or shared at one point or another. 

The story itself reminded me a lot of Macbeth, involving murder and dark forces at bay. The dynamics between Shiro and Keith reminded me of Drogo and Daenerys from GOT, one of my fav couples there, which only made it all the more better for me. 

I do credit the author for the creative approach they took with quintessence and Shiro’s role/persona as the Champion

Honorable mentions:

The Boy in the Window 

Sheith Demon/Priest AU

A Matter of Scale

Directive 

Honorable mentions that I seriously wanted to add to the list but this post is already lengthy. All amazing, all greats reads by various writers y’all should check out:

Hold Me Tight, or Don’t by snowfallen (yoonmin with a Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU featuring assassins and hitmen, secret identities, fake marriage, and a lot of smut)

The Prince and Pirate by Maniacani, @nerdherderette​ (drarry with a splash of royalty and pirates. Perfect if you’re needing to fill in any Pirates of the Caribbean or Black Sails cravings)

First Kisses are the Best Ones by SashaDistan (sheith in a 50 First Dates Fusion heartfelt/heart-gutting story)

freely, as men strive for right by @bixgirl1​ (drarry w/Harry explaining the many ways why Draco’s the love of his life. we love to see it)

The Sacrificed by SasuNarufan13 (sasunaru w/ dark fairytale elements similar to Little Red Riding Hood & Beauty and the beast + feat. mpreg)

Chasing Treacle Tart (and Draco Malfoy) by xErised (drarry feat. lunch lady Draco + scheming Harry + loads of fun w/sweets & more)

Red Desert by @beatitudinembty​ (taekook in a unique sci-fi AU; hard to explain but so worth a read

one way ticket to another life by starboykeith (sheith Hades x Persephone background)

Even So by lewilder (zutara; arranged marriage+ language barrier +soft strangers to lovers)

Well, lovely people, there you have it. My top 10 favorite fanfics of the year. I do notice a certain ship shows up a lot on this list, but I wasn’t kidding when I said they took over this year. Still, I tried to mix the list up with other fav ships/fandoms of mine. To the writers who created these incredible stories. I applaud you. I thank you for creating and sharing these wonderful stories. Anyone interested in doing the tag, please do. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR, GUYS

[euphoria-vmin7]

falling for you | jjk headcanon

pairing: dorky jock! jeon jungkook x shy! reader 

genre/warnings: F L U F F, headcanons, ALL BULLET POINTS, this isn’t even a real fic i just had this in my head and needed to post it, ITS ALL FLUFF, literally nothing else but cliche shit, jungkook is whipped, this is just him being a softie, kook is clumsy af in this, did i say FLUFF???

word count: 3,917 (okay so it wasn’t supposed to be this long-) 

-- summary: this is literally just dorky football player jungkook’s entire process of falling for the reader. he’s a clumsy mess in this sORRY

SO...

Your best friend would have to drag you to one of the football games because god knows it isn’t something you’d go to voluntarily. 

You’d much rather prefer to be curled up in bed watching Netflix or reading by yourself. The game is too rowdy, there’s barely any space in the stands, should anymore be said? 

But anyway, it’s been decided that you need to mingle with more human beings, and so you’re forced to stand in the middle of a bunch of shouting and sweaty people with a frown on your face. 

You’re shy. No other way to put it. You get easily embarrassed, especially when meeting people for the first time, which is why going to a football game and making friends is the last thing you want to do. 

Sadly, you end up going, and end up watching star player Jeon Jungkook sprint across the field like a bullet. 

It’s not that you were deliberately staring at him. It’s just he had that aura, you know? So many people knew him, praised him. And you understood why: the boy had everything. 

So you just watch the game, unknowingly getting more and more into it as you see the stakes rise in attempts to win. 

Your school’s team is extremely competitive, and having Jungkook was like the cherry on top. With perseverance and determination, he plays until the time is called and the team is cheering in victory. 

It was actually a fun time, you had to admit. But now that it was over you wanted to return to your own hobbies. 

It is late when you step into the library. There’s barely anyone there. 

The librarian knows you well, as you spend most of your time huddled up in one of the corners with a new book in hand. She waves to you and you shyly smile at her before beginning to browse. 

You take a seat at one of the tables and delve deep into the world of the novel you had chosen. After all, your favorite part of reading was looking through the eyes of someone else. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook doesn’t expect to need a book at this time of night. Only when Taehyung reminds him that he had a paper due the next morning did he rush over to get it. 

After a quick greeting to the librarian, he begins rummaging through shelves of books. He hates how long it takes for him to find what he’s looking for. 

He’s peering along racks when he notices you for the first time. 

He has to physically do a double take because wow

You’re cute. 

The way you’re sitting, knees to your chest, while biting your fingernail with some novel clutched in your other hand. And clad only in your college sweater that was far too big for you, hair up so messily that he could clearly make out stubborn strands that stuck straight up. 

Wow x2. 

Jungkook can feel his curiosity peak. How come he had never seen you before? 

He was sure he’d immediately recognize and remember someone who looked like you. He was curious. So curious. 

What was your name? How old were you? Were you in his year? In any of his classes? Did you know him? How did your voice sound? 

Instead of trying to find out the answers to any of the questions floating around in his head, Jungkook remains hidden behind shelves, browsing for far longer than necessary even after he had found what he was looking for. 

The next time he sees you, you’re reading again. This time, you’re just sitting outside, under one of the trees on the grounds. 

Jungkook doesn’t notice at first, but when he looks again he realizes that it’s you. Mystery girl from the library. 

The whole time he’s chatting, Jungkook’s eyes roam over to glance at you. Today you look different. You’re wearing a ruffled blouse and plain blue jeans. Your hair is up, but this time in a neat ponytail, only a few strands of hair deliberately framing your face. You don’t have glasses on today. Jungkook guessed that you probably had contacts. 

Jimin, one of Jungkook’s older friends, notices his attention drifting. 

“What are you looking at...oh it’s (Name),” 

Jungkook tears his eyes away from you to look at Jimin eagerly. “Hyung, you know her?” 

Jimin blinks. “Yeah she’s in one of my classes. Why?” 

Jungkook can’t hold back a smile. “Who is she?” 

So Jimin spends the next few minutes telling Jungkook what he knows about you. Your full name. How quiet you were, tending to keep to yourself. Your love for reading. Jungkook listens attentively, which Jimin can’t help but notice. 

About a month later, all of Jungkook’s friends are fully aware of his fascination with you. Though they find it hilarious that he has a crush on you but hasn’t spoken a word to you yet. He doubted you even knew he existed. But still, he loves to admire you from afar. 

Today, he and the boys are sitting in the library. Namjoon had said that he had some books to check out, and Jungkook had immediately begged to come with him in hopes of seeing you again. That had turned into all of them going, which had led to Namjoon’s studying plans being destroyed. 

“Just go say hi,” Taehyung sighed, leaning back in his chair. 

“Jungkookie’s shy,” Jimin teased as he listened to the boy’s protests. Jungkook grumbled in return before letting his eyes drift back over to you.

“Alright, I’m done. Let’s go,” Namjoon said, standing up. Jungkook looked up at him. “I can’t get anything done here. Which is ironic because it’s a place made for studying,” 

Jungkook can’t persuade Namjoon to stay, so he finds himself piling up his books in his hands and standing up to leave. 

“You seriously won’t say anything to her?” Jimin asked as they all began walking towards the exit. Jungkook shakes his head no as he stops to adjust the books in his hands. 

“I’m not ready,” is his excuse and Namjoon and Jimin chuckle before they turn to head out. Taehyung had disappeared somewhere but Jungkook didn’t think too much of it. 

Big mistake, because just as Jungkook was about to pass you, he felt a familiar hand harshly shove his back, the force catching the younger male by surprise. As a result, the books in his arms tumbled from his grasp right in front of your table. Jungkook’s cheeks burned as you tore your eyes from your novel and looked down at him in surprise. He would kill Taehyung later. 

To his utter horror, you put your book on the table and bent down to his level. His palms became extremely sweaty as you began collecting the books and he scrambled to do the same. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling so embarrassed it hurt. But all you did was smile at him and there goes his heart. 

“It’s fine, no need to apologize,” Jungkook smiles shakily at your answer and begins to pick up his stuff. In between, he glances up to look at you. This is the first time he’d ever seen you so close and he could now see the smallest details. The features of your face were so much clearer. He could clearly make out the shades of your eyes, the pores of your skin, every tiny detail that made his heart throb. 

He’s especially enamored by the way your fingers peak out from under your sweater paws. He briefly imagines what it would be like to hold them. 

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly as you hand him his textbook. Jungkook’s head shoots up to look at you nervously. What?! What was it? Was he doing something weird??

All he can muster is a dumbfounded “HUH?” in return and he mentally slaps himself at how stupid he sounds. 

“You fell, didn’t you? Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask and tilt your head to the side. Jungkook can feel his cheeks redden and wants to crawl into a hole. He conjures up his shaky and awkward smile and shakes his head quickly. 

“I’m fine,” his face pales at the squeakiness of his voice. Did his voice really just crack!?

You don’t seem to notice or if you do, you’re kind enough to not mention it. You simply flash him a small smile and nod. “That’s a relief,” 

It’s at that second Jungkook realizes who he’s talking to. That he’s actually gathered up the courage (even if it was by total accident) to talk to you, the girl he’s been so curious about. He’s nervous of course, but you just seem so sweet. And he wants to leave an impression. 

“I’m Jungkook,” he grins, confidently saying his name despite the way his palms are sweating. He wipes one hand against his jeans and balances his books against his hip. Your eyes dart to the side and Jungkook catches the way you begin fiddling with your sleeves. 

“(N-Name),” you mumble. He knows this already, of course. But he still nods along and manages to make his smile a little less forced. 

“Nice to meet you,” he grins and now it’s your turn to blush. Damn, you’re cute. 

“You too,” 

There is an awkward pause in the conversation and Jungkook takes it as his cue to get going. He feels satisfied though. This is the most progress he’s made with you. “Alright then, I’ll see you around (Name). Thanks for your help!” he waves and feels super proud of how confident he sounds. For once he sounds mature and not like a lovestruck teenager. You nod meekly as you look at his dazzling smile before you both part ways. 

Jungkook approaches the exit of the library where the three of his friends stand, watching your exchange. Before any of them can speak, Jungkook reels a strong fist back and punches Taehyung in the gut. The older male doubles over in pain as Jimin laughs loudly. Namjoon grins and looks to the youngest. “Where’d all that confidence come from?” 

Jungkook smiles bashfully. “I wasn’t really confident. I just-” 

“Say what you want,” Taehyung wheezes as he remains hunched over. “But you wouldn’t have said shit to her if it wasn't for me,” 

Jungkook glares at his friend menacingly. “Do you want another one? Because I have another fist available,”

Jimin simpers as Taehyung backs away, clutching his gut protectively. “So hostile…” 

“What did you say?” Namjoon asks as they head out. 

“I just introduced myself and said thank you for the help,” Jungkook shrugs. Taehyung clicks his tongue. 

“You should’ve just asked her out on a date,” 

“Hyung what’s it with you and stupid ideas?” 

“Just admit you’re still scared of girls,” 

The next time he sees you, he’s walking by himself. He notices you at the end of the corridor but you aren’t alone. A familiar male stands across you, chatting amiably. Before he can stop himself, Jungkook is sprinting down the hallway and jumping onto his back. Jimin grunts in surprise as one of Jungkook’s heavy arms sling around his shoulders. “Hey hyung~~” he sings with a blinding smile as he looks down at his friend. Jimin rolls his eyes with a disgruntled grimace and tires to pry the younger off of him. Jungkook then acts stupid and pretends like he’s noticing you for the first time. “Oh! (Name), how are you today?” 

You flush under his gaze and immediately begin fiddling with your sleeves. Though you try and relax because Jungkook is not as intimidating as you expected and he’s actually kind of...nice?

“Uh..I’m good, Jungkook,” 

Jungkook’s heart thuds painfully against his ribcage because wow he’d never thought his name sounded better than at that moment. His thoughts are all over the place. Between staying calm and cool, trying to address his feelings, and wondering what Jimin was doing with you, he was a mess. What should he do right now?

Jungkook and Jimin seemed to be having their own nonverbal conversation and you don’t really know how to react. Before you can politely excuse yourself, Jungkook turns to you. 

“So, are you coming to the game this Friday?” he asks with a hopeful grin and you bite your lip. 

“Oh um...actually I don’t think so,” 

Jungkook’s gaze drops and he pouts. “Why not?” 

Your eyes go a little wide at his whiny tone and how his confident expression had quickly changed into one of a kicked puppy. 

“W-Well,” you stuttered. “It’s n-not really my scene,” 

Jungkook’s eyes softened and Jimin nodded. “Too loud for you huh?” 

You grinned sheepishly. Jungkook smiled down at you. 

“That’s okay. You don’t have to come if you’re not comfortable,” Jungkook smiles and you realize that this boy is actually being considerate. He’s not judging or teasing. He’s considerate. Jimin and Jungkook share another silent look before Jungkook turns away. “See you around, (Name)!” A small dimple creases his cheek as he grins at you and Jimin resumes your previous conversation, not noticing that you weren’t paying attention to him anymore. 

Jungkook shakes his sweaty hair away from his eyes as he jogs across the field. He nods at his teammates as they shout words of encouragement to each other and he surveys the field. He drones out the screaming coming from the crowd. He always does this. Though the cheers are motivating and nice to hear, he prefers to keep all of his attention on the game. 

At least that’s what he would normally do. But tonight, when his eyes drift over to the audience again, somehow he singles you out. There you are in the middle of the roaring crowd, looking awkward as hell as you grip your own arms tightly. Jungkook’s heart leaps into his throat as it registers that you have actually come to his game. And what’s even worse, is that you’re staring right at him. Jungkook trips over his feet a little as he tries to adjust his body to stand in some cool and nonchalant pose, earning a few glances from his team. He wasn’t even exaggerating. Your eyes are on him for the entirety of the game. And he can’t help but grin when he catches you doing your cute little clapping and cheering just a little bit louder as the game goes on. 

And though they did win that night, Jungkook had to admit he was not nearly as focused as he normally was. 

“Okay just be cool. Don’t stress,” Jimin clapped Jungkook’s back as the younger male took a deep breath and rubbed his palms together. 

“He’s right. There’s no need to be nervous. Just be mature about it,” Namjoon says, peering over his book from across the table. Jungkook looks back at Jimin, who gives him a smile and thumbs up. 

“Bet you 25 bucks that you chicken out,” Taehyung smirks and Jungkook flips him off. 

“You got this,” Jimin says, looking at Jungkook encouragingly after harshly smacking Taehyung. 

“You’re right. I got this,” Jungkook repeats determinedly, standing up and puffing his chest out. Taehyung claps with a rectangular smile as Jungkook’s eyes drift to his final destination. You. They’re at the library again today, and Jungkook decided that today would be the day he finally asks you out. You’re sitting at the same table as you were that night Jungkook had first met you. And today he’s finally ready to make his move. He stands up and collects his books in his hands. 

“Good luck, Kookie,” Namjoon grins, dimples denting his cheeks and Jungkook beams. He turns around and begins making his way to you. He’s so nervous he can feel palms sweating against the bindings of the books he’s holding. He feels like he’s hyper aware of everything. He focuses on you and it feels like it takes hours to walk to where you are. Everything about you is perfect today. You look at ease instead of self conscious and you’re once again immersed in some book. He finds that so endearing, how deep you fall into your reading. It’s like you wouldn’t notice anything around you so long as you had a book in your hand. 

It seems that Jungkook doesn’t notice his surroundings either. Just as he’s almost reaching you and placing a confident smile on his face, his boot gets caught in the leg of a chair and he goes tumbling. It’s like he's falling in slow motion and he’s already cursing himself for being so damn clumsy. Jungkook lands with a thud against the carpeted floor of the library, his books scattering in front of him. He hears a light giggle and he groans quietly as he pushes his face into the floor, hoping that it would swallow him whole. Familiar sneakers come into his eyesight and he peers up to see you crouching on the floor, a soft smile on your face. 

“Jungkook..” you sigh, shaking your head playfully. “You really need to stop falling,” 

The athlete’s eyes widen comically and he scrambles to get up into a crouching position, hurrying to help you clean up his mess of books. He awkwardly chuckles as his cheeks flare up in embarrassment. “I know right? Sorry (Name),” 

“It’s okay,” you smile and Jungkook notices the way your cheeks also turn a bit pink. But that happens every time you both talk. You’re just shy, which to him, is extremely cute. “Are you hurt?” 

“Nah,” Jungkook chuckles, the tensions in his nerves easing just a bit. “As you can see I’m always falling, so I’m kinda used to it,” He isn't prepared for the laugh that tumbles past your lips at his statement. Until now he had only heard you giggle or chuckle. But never a full blown laugh. He decided then and there that it was his favorite sound in the fucking universe. 

“Hey (Name),” he asks suddenly and you look up at him with a happy smile. 

“Yeah?” 

“What book are you reading right now?” Jungkook asks, biting his lip gently. His heart is pounding but for some odd reason he feels confident. Your eyes light up and Jungkook’s stomach flips. 

“The Fault in Our Stars,” you answer with a grin. “I’m re-reading it for the hundredth time,” 

Jungkook chuckles before he pulls himself up from the floor and offers you a hand. “Don’t tell anyone, but I cried reading that book,” Your eyes shine with interest and a bit of mischief as you take his hand. Jungkook mentally wonders whether you’ll be disgusted by how sweaty his palms are but he’s more focused on the fact that your hand is actually in his right now. 

“You cried reading The Fault in Our Stars?” your voice has a new tone to it, a playful and almost teasing tone that makes Jungkook’s heart race. 

“Oh come on,” he whines. “Everyone cries,” 

You giggle and nod. “I can’t argue with that,”

“Actually I was gonna go drop this off. Have you read it?” Jungkook asks, holding up one of his books. You peer at it and your eyes scan the title. 

“Hm I don’t think so. Is it good?” you ask curiously and Jungkook feels proud of how much he’s talking because he realizes that he’s just being himself. 

“Oh my god, it’s so good,” the taller male stresses, running his fingers through his hair. “You’ll love it if you like mystery,” You drop his hand and take a seat at your table. Jungkook watches your face for a sign and he mentally cheers when you ask him to sit next to you. 

“I love mystery!” you say excitedly. “What’s it about?” 

Jungkook’s eyes soften as he takes in your excitement. He relays the plot to you, soaking in every facial feature and memorizing every single comment you make. As you continue to talk more comfortably with him, Jungkook realizes just how amazing you are. His nerves dissipate completely as your conversation shifts to some of your favorite books. Then Jungkook is talking about his other hobbies like playing Overwatch with Taehyung and his secret obsession with dancing. Then you’re telling him all about how much you love visiting dog cafes and that the only type of exercise you’d ever do was jogging. Then Jungkook is telling you about how Gureum, his dog, loves his Jungkook’s older brother more than him. And just like that, conversations flow easily between you two and Jungkook wonders why he was ever so nervous. You’re perfect in every sense of the way and he had never imagined that you would be so easy for him to talk to. 

By the time you notice how much time has passed, the library is about to close. Jungkook politely helps your pack up your things and you walk with him to the counter as he returns his books. Jungkook glances at you with a fond smile, his heart beating comfortably yet still beating just a bit more happily for you. You’re still animatedly chatting with him about what kind of dog breed you want to get as the two of you step out into the night. 

“...but I can barely take care of myself so I don't think I’d be good at taking care of a puppy, too,” you giggle. Jungkook laughs as he slips his sweater over his head. 

“I’m sure you’d be able to figure it out, (Name). And I could help you. I have tons of experience with Gureum,” 

“You mean the same Gureum who loves your brother more than you?” you asked him teasingly and Jungkook’s jaw drops playfully. 

“How dare you?” he demands dramatically and smiles when you laugh. 

“Well, I should get going,” you sigh, tugging the strap on your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll see you later Jungkook,” 

Jungkook nods with a grin as you wave to him and turn to leave. But as he watches your back get further and further away, he realizes that despite having been confident and brave, he didn’t accomplish his goal yet. And Jungkook hated that. Feeling a fire run through his veins, he takes a leap of faith and jogs after you. 

“Hey (Name)!!” he calls out. You turn around and raise a brow in confusion. Jungkook gulps as his throat becomes dry and his nerves begin to tingle but he pushes them aside and in the most confident voice he can muster he asks: 

“Do you maybe wanna go out and get a coffee with me tomorrow?”

As soon as he says it his mind goes haywire thinking of all of the different and better ways he could've asked that. Your expression makes him even more nervous and for a split second he wishes that there was a way he could turn back time. But then a slow smile forms on your face and your cheeks turn a glowing shade of pink. 

“I...I’d like that,” you nod, shyly tugging on your sleeves and Jungkook‘s eyes widen. 

“W-What? For real?” he stutters and his brain is yelling at him to shut up and be cool but he can’t because he’s so damn relieved. You nod with a sheepish smile and he laughs. “O-Okay then I’ll see you tomorrow!!” 

“Yeah,” you grin. “See you tomorrow,” 

And all Jungkook can think about as he walks home is how you like your coffee, what books he’ll bring up during your date, and the fact that Taehyung now owes him 25 bucks.

.

.

.

.

[moonstruckbucky]

The Recruit (3/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Violence may be wished upon Captain Rogers. Injury, blood, overall not happy times. Some poorly-written fight scenes.

Notes: Sorry for the lateness! Work’s been hectic and I’m about to pull a 9-day marathon. Please send love and chocolate and alcohol. Enjoy! x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

It comes as a colossal shock to you that, two weeks following the incident with Captain Rogers in the gym, you’re paired up with him and Sam for a mission in Lima. When you receive the email, short and to the point, you spend a good few minutes blinking, rubbing your eyes, spluttering at your desk. Surely you’re imagining it that Captain Hardass has requested you to partake in this mission.

You’re proven wrong when he sends an email in response to yours, in which you claim there’s a mistake, that reads: “Quinjet takes off at 8 PM tonight. Miss it and you’re gone.”

So you show up fifteen minutes early, garbed in an all-black SHIELD-issued tac suit and heavy boots. At the gentle behest of Bucky, you’d applied the salve to your knee as you dressed, just in case. The slight numb feeling in the joint makes you smile - or is that the thought of Bucky?

Your acquaintanceship has blossomed headlong into an easy friendship. He works out with you in the gym, finds you when you’re lounging in the SHIELD common room. In turn, you’ve introduced him to some modern music once you’d learned he’s still trying to catch up. You’ve also gotten him sucked into Netflix and binge-watching shows, which the two of you do together often. Sometimes, you’ll just read while he learns how to work Snapchat or works on mission reports. 

He’s easy to get along with despite the rocky start he’d had to the Avengers Initiative. Gentle, in spite of the horrors he’d survived; cheeky and sassy and so quick-witted it sometimes throws you off. He’s overall just...good.

It’s such a far cry from the relationship you have with his best friend that it nearly gives you whiplash.

And the look Captain Rogers gives you as you enter the hangar is proof of that. He’s glaring fiercely, even finding fault in the fact that you’re early for takeoff.

“What?” you snap before you can stop yourself. You cringe internally, wait for the reprimand for insubordination. You couldn’t help it - your reaction to him is automatic hostility, matching what seems to be his reaction to you as well.

You’re not sure where he gets off on such behavior, but you’ve about had it with Captain Steve Rogers.

“You’re late,” he barks, and it sends white hot rage through your blood.

“You said takeoff was at 8. It’s 7:50,” you retort, make a show of waving your wristwatch in his face.

“Prep is half an hour prior to takeoff, Agent.”

Oh, you could slap the smirk off his face. If you both a) wanted to fist-fight Captain America and b) wanted to be fired for assaulting a commanding officer. He seems to see the struggle on your face because his smirk widens, darkens when he knows he’s won.

“Forgive me, Captain. It appears my commanding officer seemed to have left that part out,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“A good agent should know when prep time is without her CO reminding her,” he shoots back, and a hot rage boils in your belly.

You brush by him roughly, keeping your biting retort on your tongue, stomp into the jet.

Sam is seated at the controls. You haven’t interacted with the Falcon all that much, but he gives you a bright, welcoming grin that eases your aggravation a little.

“Welcome aboard Falcon Airways,” he chirps, and you find it in you to smile a little. The Falcon glances over your shoulder at Captain Rogers, nodding once, and begins takeoff. Captain Rogers prefers to stand, while you opt to keep your distance in a seat towards the back.

The ride is mostly quiet; Sam and Captain Rogers go back and forth, muttering between themselves, but it’s too low for you to hear. Occasionally, though, the Captain shoots you unreadable glances, and your mind itches with the knowledge that they’re discussing you. It sours you, puts you in a bad headspace that you know you need to get over. It’s your first mission - you can’t fuck it up.

Not with Captain Rogers there to see it.

Sam expertly lands the jet about an hour later. You’d spent most of the ride going over the details of the mission, analyzing each bulletpoint and retaining as much information as you could. In your opinion, it doesn’t hurt to be mentally prepared. Know thy enemy, you think the phrase goes.

(Un)fortunately, Captain Rogers benches you inside the jet. You’re incredulous, and you do a poor job at hiding it. Your first mission, and you’re benched?

“I beg your pardon, Captain?” you question as he slides the famed shield onto his back. He barely glances at you, only doing so when you follow him to the ramp. Then, he rounds on you.

“I said, you’re to remain here. In the event that we need you, we’ll call for you. Until then, do us both a favor and stay put.” He doesn’t say another word, merely stomps down the ramp.

Sam’s hand is warm on your shoulder, and you turn to him. His face reads of sympathy, but an unwillingness to go against his Captain’s order.

“He just wants you to stay safe. First mission and all. Keep your comms on, learn some things, and then you’ll get your chance.” He smirks a little when you scoff in disbelief. His wingsuit is buckled across his thick chest, goggles pushed up his forehead. He checks and rechecks his weapons.

“Next time, kid, it’ll be you out there. We’ll call if we need you.” And then he’s gone.

You can hear the two of them going back and forth, Captain Rogers calling out instruction and Sam countering it with a different strategy. They operate like a well-oiled machine, and you can only hope one day you’ll have that kind of comradery with your teammates.

You spend much of your time alone balancing your knife on your fingertips, disassembling and reassembling your sidearm, and poring over the mission notes once again. It’s boring, but you suppose, in the calmness that follows your initial outrage at being confined to the jet, you understand why Captain Rogers has done it. You’re green as can be, and though you’ve done simulations, have trained under duress, you’re still not quite sure how you’d react in the face of real danger. Perhaps you should be a little relieved, but still, there’s an underlying feeling of resentment towards your prickly Captain.

Narrowly avoiding slicing your finger open as you flip your knife, you startle when Sam’s panicked voice comes over the comms.

“Agent L/N, we need you - now. Southwest corner, fifth floor.” He’s cut off by gunfire, grunting, the sounds of fists meeting flesh. You don’t hesitate, slide the knife back into its sheath.

A second voice in your ear makes you pause. “No, Agent. Remain where you are. Do you hear me? Do not leave your post.”

Captain Rogers growls at his attacker, the echoing ping of his shield loud in your ear. You know the Captain outranks Sam, yet with the noises of the fight in your ears, it’s hard to obey orders when they so clearly need your help. Mind made up, you arm yourself to the teeth, tighten the straps of a Kevlar vest and slam the button on the ramp to the jet.

Nondescript, the building in front of you looks like an office, innocent, unimposing. The gunfire coming from within it, however, shatters that illusion. Your stomach curdles nervously, hands a little shaky where they grip your handgun, trigger finger along the frame, safety flipped off. The door in front of you is smashed open, a boot-shaped dent in it. On silent feet, you enter the building, follow the sounds of gunshots, shouting, the ring of Captain Rogers’s shield.

Sweat beads at your hairline, slides a salty line down to your eye. Jaw clenched, body rigid like a cat ready to pounce. Every bit of your training kicking into high gear as you focus on untoward sounds around you. Bodies litter the floor in the next room, all knocked out or dead, you’re not sure, but you clear the room and move on quickly.

Soon enough, you find Sam and Captain Rogers, each of them bogged down by men in dark tac suits. The shield glitters under the fluorescent lighting as it flies through the air, sends a man careening into a wall, returns to the Captain’s hand thanks to the magnetization. Sam, meanwhile, has his wings folded into the suit and grapples with a brute of a man who has his hand around his throat.

You aim your gun, careful, steady. Inhale, a squeeze of the trigger on the exhale. Bullet meets its mark in the brute’s shoulder. His cry is gruff, a spray of ruby as he presses a hand to it, and Sam sees his opening. A hard boot to the chest has the man flying backwards, head colliding with a metal desk that’s been flipped in the melee.

You throw yourself into the fight despite a sharp order from the Captain to stand down. Yet how can you when the two of them are overcome? You abandon the gun, slide it into the holster at your side and instead reach for your knife. It quickly meets the innards of an approaching enemy, and you drag it upwards towards his neck, open him to the bone of his sternum. You’re drenched in blood, but you shove him away, move onto the next.

Your hand-to-hand is sloppy, but it gets the job done as you slash and stab each body that throws itself at you. A punch to the ribs has you gasping, arching away from the attack as pain blooms in your side. It’s a mistake - your attacker is fast and hits you again, a left hook that sends you spiraling, puts stars in your vision. You hit the floor on your hands and knees, nose bloody and head swimming.

You cry out roughly when his boot meets your stomach, knocking you flat on your back. Your grip is slippery on the handle of your knife, slick with blood, and it’s all too easy for your attacker to gain control. He straddles your hips, plants a knee on your knife hand and pushes. You feel the bones snap under the weight, sending a blaze of pain up your arm, and yours fingers loosen around the handle.

The man’s hands move to your neck as the bones in your wrist are crushed, fingers going numb and losing grip on your knife. The sounds of the fight around you begin to fade out at those gloved fingers tighten, press down on your windpipe until your vision blackens at the edges.

And then they’re gone - the hands around your neck, the weight on your broken wrist. A wrenching gasp from your throat while your entire arms feels as if it’s on fire. Whimpering, you cradle it to your chest as Sam helps you sit up. Around you are the bodies of the rest of the men, a sea of varying shades of black and charcoal stained with blood.

You grimace as your wrist is jostled, press it tighter against your chest as Sam helps you stand. Even with your head down you can feel Captain Rogers glaring fiercely at the side of your head. But he stays silent, at least until you’re boarded on the jet, arm in a makeshift sling.

“I ordered you to stay put,” he barks, face going red with his ire. “A good agent obeys command, not ignore it for five minutes of fame!”

Your face heats up in fresh anger - an emotion you’re quite getting used to around Captain Rogers. You grit your teeth against both his criticism and the pain in your wrist, level him with a fiery glare.

“If I had obeyed, who the hell knows what would have happened to both of you? Sam called for help - I answered.”

“And I said no. That trumps what Sam says,” Captain Rogers responds heatedly. Sam, bless him, pointedly ignores the argument in the back of the jet and prepares for takeoff.

“But you both were overwhelmed! Am I really just supposed to sit here while you get your asses kicked?”

“You might as well have! You nearly got yourself killed in the process. You have no experience in the field, and with that shoddy hand-to-hand, I’m not surprised you ended up where you are! In fact, I’m really surprised you aren’t dead.”

A sharp inhale, though whether it’s from you or from Sam you aren’t sure. Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click, teeth grinding hard as pressure builds behind your eyes. You look away, silently relinquishing this argument, and you can feel Captain Rogers’s gaze burning your face. But you refuse to break, refuse to let him see just how much his criticisms have affected you, have hurt you.

When the jet lands, you tear off of it, making for the med bay with your head down and feet quick. Behind you, you barely make out Sam and Captain Rogers exchanging words. You pay it no mind as you ignore your fellow agents, who all seem to know exactly what has happened already. Whispers flurry around you as you hurry to the elevator, making your face burn in embarrassment.

They’re prepared for you - Sam must have called ahead to let them know. To your surprise, Bucky is waiting too, and when he sees you, his expression is so worried it makes your heart pound. He’s gentle where he grasps your shoulders, eyes flying over you form until he sees the sling and your bound arm.

“Jesus, Sam called for medical but when Steve got on the radio too, I just...I got so worried, doll.” Whether his use of the pet name is intentional or not, it still makes your belly flutter, face flush, and his hands warm your body from the inside out.

“I thought the worst,” he admits, crystalline eyes shining and wide and so damn inviting you let yourself fall into him. He steadies you, an arm around your back and the other cradling your head.

It makes you forget your anger for a little while, allows you to simply enjoy his warmth, the safety you feel in his embrace. His flesh hand is warm where it slides up and down your back, the most comforting of touches that you know you should reject yet can’t.

Finally, you begin to feel a little awkward, your injured arm between you against his warm chest, and you step back. He lets you go but keeps his hands on you, begins to lead you to the waiting team of medics. They take you from Bucky, bring you into a room for an x-ray. He watches you, still worried but warmth in his gaze.

It keeps you distracted, blocks out the pain while they set your arm in a cast, prescribe you painkillers, and send you on your way.

Chapter Four

[aespawpaq]

Netflix and Chill (3)

IMAX and CLIMAX

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags;  sh is an avid history channel viewer, sh hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, sh goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

Sunghoon sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Sunghoon’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Sunghoon scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Sunghoon greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Isa swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Isa, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Sunghoon picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Sunghoon’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Sunghoon invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Sunghoon not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Sunghoon is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Sunghoonie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Sunghoon was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Sunghoon rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Sunghoon, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Sunghoon’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Sunghoon apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Sunghoon is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Sunghoon’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Sunghoon laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Sunghoon gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Sunghoon’s house were either  the result of Sunghoon picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Sunghoon inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“ Sunghoon?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Sunghoon had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, hoon, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Heeseung would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Sunghoon goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Sunghoon doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Sunghoon’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “hoon, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Sunghoon’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Sunghoon sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Sunghoon scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Sunghoon sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Sunghoon crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Sunghoon’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Sunghoon quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Sunghoon clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Sunghoon will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Sunghoon is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Sunghoon has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Sunghoon scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Sunghoon falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Sunghoon says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Sunghoon sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Sunghoon laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away.  His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Sunghoon teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Sunghoon has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Sunghoon groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Sunghoon shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Sunghoon preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Sunghoon, you always came first. Sunghoon’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Sunghoon was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Sunghoon grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Sunghoon’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Sunghoon kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Sunghoon was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Sunghoon rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “ Sunghoon—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Sunghoon.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Sunghoon’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Sunghoon would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today… well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Sunghoon scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Sunghoon, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Sunghoon never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Sunghoon had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Sunghoon gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Sunghoon was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Sunghoon leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Sunghoon smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Sunghoon sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Sunghoon hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Sunghoon doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Sunghoon adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Sunghoon‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Sunghoon, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Sunghoon finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Sunghoon tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Sunghoon kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Sunghoon takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Sunghoon mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Sunghoon that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Sunghoon smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “hoon!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Sunghoon’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Sunghoon either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “ Sunghoon, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Sunghoon wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Sunghoon chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Sunghoon reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Sunghoon’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Sunghoon tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Sunghoon seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Sunghoon scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Sunghoon asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Sunghoon snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Sunghoon barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “hoon— Sunghoon!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Sunghoon nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Park Sunghoon, maybe Isa was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Sunghoon is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Sunghoon responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your hoon now.”

“My… hoon,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Sunghoon chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Sunghoon hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Sunghoon catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Sunghoon laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don’t wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Park Sunghoon,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Sunghoon’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

A New Adventure - Pt 12

Hey folks! I figured it was only fitting that this series get a chapter about Thanksgiving. Enjoy! (BTW, this one made me really excited to go and bake some stuff).

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

Thanksgiving 

November has swept past and Thanksgiving is now only days away. 

Right after Halloween, Arthur mentioned it. Of course, you knew that Thanksgiving has been celebrated in the US since the Civil War. 

Curious about what it used to be like, you asked him how the gang celebrated the holiday. 

Arthur just smiled and explained that the last Thanksgiving he had with the gang, he and John had gone out hunting for turkeys, managing to catch four of them. 

Pearson had done his best to make an exemplary meal but, lacking a proper kitchen, he could only do so much. He’d made a hash along with some peach cobbler. 

There had been roasted vegetables cooked with the turkeys. 

Sean and Lenny snuck into town and stole some pies and desserts. 

The night had ended with most of the gang getting trashed. 

Arthur, chuckling at the memories, sombered up and asked you what Thanksgiving is like now. 

Your smile faded. You haven’t had a Thanksgiving in years, thanks to not really having much of a family anymore. 

The last one had been the last year your father was alive. 

Arthur apologized and hugged you. 

“Well, why don’t you and I do one? Just us?” he suggested. 

You heartily agreed and were silently grateful you still had the recipes your mom used for this celebration. 

The next shopping trip, you bought as many of the ingredients (and most importantly the turkey) as you could in order to get them before they were gone. 

Arthur looked at the frozen turkey. You didn’t get a big one, just one of those packets of breast meat since there would only be two of you. He seemed a little put off. 

When you asked him why, he said “Just don’t seem as satisfyin’. Buying a turkey from the store. I always caught ours back with the gang.” 

You put your hands on his hips and kissed him. “Well, maybe next year, you can go turkey hunting. I’ll get you a license and everything.” 

Arthur kissed you softly and thanked you, saying he’d like that. 

As the weeks of November went by, the inevitable signs of Black Friday and Christmas were popping up. None of which excited you. In fact, nothing annoys you as much as Black Friday. 

Arthur was seeing the ads too. He asked what Black Friday is. 

“Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving where, even though people just had this big feast to be grateful for everything they already have, they go insane and spend hundreds of dollars and stand in lines for hours on end while risking getting punched in the face so they can save twenty dollars on a $400 dollar item.” 

“You serious?” he said, not hiding the ludicrousy from his voice. 

“Yeah. It’s a bullshit holiday. I always just stay home and watch South Park’s rendition of Black Friday.” 

Arthur said it shouldn’t really be classified as a holiday and you agree before telling him it’s just a US thing. Other countries don’t do it. Black Friday is the most undeniable form of capitalism that has ever existed. 

Along with Black Friday comes the other signs of Christmas. Ads on Youtube playing holiday music and some people in your neighborhood have already put up lawn decorations. 

You tell Arthur you don’t really like Christmas, not being religious yourself and not having a proper family. Then you tell Arthur you don’t wanna talk about Christmas because you hate the avaris of the whole thing and want to enjoy Thanksgiving properly this year since you finally have someone to spend it with. 

He agreed, figuring you’d tell him about Christmas the closer it got. 

Now that Thanksgiving is only days away, you’re getting excited. You’ve just pulled the turkey out to thaw ans Arthur comes up and kisses you. 

You love whenever he does this, surprising you with his kisses. 

The two of you have not slept together yet, and honestly you’re not quite sure you’re ready for that just yet. Soon probably, but not yet. 

Arthur has not been pushy. In fact, he hasn’t even brought up sex or made any kind of advances. 

“So, there any Thanksgivin’ movies you folks got?” he asks, figuring there must be as it seems there’s a movie for everything. 

“Not really. Unless you count Garfield,” you say, referring to the cartoon cat. 

Arthur wants to watch it as he enjoyed the Halloween episode of Garfield, so the two of you sit down. 

Arthur pulls you into his lap while it plays. God, he is such a sweetheart. How can he go from being scary as hell to sweet as honey within seconds? 

Thanksgiving day comes and you get up early in order to start making pie dough. 

You don’t have to start the turkey until a couple of hours before eating, thanks to your trusty Instapot. 

Just as you’re starting, Arthur comes into the kitchen, hitching his pants over his union suit. 

You have to avert your eyes as his suit hugs his body in the right places, showing the firm muscles of his chest, arms and shoulders. He leans on the doorframe and watches you for a second. He really thinks you’re beautiful and he’s thankful every day for having ran into you. 

After a moment, he joins your side. He wants to help you make dinner. 

He’s pretty out of his element, rarely having cooked anything proper and never having baked. 

Despite that, he’s helpful and eager to learn. You show him how to grind the ingredients together to make it into pie dough. 

He tries his hand at it, but seems to struggle. You tell him to just add a little bit of cold water and a lot of elbow grease. 

Finally the dough is ready, so you show him how to throw it into a ball and then roll it into a circle and then how to get it into the tin. 

Arthur asks if it wouldn’t have been easier to get pre-made dough. 

“Gah, no. That stuff is crap. Besides, for Thanksgiving you should make as much by hand as you can.”

Arthur is impressed. He didn’t think you knew how to make so much from scratch.

Arthur samples the pumpkin pie and he sighs audibly. You have to push him out of the way to stop him from dipping his finger into it for a second time so you can get it into the oven. 

While the pie is cooking, you begin another batch of dough, but this one is different as it is meant to make rolls. 

Arthur likes working with this dough much better as it’s more stretchy and doesn’t take as much pressing. 

When you show him how to grab the dough and toss it hard on the table, he finds it particularly enjoyable. He really likes kneading it too, chuckling when you ask him if he likes it. 

“There’s something to this,” he says. You agree that this dough is fun. 

Finally the dough is ready to raise. The tricky thing about this recipe is it has to be raised three times, but you learned when you were young how to grow the yeast in order to make it rise quickly. 

You and Arthur have about an hour to relax while the dough rises and the pie bakes. 

Arthur suddenly pulls you close and suggests the two of you cuddle up on the couch and just watch something that isn’t going to require your commitance. 

You blush heavily but agree. You love cuddling with Arthur. He’s warm and soft in just the right places. 

He takes you into the living room and plops onto the couch before opening up his arms so you can climb onto him. You do so right after turning on some Netflix. 

The second your cheek hits his chest, he starts combing his fingers through your hair. 

The two of you watch the show for a bit but neither of you is really interested. You’re more distracted by your company. 

You really just want to kiss him. Lately you’ve been thinking about what he might be like in the bed. Something tells you he might not be too bad, though perhaps a little inexperienced or ignorant. Sex ed nowadays is bad enough, it was even worse in his day. 

His heart is pounding hard in your ear, and it’s faster than it usually is. Is he thinking along the same vein as you? 

Before you can stop yourself, you look up at him and kiss him. He responds enthusiastically. 

It isn’t long until you’re fully straddling him, your hands winding in his hair. His hands are gripping your hips almost painfully hard. 

As you shift your thigh, you feel something below his belt pressing into your hip. It makes you blush but excites you when you realize what it is. 

You stop kissing his lips and instead move down to his neck, sucking on his pressure point. He groans heavily. 

Just as you’re about to start working at the buttons of his union suit, the timer for the pie goes off. 

“Shit,” you whisper into his neck. He’s panting a bit beneath you. 

If it weren’t Thanksgiving, you’d say fuck it and keep going with Arthur. But you want today to be special. 

So you resolve yourself and get up, not looking at him as you go into the kitchen to pull out the pie. 

You expect Arthur to be practically behind you, but he isn’t. Even when you go to the roll dough and pound it down for the second rise, he doesn’t come. 

You blush again when you realize you left him half baked and he’s probably working on taking care of things. 

Part of you wants to go and help him, but you know you really shouldn’t. Right now isn’t a good time. So you decide to just carry on with cooking and give him five minutes. 

Before his time runs out, he strolls into the kitchen, a pink tinge to his cheeks. 

“Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to leave you with the work.” 

“No, it’s fine. And I’m sorry too. Didn’t mean for things to get so far between us.” 

He smiles a bit. “I’m not. That was… well, it was nice.” 

You smile back a bit and return to the turkey, which sits mostly wrapped in the sink as you’re letting the juice run out. 

Arthur gently pushes you aside and takes the turkey from you. He delicately strips it of its wrappings while you get out the spices. 

When the meat sits inside the Instapot with all the spices and oils, Arthur takes a curious sniff. He hums appreciatively. 

By the time the turkey’s set to cook, you find the roll dough is ready to be rolled out. So you show Arthur how to roll it out into a circle, how to cut the dough into crescent shapes. 

After they’ve been rolled and buttered, you put them in your room, on your bed, and turn on your space heater and close the door. 

By the time the rolls are set to go, you have to start making mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables. 

The mashed potatoes are a tried and true recipe so they don’t take too much effort. 

The vegetables are different as you’ve never done them before. But the spices make them smell good. 

Once all the food is cooking to the point you don’t need to do anything, you and Arthur give the kitchen a quick clean and begin setting up the table.

Luckily you have your grandmother’s china (your mom didn’t want it). You’ve rarely used it as it’s only for special occasions. 

Arthur inspects the china, noting the hand painted designs on the edges of the plates. He’s obviously impressed. 

Finally everything is ready to be set out. You and Arthur sit down, but you feel a little awkward. It’s been so long since you had a proper Thanksgiving you’re not really sure what you should do. Should you say what you’re grateful for?

You look at Arthur questioningly and his face says he’s thinking of the same thing. 

He clears his throat. “Darlin’, I know what I’m grateful for. I’m real thankful for havin’ run into you that day all them months ago. You saved my life and, well…” He blushes a bit and looks away. You’re blushing too.

He looks back at you, his eyes bright. “Darlin’, I love you.” 

Your eyes widen. He loves you? 

You huff a little and return his smile. “I love you too, Arthur. I’m most grateful this year for that day too. I wasn’t the only one who was saved that day.” 

If you were close to him, you’d lean over and kiss him, but as you’re separated by the table, all you can do is reach your hand over and grab his. 

He returns the gesture and squeezes yours. 

Dinner turns out to be surprisingly good. Better than you’d hoped seeing as you haven’t cooked this much or this complicated in years, and some of the recipes were new to you. You even pulled out some of your good wine.

Arthur heavily enjoys the meal. He excitedly dives into having seconds. 

After you’ve both gorged yourself, you and Arthur retreat to the couch again to wait out the guaranteed stupor that is to follow. 

You’re embraced in his grasp like before, but you don’t end up in a make out session. In fact, your mind doesn’t even wander into the direction of anything sexual. 

For the next two or so hours, you both slip in and out of your sleepy states while watching Netflix. 

Arthur likes brushing your hair. He’d never say it out loud, but he loves the way your body feels pressed against his.

He’s not thinking about sex either as he realizes this. You just feel comforting and warm. 

By the time the sun has properly set, you and Arthur go into the kitchen again and pull out the pumpkin pie.

“Oh, I’ve been excited for this,” Arthur admits eagerly.

You giggle as you lay on the whipped cream. 

The pie turns out to be just as good as the dinner. 

On his last bite, Arthur comes up to you, puts his hands on your hips and kisses you.

You can taste the pie and cream on his lips, but you enjoy it. 

As you kiss him, you wonder where your next steps in your relationship will take you. Unsurprisingly, you’re excited to find out.

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter VII]

Word count:  6,292

Warnings: vulgar language 

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

A/N:  I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you do too while reading it. Side note 1: I reference a few movies here and there. I would advise you skipping one or two paragraphs to avoid spoilers if you still mean to watch it. But, I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen it already. Site note 2: Anne Rice will find a way to sue me if this somehow finds its way to her (it won't, who do I think I am) Side note 3: if you haven't yet, watch every movie and read every book mentioned here. They're all great.

____________________________________________________________

I had a huge grin on my face as I left the courtroom. My client grabbed my arm and shook it, chuckling. 

“You won!” she squealed. 

“ We won,” I corrected. I stopped walking and faced Mirriam. Her make-up was smudged beneath her watery eyes and her lips were quivering. “I’m happy for you.”

She pulled me into a hug, knocking the breath out of me. Both my hands were occupied, carrying my briefcase and purse so, I had no choice but to stand there, unable to hug her back. Mirriam sobbed, her arms tightening about my neck ever so slightly as she thanked me. Over her shoulder, I saw Judge Llewellyn leave the courtroom, still dressed in his robes. He looked at us, the perpetual crease between his eyebrow softening. Mirriam exclaimed and released me abruptly. The squeals of happy children echoed down the hall and I turned to see Mirriam make a run for the two kids sprinting towards her. 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N,” said Llewellyn. I turned my head to see him standing at my side. “You did well.”

“Can you repeat that, please? I didn’t quite catch it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. 

His lips tugged up as he glanced away. When he looked at me again his face was serious.

“Don’t try your luck,” he extended a hand toward me. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at practice in my court again.”

Any moment now my cheeks would tear from smiling so much. I let go of my purse, not caring that it almost tipped over, and shook his hand. Although his fingers were long and bony, his handshake was firm.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded and made his way to the opposite direction, presumably towards the judges’ chambers. I watched him go, his robes swaying after him and then turned the other way, taking in Mirriam on her knees, laughing at whatever her children had said. Yeah, I did well. As I picked up my purse, I felt it vibrating. I stuck a hand inside it, searching for my phone as I made my way out of the Royal Courts of Justice.

“Hi, Zoe.”

“Any news?” She asked on the other end. 

“None.”

“It’s been over a week since he took you out. Shouldn’t he have called you?”

“Maybe he’s lost interest,” I countered, frowning at the twinge on my chest. 

Out in the open, I lowered my head to protect myself against the drizzle as I walked.

“That’s absurd. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of bribing someone--”

“I still regret telling you that.”

“Nevermind who he is, that was impressive.”

An outsider could hear our conversation and think we were complaining about some guy giving me the cold shoulder, not plotting against a five centuries old vampire.

“Zoe, I don’t care why he hasn’t called as long as he leaves me alone. Maybe he met someone else,” as I talked, I managed to make eye contact with a cabbie inside a passing taxi and nodded. “I saw you two days ago. I’ll call if anything changes. When do you want to meet again?”

“Let’s make it Sunday. It’ll be the fourth set of samples and I want to keep the every 2 days pattern we’ve got going on until your bite fully heals.”

The taxi stopped next to me and I juggled all my stuff in order to open the door. I glared at the cabbie, hoping that he would be moved by my anger and help me open the door. I could be Queen Elizabeth and he wouldn’t care. 

“Fine,” I said as I managed to open the car door and get inside. “61 Marney Road,” I told the cabbie and he accelerated. “St Thomas Hospital again?” I asked Zoe.

“Yes. 11am. Call me if Dracula--”

“I know, I know. Bye.” I ended the call before she could keep talking. 

Once I settled my belongings next to me and made myself comfortable, I leaned my head on the window, watching as London’s lights started coming to life in the nearing dusk. Getting complimented by Judge Llewellyn deserved to be celebrated. A good film accompanied by popcorn and lots of chocolate appealed to my body overridden by PMS. Add an hour in a hot bath and then I would have the perfect Friday night. How would Count Dracula spend his Friday night? 

I lowered my shirt’s high collar and touched the scar on my neck. It was nothing more than small scabs now that the bruises were gone but I still wore turtlenecks to conceal the strangulation marks. I hadn’t felt the tingling sensation on it ever since my date with the Count and I wondered if it would react at all to him now that it was almost healed. 

“Miss, you alright?”

I removed my hand from my neck like I had been burned. 

“What?” 

“Are you feeling alright? It sounded like you were out of breath,” he spoke the same way someone would if they were addressing an elderly person.

My entire face went hot and I thanked him silently for not being one those cabbies that always had the rear view mirror turned to the back seats in order to watch the passengers. 

“I have, uh, asthma,” I shut my eyes as I spoke, overcome by embarrassment. “But I’m fine now.”

Had I gone mental? Rubbing my scar to test if it was still reactive to touch in the back of a taxi was just plain stupid, especially considering that I’d gotten so utterly lost in pleasure that I had been panting loud enough for the cabbie to hear me. 

“Tragic, innit?” 

That my bond to Count Dracula paired with PMS had made me become a dog in heat? Yes.

“Sorry, what?”

The cabbie leaned forward and a second later the whispering voices coming from the car speakers raised to an understandable volume. 

“ Surrey police has no leads so far ,” was all I heard from the narrator before a song started playing.

“What happened?”

“Two students were found dead this morning in Surrey University. Bright youngins, can you imagine what they could--”

I straightened on my seat.

“Murders?”

“Makes no sense, how brutal. Police says it appears they were having a movie night--”

“How were they killed?” 

The cabbie took hold of the rear view mirror and angled it at me. I smiled dryly at his frown.

“Professional curiosity,” I told him. “I’m a defense lawyer.”

That answer did nothing to soothe the crease on his large forehead.

“Police isn’t sure yet. But I heard from a pal from Surrey,” he lowered his voice, like he was confiding in me, “that the person that found ‘em threw up and so did a coppa. Looked like a scene straight from The Shining, I bet. Nasty stuff.”

I nodded, relaxing against the window again. Taking he referenced The Shining, that probably meant that there was a lot blood. Dracula wouldn’t waste a drop, I supposed. Odd horrific murders came about once in a while, sadly, and all of them committed by humans. Besides, would he really go all the way to Surrey just to murder a bunch of uni students? London was stacked with several student halls for him to pick from without the trouble of traveling across counties.

“First what happened at that company and then this… This is a bad, bad week. My gran used to say that everything comes in threes. I assure ya, miss, there’s more-”

“Which company? What are you talking about?”

“Ya haven’t heard?” he questioned, glancing at me through the mirror. “Why, miss. Two nights ago the, whaddyacallit, the big corporate cunts in charge of a company- oh, excuse my mouth, miss-”

“The board of directors?”

“Yeah, those blokes. Murdered, the whole lot of ‘em, inside a meeting room!” he started whispering again. 

“Was this here in London?”

“Central London,” he nodded.  “Can’t remember the name of the company, now-”

“Like the murders in Surrey? Bloody?”

“Nah, don’t think there’s been news about that. Cameras were dead, caught nothing of it. They were found by security at almost midnight after a wife of one of ‘em called looking for her husband.”

“Cause of death?” I asked and he looked at me. “Just answer the question.”

“Stab wounds to the neck, all of ‘em. Apparently some of them put up a fight because there were broken arms and fingers. Scotland Yard said that it’s prolly more than one murderer, other than that they’ve been quiet about it… They’re investigating it,” he made air quotes, “that’s code for we don’t know shite.”

He continued ranting for the rest of the trip but I wasn’t listening anymore. I doubted that Netflix would be able to salvage my mood after that conversation.

Once I paid the cabbie, I bid him a nice weekend and jumped out of the taxi. Compared to how he had barely cared about my struggle to get in the taxi, he was nice enough to wait until I got my door opened. Now that the night had come, the automatic light above my front door had turned on and I could only make out the shape of his hand waving at me from inside the car. I waved back as a thanks before going inside. 

I went straight upstairs after I locked the door. With how wired I was, I forgot all about my intentions of taking a bath and took a shower instead. Considering I was humming a tune to myself after thirty minutes under a steady stream of hot water, I was making a quick recovery. I was still singing when I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel about my body. I opened the door, tendrils of steam spilling from my bathroom into my bedroom.

“Ohmygod!”

Count Dracula grinned at me, lying on the middle of my bed with both arms folded beneath his head. I pressed the towel to myself, desperately seeking more cover. 

“I was starting to wonder if you would ever come out of there.”

“I wish I hadn’t!” I exclaimed. “I locked my door! How the hell did you get in?!”

“Window." He pointed one long finger at it.

Deadbolts. I’d have to get deadbolts on every single window in my house.

“Couldn’t you have texted in advance?!”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

I stared at him, waiting for something else to come out of his mouth. Instead, his gaze slid down my body, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he inhaled sharply. I knew exactly why he was whiffing the air. Thank God my body was flushed from the hot shower, otherwise I would have gone bright red in anger.

“Ugh, leave!” I said, projecting my voice like I was in court. 

I stretched an arm out, pointing at the window. The sudden movement almost caused the towel to open and I immediately took hold of it again with a little squeak. Count Dracula was up at once, circling the bed towards me. I gulped. His gaze pulled me in and for a moment my anger sizzled down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said and a shiver went down my spine.

I stepped back into the bathroom to put some distance between us.

“Too bad, go away.”

A smirk tugged the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve missed me, too.”

“Absolutely did not.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

“It’s called anger.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“‘I’ll go wait downstairs,” he said before turning away from me and slipping out of my bedroom. 

My knees almost gave out when he left and I rushed to sit on the edge of the bed. I held my head as I tried to concentrate and take deep breaths. Had he stayed any longer I wouldn’t put it past me to lock myself in the bathroom and remain there until morning. Not only I had to deal with him, I also could feel cramps coming. I wanted nothing more to curl up in bed with a heat compress and chocolate. Summoning my courage, I got up and went to get dressed. 

As I went down the stairs, Dracula peeked his head out from the living room.

“You’re going out in your nightgown?”

I stopped for a second, frowning and then continued down.

“I’m not going out. I’m tired and uncomfortable and I’m staying home,” I forced a smile, batting my eyelashes just to annoy him. I rounded the staircase, giving my back to him and heading for the kitchen. “I do hope you haven’t wasted your money bribing someone else to grant us entrance to another museum.”

I swiped at the switch and soft lights came on over the kitchen island and at the corners of the room. 

“I haven’t. There’s no problem in postponing tonight’s date.”

I turned around to see him standing on the other side of the island, staring at me.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink. I pushed a set of pans to the side, looking for my heat pad.

“Been busy for this past week?” I asked, my voice echoing inside the cabinet. 

“Unfortunately.”

I found the heat pad and stood up, closing the cabinet door after me as I put it inside the microwave and set 5 minutes. I turned to face him, propping my hips on the kitchen counter. I pulled on my courtroom face. If Count Dracula squinting at me meant that he saw me do it, then I needed to work more on my tells. 

“Reading Jules Verne or killing a board of directors?”

One of his eyes twitched before he smiled.

“Both. Although I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Not finish the book?”

“Dracula-”

“I was bored." He waved his hands on the air, dismissing my hard stare. “Please, I did the world a service! Yes, I went after them on a whim but as soon as I drank from one of them… I killed them on principle.”

“Principle? You’ve got that?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He put his hands on top of the island and leaned forward, the light above his head creating shadows on his face. “The first one I bit was a child abuser. It was in his blood so, forgive me if killing him offends you. I broke his neck because I didn’t have a stomach for him. The rest of them… were palate cleansers. Although it didn’t do much good. Incredible how many of them had raped women and beat their wives.”

We stared at each other, frozen in place.

All my anger from before vanished and I had to struggle to keep my courtroom face on. In another world, one where there was no law binding me, I would have done the same. Was this the good in him I had been searching, however twisted it was?

The microwave chimed, prompting me to blink and break eye contact.

“I hope you hid at least some of the evidence,” I said, pushing back from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how representing a vampire in court for murder would look on my resumé.”

“No need to worry.” He grinned.

I grabbed the heat pad from the microwave, juggling it between my hands to avoid getting burnt until I dropped it to the counter. 

“What about the students in Surrey?”

“Surrey? No, I haven’t been there.” 

I nodded, somewhat relieved. I turned my back on Dracula to conceal my face as I broke the façade. He wasn’t responsible for the murders on Surrey as I suspected but after killing those ‘corporate cunts’, as the cabbie had put so appropriately, he probably went somewhere else to find another palate cleanser. Somebody else was dead because of him but for the life of me I couldn’t find something inside me to care enough. He had indeed done the world a service. 

I rounded the island, past the Count so I could reach the pantry. From there I took popcorn and a bar of chocolate I had hidden, from myself, behind a set of spices. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I moved and I fought the urge to steal a glance of his face to try figure out what was on his mind. 

“I’m surprised you made an appearance,” I said in the unnerving silence. 

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Hugging the popcorn and chocolate to my chest, I moved past him, congratulating myself for not looking at him. “No, actually. I was fairly positive you would come looking for me again, much to my dismay.” I chuckled. “One would think what happened at the museum would encourage you.”

My back burnt with the weight of his gaze. I started tearing the popcorn package frantically, making as much noise as possible to distract me. It was almost working but after I put the popcorn inside the microwave and closed it, I saw his reflection on the microwave mirrored door, moving towards me. 

“It’s not very nice to sneak up on people,” I said, holding my ground.

He met my eyes through the reflection. 

“I’m not nice.”

He had a reflection. I blinked, turning at once to face him. He was directly behind me, less than an arm’s length.

“You can be.”

“Do you want me to be nice?”

“No. It makes it harder to hate you.”

He smiled. 

“I believed that for a second, really did. Especially when I found out that you had been asking our dear friend Renfield about me.”

I gulped.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming, if that makes you feel better,” I said and he chuckled but when his face grew serious again, I wondered if he forced that laugh. “Is that why you disappeared? Because Renfield gossiped about me to you?”

“Amongst other things,” he acquiesced, stepping back and supporting his body on the island much like I had done on the counter. 

By his evasive answer, there was more to it but if he didn’t want to tell me it was fine. He had his secrets and I had mine.

“What do you know, boys really do gossip as much ladies do.”

He gave me a lopsided smile, one I judged was genuine, unlike his chuckle before. The microwave beeped again and I inhaled the delicious scent of done popcorn. I retrieved the popcorn with the tips of my fingers. I placed it briefly on the counter and then offered the heating pad to Count Dracula.

“Take this for me, will you?” I said and he did. I grabbed a glass of juice for me and then the popcorn and chocolate. “Come on. We’re watching a film.”

Count Dracula followed me into the living room. As I settled myself on the sofa, he gave me the heat pad and then occupied himself with analysing my library. Library was a kind word. It would take up the entire wall behind the telly if the fireplace had not been there. I wouldn’t say it was an impressive collection to a connoisseur but it was my collection and I had love for every single book in it, even the ones I didn’t like very much. Count Dracula had his hands laced behind his back and his head tilted as he admired it. I stopped myself from turning the telly on when I heard him whispering the titles to himself.

“Oh, would you look at that ?” He stepped forward and reached for the second to last row of books closest to the ceiling. I usually had to climb on the armchair to reach that far up but all he did was extend his arm up and pluck a book from up there. He turned around, showing me the gold cover with white and red lettering between his hands. “A vampire book?”

Of course he would find that. At least I should be thankful he didn’t find Story of O or Venus in Furs. If he had and then decided to flip through the pages, I would be doomed.

“Be very careful with that,” I warned. “It’s first edition and it was a gift. It’s sort of a classic.”

“Really?” he grinned, tipping his head up to the row from where he retrieved it from. “Are all of those classics?”

“Anne Rice might say so but the rest of the world wouldn’t,” I scoffed. He looked at me. “She thinks very highly of herself.”

“We would probably get along wonderfully,” he smirked. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit to give her real inspiration.”

“She’s an old woman now and would die of excitement if you actually visited her,” I laughed. “There’s a film for this one,” I pointed at the book in his hands. There was gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you want to watch it?”

“You’ve seen it already,” he said as he placed the book on the shelf. 

“Yes but I can’t deny myself the irony of watching a vampire film with a real vampire,” I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. “We’ll watch this one and then you can choose the next one.”

I gazed up at him, waiting for an answer. He traced his tongue inside his lower lip, giving my body all sorts of ideas my brain was not agreeable with. My hand tightened around the remote. Count Dracula took off his blazer and threw it on the armchair beneath the window. I almost asked him if all his shirts were missing buttons because the top ones were undone like the last time I’d seen him but then he started undoing his belt. Popcorn spilled on my lap.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I exclaimed.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied with a frown, like I was ridiculous for asking. He rolled the belt around his fingers and then placed it neatly on top of the fireplace. “Like you are,” he gestured at me.

I was sunken back on the sofa between pillows and cushions, with my feet on the coffee table and popcorn all over my nightie. Technically speaking, I was indeed comfortable, especially because of the heating pad on my lower abdomen relieving menstrual cramps. I was less comfortable with Dracula undressing in front of me while my body was working against me in every way possible.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. My eyes widened as he started moving towards me. “W-wait, no, no, no, you’re sitting over there.”

His smirk widened into a full grin as he sat by my side, letting out an exaggerated breath, he kicked off his shoes and stretched himself in the same position as me. 

“What happened to personal space?”

“I thought we’d gone past that already,” he raised his thick eyebrows. 

I clenched my jaw. His gaze fell on my neck. All he would need to do was lean to sink his teeth in me, if he wanted. His lips parted and I was reminded of their softness when he had kissed me.

“Stop it,” I all but whispered. 

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, eyes fixated on my neck.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I started picking off popcorn from my lap, hoping that would show him that he wasn’t affecting me. “Let’s just watch the film.”

I endured his stare as I clicked on the remote to bring up Netflix and started searching the catalogue for Interview with the Vampire. He decided to focus on the telly once Louis started talking to Daniel. As the film went on, he laughed with Lestat and cursed at Louis constantly for his sentiment. More than once, Count Dracula was literally at the edge of his seat. He nodded approvingly at Claudia at times and at Lestat’s flare for the dramatics, making his critiques here and there about how Anne Rice had gotten it right or wrong.

“That’s Haydn,” Dracula said, eyes glued to the screen as a corpse-like Lestat played the piano and Louis and Claudia watched in horror.

“Good ear,” I commented. “Not that I’m an expert but it took me a few google searches to find out where this piece was from.”

“Good appetite,” he countered without looking at me, raising his forefinger.

I paused the film and he turned to me with an indignant look on his face.

“You ate Haydn?”

He grimaced.

“Ate is a poor term.”

“You did!” I accused, mouth falling open. “Who else?”

“I didn’t kill Haydn, that would be outrageous. I would have deprived the world of Mozart and Beethoven. I just stole a few sips to understand his genius. Chopin, however, I did kill. He was a prick, and so was Mozart. Bach, too, was unbearable but I didn’t get the chance to off him,” he shrugged. “Paganini was a riot, though. I tried turning him but he was committed already to a long time friend, you could say.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know where to start but him saying that about Paganini, very subtly, confirmed people’s suspicion at the time that the man had made a pact with the Devil to have been that good. Finding myself unable to form another coherent thought faced with that, I simply pressed play again.

The film was doing a fantastic job of keeping the Count’s attention and I started relaxing because I didn’t have to be on guard, even if he was laying by my side. That is, until we reached the scene on a theatre where Armand drinks from a woman on stage in front of unsuspecting humans. My heart had begun hammering inside my chest as soon as Louis and Claudia stepped inside the theatre because I knew what was coming. 

Though I kept my eyes on the screen, I was suddenly hyper aware of how close I was to Count Dracula. An entire side of my body touched his, down to where my leg ended. Had I grown that comfortable and not noticed it? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Count Dracula swiveling his head to stare at me. 

“You’re missing the film,” I told him, jamming popcorn in my mouth to keep myself busy.

“Your pulse is more interesting right now,” his words tickled my shoulder. 

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes were still bottomless pools of black. The heat in his eyes was just as worrying if his eyes had been red.

“Don’t,” I warned.

The human girl was on stage now, screaming and begging for mercy. Soft, cold lips touched my shoulder and I swallowed dryly. Another kiss marked his path up.  I forgot how to move, caught in the rapture of his touch. I could have at least this. Nevermind that I was being touched by the man who meant to steal my life. My chest heaved as his kisses became sloppier, less sweet. My entire body shuddered in anticipation as a kiss landed on the curve of my neck. 

“I--”

A hand delved into my hair with a demanding tug and I shut up. The popcorn bag crumpled between my hands. Armand was on stage with the woman, hugging her and providing comfort before her death.

“Say it,” his lips brushed my ear.

“I won’t.”

His lips brushed my scar and I released a shaky breath. His mouth descended on my neck and a cry tore out of me upon feeling him sucking on my skin. Another hand laid on my chest, creeping slowly towards the shoulder strap of my nightie. I closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by pleasure and forgetting every reason why we shouldn’t do this.

“Be mine,” his words were muffled as he continued his assault on my neck.

Sharp teeth grazed my skin. 

This couldn’t happen, not if I wanted to live. The minute he bit me he would know about my plan. I had to summon every ounce of control on my body to resist the sensuous ripple of pleasure coursing my body. I dodged his hands and shot up to my feet. Dracula caught himself on his elbow before he fell between the cushions. His eyes were still every bit as dark as before but his mass of hair was tousled, as mine probably was.

“I think--” I took a breath. “I think you should leave.”

He sat up and I noticed that another button on his shirt had come undone, revealing more of his chest than I had seen before. I didn’t dare look any lower. I almost cried in frustration. My body demanded him despite the fact that giving myself to him meant danger.

“I want to finish watching the film,” he said, gazing up at me as he buttoned his shirt again.

“I’m sure you’ve got Netflix at your place.”

“I do but I don’t have the pleasure of your company there.”

“Dracula--”

“I’ll behave if you do,” he put his legs on the coffee table again but I didn’t fall for it. No way I was looking below his waistline. “ Promise .”

Would I make it if I ran upstairs to my room? But what use would it be if he could simply climb through my window? I wasn’t ten years old anymore to run away from my fears, hoping they would disappear if I didn’t acknowledge them. Then again, Dracula wasn’t the monster under my bed. He was more likely to be the one on top of it. Jesus, focus! Mind over matter, come on. Up until that point he was being good company. If he was toying with my self control or not, I wasn’t sure. Besides, I couldn’t push the man away any time he made me nervous. I needed to lead him on until Zoe and I found a breach.

“I’ll hold you to that promise. You stay there,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll sit over there.”

Grabbing the remote and the bar of chocolate, I tiptoed my way between the remains of my popcorn and curled myself up on the armchair. I started unpacking the chocolate, doing my best to keep my eyes on the telly. Louis and Claudia were now below the theatre, in Armand’s chambers.

Feeling the Count’s gaze on me, I said, “Are you watching the bloody film or not? Because I think I would rather watch something else now.”

After I started chomping at the chocolate bar like there was no tomorrow, Dracula paid attention to the telly. I managed to breathe normally again once he seemed to be engrossed by the film and made conversation about what was going on, like we had been doing before. He celebrated Louis’ revenge by clapping at him and I laughed at the joy on his face as Lestat popped up from the backseat of Daniel’s car and bit him. I mouthed the words to Sympathy for the Devil as the credits rolled and Dracula stayed with his eyes glued to the screen.

“I must talk to this Anne Rice woman,” he muttered.

I chuckled.

“Leave her alone. She hasn’t completed the series yet and I need to know how much dumber Lestat can get in the next book.”

“He’s not dumb,” Dracula said, frowning at me.

I chuckled again. God, he’d grown attached to him.

“You haven’t read the books yet. You might loathe him as much as you did Louis if you read them.”

He groaned.

“Let’s watch another one.”

“Another vampire film?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissist,” I accused and he smiled. 

After searching through the Netflix catalogue, I found a vampire film that didn’t seem so ridiculous called Byzantium. It seemed like a better alternative than Lost Boys or Fright Night. I could just imagine his outrage at Twilight so I spared him of that, too. Twenty minutes later, however, Dracula was rolling his eyes at the TV and asking for the remote. He chose Silence of the Lambs and I thanked the heavens for it. I wouldn’t be able to sit through another sexy movie with him.

“He’s a great actor,” I commented as Dr Lecter and Clarice talked through the glass prison. 

“How many times have you watched it? You quoted that to me before, word for word of what he just said.”

I shrugged. 

“An unhealthy amount of times,” I admitted. He looked at me. “It won four Oscars, c’mon. It’s fantastic.”

I refused to tell him the reason I loved it so much was because of Hannibal Lecter. The Oscars excuse was better. We didn’t say much after that, that’s how fascinated Dracula was. Afterwards, he chose Crimson Peak, at last, one I hadn’t seen. Resting my head on the armchair and using Dracula’s blazer as a blanket, I closed my eyes for a brief moment when Edith met Thomas. 

Sleep’s warm embrace had me floating and I sighed happily. Something hard and cold pressed at my cheek, making my eyes flutter open. Dracula’s face hovered above mine. I wasn’t floating, if his arms around me and his hard chest on my cheek meant anything. My heart hurt like someone had squeezed it.

“I’m just putting you to bed,” he said in a low voice, sparing me a glance.

I was too tired to argue with him and simply rested my head on his chest again.

“You’re cold,” I complained, holding onto his blazer.

“I’m sorry.” 

The harsh lights of the telly made me squint at it with drowsy eyes. Rachel Weisz was on the screen now and I frowned, trying to remember if she appeared in Crimson Peak. Had he started another movie?

“Did the sleep- huh.” I furrowed my brows and tried again, “did I the movie- no,” I sighed.

Hearing his laugh inside his chest made me smile sleepily. 

“You slept little more than 2 hours,” he replied, maneuvering me out of the living room.

“You understood,” a yawn, “what I said,” I giggled and patted his chest. “Well done.”

He flashed me an amused smile before looking ahead again. I wrapped my arms around him when he started going up the stairs, afraid that I would fall. I tried listening to his heartbeat - something I enjoyed doing to people whenever I had chance - but there was no sound coming from his chest. Oddly, that was just as comforting as not hearing soft thump-thumps. But maybe that was just my sleep-addled brain.

“Tell me what happens in Croms- ah, whatever, in the film.” I frowned, mad at how stupid I sounded when I was sleepy. 

He laughed again.

“A lot.”

I rolled my eyes before surrendering to my heavy eyelids and closing them. 

“Be nice, tell me,” I mumbled.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be nice.”

“Right now, I do.”

He started telling me but the rumble of his voice coming from inside his chest, so close to my ear, made me drift back to sleep again. I woke up when he was laying me down on my bed. The bedside lamp made me squint. He set me in the very middle of the bed and perched next to me. I rolled on my side to face him and fluffed the pillow below my head, hiding my face from the light.

“So Edith and Thomas got married, huh?” I asked.

“You got nothing of what I just told you.”

“Not a word." I shook my head lightly.

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen on my face and his fingers hovered over me for a moment before caressing my temple.

“You were married,” I blurted. He dropped his hand and frowned. “When you were human. Weren’t you?”

“What does it matter?” He went to get up but I grabbed his wrist.

He glared at my hand.

“It was just a question,” I told him. “Don’t be mad. We bicker all the time, already.” I raised my eyebrows at him. His gaze fell on mine, indecipherable. “We don’t have to talk about her. Forget I said it.”

For a second I thought he would storm off. Dracula looked out the window, staring into the night. I waited for him to say something, waited until sleep started creeping again. My fingers slid down his wrist, resting on the back of his hand. 

“She was nothing like you.”

My eyes fluttered open. He was still staring into the dark. I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted him to keep talking. 

“How was she like?”

“Fragile and fearful of… everything. Deeply religious and foolish, at times. She smiled whenever she looked at me, even when I had done horrible things. In her mind, all that I did was in the name of God. There was this one time when I came from battle and I had blood on my face and armour-" he stopped, shoulders sloping and then stiffening "-she kissed me.”

“She wasn’t that fragile, then.”

He scoffed.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“Did you love her?”

“More than I thought I was capable.”

I had a feeling I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. For the first time I saw a semblance of real emotion in his eyes and it broke my heart.

“I happened to her.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and took a breath to ask more but he stood up, his hand grazing mine briefly. I watched as he closed the curtains and then picked up the duvet at the bottom of my bed, unfurling it on top of me. I retrieved his blazer from beneath the covers and handed it to him. When he met my eyes again, his expression was devoid of all emotion. His hand reached behind me and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t make out his face anymore.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I whispered but I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room to hear me..

.

Taglist: @festering-queen @feralstare @rheabalaur @girlonfireice @dreamer2381 @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @thorin-smokin-shield​ @deborahlazaroff​ @apocalypsenowish​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ if I forgot to tag anyone, please let me know

[hopelikethemoon]

exile (weeping monk x oc) {part I/?} [netflix’s cursed]

Title: exile  Rating: PG-13  Length: 2,800 Warnings: The rating is for mentions of injuries otherwise this is PG.  Notes: This is the first part of who knows how many chapters, it honestly depends on if there’s any interest in this little idea. I was also inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘exile’ so listen to that. The story picks up right at the finale of Cursed. 

Summary: The Weeping Monk seeks out an old friend. 

Deep in the densest point of the forest, far beyond Hawksbridge and the surrounding villages — beyond where the common traveler ventured — there was a copse of trees that stood like fortress walls surrounding the modest hovel of a reclusive healer. 

Isolde had called the hovel home for nearly fifteen years. A fever had stolen her parents from her and the aged healer who had once lived in the hovel had taken her in when her cures had failed to heal them. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps it was divine sight. 

The hovel protected her — shielded her from a tumultuous world that had turned against her people. Those who needed her could find her, but those that meant to do her harm could not seek her out among the woods. 

Since the siege of Red Paladins had overtaken the surrounding villages, Isolde had prepared herself for their arrival. But as each day passed, no wounded traveler or wayward horseman had come upon her home.

Until today. 

The distinct sound of hooves on the moss-covered soil drew her out into the woods. She could feel an energy — a familiar pull — stirring in her veins. The woods had permitted their presence, but the hairs at the nape of her neck standing on end told her to be cautious nevertheless. 

It was a boy and a man who had clearly seen better days. 

Isolde’s hand lingered at the dagger sheathed at her hip as she stared at the mounted pair, “You’re trespassing.” 

“Are you a healer?” The young boy questioned, his voice slightly strained as he struggled to keep the grown man behind him upright on the stead. The hooded man slumped forward against the boy’s back, despite his best attempts to stay alert. 

She hesitated. 

With the way that Paladins had wiped out entire villages of Fey folk, she had every reason to reconsider admitting to them that she was a Fey — and yet, that invisible pull she felt assured her that they were not dissimilar to her. 

“Yes,” Isolde conceded, moving towards the pair, her brows drawn together as she studied the barely conscious man. “What’s happened to him?” 

“We were attacked by Paladins.” He gritted out, “They tried to kill him, but we escaped by the skin of our teeth! But he’s hurt. Badly.”  He explained with a shocking amount of enthusiasm. 

“Yes, I can see that.” Isolde retorted, taking hold of the horse’s reins as she led it closer towards her home. She looped the reins around a post, hands on her hips as she turned back to regard the pair. “I’ll get a gurney, but I’ll need your help, lad.”

Isolde couldn’t shake the feeling that still had her on edge. There was no outward reason to doubt a wounded man and a beleaguered child with a black eye. 

Though she needed time to take account of the man’s injuries, it was safe to assume that neither of them would be leaving any time soon. 

Isolde vanished back into her home to gather up the materials she needed to transport the man, before returning with the gurney as promised. 

“I’m impressed he’s made it this far,” Isolde remarked as she helped to heft him off the horse and onto the gurney. It took an incredible amount of strength to navigate the man off the horse without further injuring him or hurting herself and the boy in the process. 

She had no idea how the boy had managed to get them to her hovel, given the man’s condition. 

“You’re both Feyfolk.” Isolde stated as they hauled the injured man into her home and got him settled onto her work table. She tilted her head as she looked down at the man’s wounded face. His jaw was badly swollen, his face bruised, and there was strange bruising around his eyes. 

The man grunted quietly, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he fought the pull of unconsciousness, but he didn’t stir any further than that. “Do you have a name, boy?” Isolde questioned, glancing back at the boy.

This time, he was the one who hesitated. “I’m Percy and this is… Lance.”

“Lance.” Isolde repeated as she glanced back down at the injured man, who seemed no older than she was. Beneath the blood, bruising, and swollen flesh she figured he might’ve been handsome. 

“Percy, will you fetch me water from the creek you passed to enter here?” She questioned, grabbing a wooden bucket from beneath the table and passing it to him. 

“Will you treat him?”

“I’ll do what I can to stave off infection.” Isolde told him, a hand at her hip as she regarded the boy. “But I’ll need clean water to do that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Percy said, before snatching the bucket from her and darting back out the door. 

Isolde hummed to herself as she looked down at Lance, her brows furrowed as she brushed her fingers gingerly over his swollen jaw. “Can you hear me?” She questioned, as she worked to remove his cloak, letting it drape beneath him on the table. “I’m going to have to remove this garment. You’re lucky I’m a decent seamstress too.” 

She retrieved a pair of shears from a drawer, returning to cut off the dark tunic he wore. His chest was covered in dark, angry bruises. Blood clinging to his pale skin where his attacker’s weapon had pierced his skin. 

“I’m impressed you managed to escape from the Paladins with these injuries. They’ve brutalized you.” Isolde walked around the table to find her healing balms, but she stopped dead in her tracks as she caught sight of an injury at the crown of his head. Mostly hidden by his chestnut color hair was the grisly imprint of the cross. 

He was a Red Paladin. 

Had the boy been a clever ruse? Unassuming and charming — meant to catch her off guard. Playing to her good nature; presenting her with an injured man in need of care. And she’d fallen for it. 

Isolde’s fingers twitched as they reached for the blade she had strapped to her hip, she drew it from its sheath, creeping back towards the prone figure on her table. 

She could kill him now — rid the realm of one more Red Paladin, before he had the chance to kill more innocent people. 

Isolde jumped as the door swung open, knocking into the shelves behind it as the boy returned with the water, “What are you doing? I thought you were a healer!”

“Are you aware of what he is?” Isolde questioned, brandishing the weapon in his direction. “That you’ve delivered a fox into the house of a hen.”

“He’s not like that!” Percy pleaded, sitting the bucket of water down and holding up his hands. “Maybe he’s done some really heinous things, but he saved me!” 

Isolde’s gaze flickered back towards the table, “And you trust a Red Paladin not to spare you, only to save you for another day? Have you not seen what horrors they’ve brought against our kind?” 

“Don’t—“ Lance muttered, stirring on the table as he fought against the obvious pain of his injuries, groaning as he sat up. “Don’t hurt him.” His hand fumbled at his waist, like meant to reach for a blade that wasn’t there. “He’s just a boy.”

“I only hurt Red Paladins.” Isolde spat, aiming the blade in his direction then. It would be so easy to end it all. One sweep of the blade across his throat. It would end it all. 

One less Red Paladin to kill her kind. 

“I’m not—“ Lance started, his voice strained as he clutched at his ribs. Whatever had been done to him, had certainly done a number to him. 

Would the Red Paladins turn against one of their own?

Lance opened his eyes slowly, pain marring his expression as his unfocused gaze settled on her then, “Isolde?”

She held up the dagger once more, brows drawn together, “How do you know my name?”

He grimaced, lips clenched closed as a wave of apparent nausea passed through him. “Your father was the falconmaster.” 

Isolde’s grip loosened on the blade and it slipped from her hold and landed onto the straw covered floor beneath her. “Lancelot?” The realization washed over her and suddenly it made sense. That strange familiarity she had felt. 

It had been a lifetime since she had last seen him. 

They had both been children — innocent and unaware that their inherent natures would eventually lead to their persecution. 

“How—“ Isolde started, stepping towards the table. “Your father, Ban… How did the Red Paladins—?” Isolde couldn’t understand how it had come to this. “How did this happen to you?”

Lancelot wavered, blinking slowly as he tried to keep his eyes focused on her face. “Squirrel, tend to the horse.” The boy started to protest. “Now, please.” The door shut behind him as he left. 

“What happened to you, my sweet Lancelot?” Isolde questioned, lifting her hand to carefully cup his injured cheek. 

“It’s a long unpleasant story.” Lancelot whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Do you have feverfew?”

“Yes, of course.” Isolde murmured, reluctantly stepping away from him as she sorted through her stash of herbs. 

Ginger, willow bark, and feverfew — mashed together with a sprinkle of purified water would ease the pain and swelling. 

“What was the damage done by?” She questioned, glancing back at him warily. 

All the fears of what he might be capable of doing to her faded away now. Perhaps she should’ve been cautious, but it was Lancelot. 

The boy who braided Pentas into her hair, the boy who had giggled when he kissed her beneath a night sky filled with stars. She hadn’t forgotten him or the way she’d once felt. It was like muscle memory. Her heart remembered. They had only been children — no older than the boy he called Squirrel. 

“A morning star… or eight.”

Isolde frowned, “Lancelot, it’s a miracle your face isn’t sunken in.” 

“Feels like it should be,” He grunted out as he reached up to touch his face. 

“Your jaw is likely fractured. I won’t know for certain until the swelling has gone down,” Isolde explained to him as she dusted turmeric into the paste and presented it to him. “Once you’re settled, I’ll start cleaning these open wounds.” She gestured to his face, brows furrowed as she carefully examined the bruising and injuries he’d sustained.

Lancelot took the wooden bowl from her, using two fingers to scoop up the mixture before sticking them into his mouth. He gagged a little, but managed to swallow it down. “I’d forgotten how bloody bitter that shit is.”

Isolde laughed softly, “And we haven’t even gotten to the fun part.” She carefully peeled the cloak off his back, before helping him out of his cut shirt.

Her heart sank as her gaze fell upon his ruined back. Angry welts and oozing wounds from a fresh lashing, criss-crossed over faded scars as well the raised and gnarled scars that protruded from the pale skin of his back. “Lancelot, what has been done to you?”

Isolde stepped back around him, lips drawn into a thin line as she met his gaze. 

His eyes seemed heavy again, like he was using every bit of his strength to stay upright. She wanted to urge him to lay down, but she desperately wanted answers. 

“Isolde…” He whispered her name with a short shake of his head. “I am not the child I once was. Forget whatever you think you know of me.” He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “I am not a Red Paladin, but perhaps I am worse than one.”

She took the empty bowl from him, her fingers brushing over his. It warmed her straight to her very soul. But the creeping fear that slid up her spine quickly put out the fire. 

“Worse than a Red Paladin?”

He grabbed at the edges of the table as he wavered, his head falling forward as a pitiful sound escaped him. “Isolde…”

“Tell me.”

“Have you…” He started, lifting his head just enough to look at her through his dark lashes. “Have you heard of the sword of the Red Paladins? The Weeping Monk who can sniff out the Fey?”

Isolde didn’t mean to, but she took a step backwards, a hand resting at her heart as she stared at him. 

It wasn’t bruising that stained the skin beneath his eyes, she realized. 

She had heard the tales. 

Isolde had ventured to nearby villages, she had heard the bards with their songs of the horrors that came to Feyfolk. The burnings on crosses, the throats slit, the mutilation of women and children. 

The whispers of a man, cloaked in black who wept tears of blood as he sought vengeance for his people’s god. 

Only he wasn’t one of them. 

He was a Fey.

He was Lancelot. 

Isolde’s fingers trembled and she quickly busied herself with cleaning out the wooden bowl, wiping away the turmeric stain. 

“Is that how you found me?” 

Lancelot was quiet for a long moment, so long that Isolde was forced to glance back at him, in fear that he’d slumped over dead, but he sat there — staring at her. 

“I have passed this way before,” He confessed, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as a whine of pain escaped him. “Sweet Izzy, will you spare me?” 

“I haven’t any foxglove to spare you with,” She retorted with a shake of her head. “I’m a healer, Lancelot, of course I’ll spare you.” Isolde’s heart softened as she stepped back towards him. “How many of our kind have you killed?”

Lancelot opened his eyes slowly, his bottom lip trembling as he looked up at her. “I cannot place a number on the lives I’ve brought to untimely ends, Isolde. Saving Squirrel cannot atone me for the children who have been massacred.” 

“How did it come to this?”

“I was spared by Father Carden.” Lancelot confessed, flinching away from Isolde as she reached out for him again. “And turned into a weapon for them to slay my own kind.” 

Isolde let her hand fall to her side, “What do you mean when you say that you’ve… passed this way before?”

He worked his jaw slowly, lowering his gaze. “We have been searching for The Wolf-Blood Witch, scouring every corner of the realm and…” Lancelot laughed humorlessly. “It’s been twenty years, Isolde, but I still sense you. I caught a glimpse of you as the path opened to me… your hair like flames as you fetched water from the creek.”

She exhaled slowly as she stared at him, “But the Red Paladins never came…”

“There was no Wolf-Blood Witch here.” Lancelot sank back against the table, the pain growing to be too much for him. “I knew Squirrel would be safe here, Izzy.”

“You’re safe here too,” Isolde sighed, moving to stand beside him. “I’m not going to let you die, Lancelot. No matter what you’ve done. I made a promise to the goddess that I would use my gifts to heal, not kill.” 

She reached out and gingerly swept her fingers over his forehead, brushing aside a loose curl of hair that was sticking to the blood on his skin. “Just rest. I’m going to clean your wounds and then work on the poultices.”

“Thank you.” He murmured, lifting his hand to catch hers as she brushed her knuckles against his cheek. 

Isolde smiled softly, “You’re welcome, Lancelot.” 

Once upon a time, they had been just children. Isolde’s father had been employed by Lancelot’s father — heir apparent to a throne that had crumbled. Lancelot was a special child, touched by the Fey just as Isolde had been. 

They bonded as children; laughing and playing in the stables, using their gifts to make flowers blossom and flutter through the air, terrorising their parents by vanishing for hours on end. 

Isolde had been old enough to understand that her gift was the reason her parents abruptly left Ban’s service. 

Not a summer passed that she didn’t wonder what had become of Lancelot. Every time the Pentas bloomed and the summer nights glowed with a sky full of stars — she wondered if he’d survived the wrath of the Red Paladins. 

But that boy was gone and in his place was a man who had been corrupted by the darkness of false prophets and vengeful religious mercenaries. A man who had turned against his own kind. Who wept tears let from the blood of his victims. 

Isolde wiped a dampened cloth over his skin to wipe away the blood, but she knew it wouldn’t be easily cleansed from his hands.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Part II of Book!Geralt/Netflix!Jaskier

I should just call this the Rosa/Arlo Universe. 

So Part I of this story was my most popular post and so I am continuing it below! Everything I’ve written so far is also on AO3.

To get you up to speed, Book Geralt has just met Netflix Jaskier and SOMEHOW through NO FAULT OF HIS OWN, Geralt has ended up with a lapful of bard.  Jaskier has also just made an extremely indecent proposal. What will our witcher do?? (about 1500 words. Flirting, kissing. Not explicit....yet)

-----

Geralt was new to solo interdimensional travel. But no one needed to tell him not to meddle in the affairs of his destination. That was just common sense really. He had planned to wait for Ciri quietly, without making so much as a ripple here. He had chosen this back corner table in this rustic tavern for just that purpose. It had seemed like a good place to go unnoticed. It was sensible. He was sensible.

Yet here he was with a lap full of bard. Here he was, blushing at the most explicit proposition he’d ever received. Here he was, actually wrestling with his answer, instead of politely but immediately ushering the man back to his own chair.

How had Geralt gotten here? Besides the big fiery portal? Oh right, he’d done it to himself. He’d pulled the pretty bard onto his own lap with his own two hands. All it had taken was one adoring look and one clumsy pick up line, and Geralt hadn’t been able to help himself. Somehow it had all added up to Jaskier being so godsdamn endearing. Maybe he was a fool of a witcher, but something about this man felt like his.

Shit. That obviously made no sense. And yet, his arms were clasped around Jaskier’s waist and showed no sign of loosening.

Geralt tried valiantly not to look into Jaskier’s unabashed eyes. He tried to remember his original plan. Keep to yourself. Be a fly on the wall. But Geralt’s fingers crept down the bard’s waist towards his ass, seemingly of their own accord. Jaskier was still waiting for his answer, but was looking altogether optimistic.

“Look out for that one, he’s a menace,” said the proprietor, nodding towards Jaskier.

Geralt startled and pulled his hands back to a more appropriate place on Jaskier’s waist. He hadn’t even noticed the man clearing the rickety adjacent table. To be fair, the witcher was distracted.

Jaskier’s lips pursed and he lifted his chin towards the proprietor. The gesture gave the impression of a prince indulging his beloved jester. He did this without loosening his hold on Geralt one bit.

“Oh Jakub. What must one do to earn your gratitude?” he sighed, as he blew at a tendril that had dropped over one eye.

The way he was sitting on Geralt, his neck was inches from the witcher’s lips. Geralt looked at the tempting expanse of skin and forgot about sensible. He pressed a daring but discreet kiss to it just underneath Jaskier’s jaw. Geralt felt Jaskier swallow, then tighten his thighs against him in response. And yet, the bard maintained his composure, as well as the faux offense directed at Jakub.

“I elevate your establishment with poetry and music.” He continued with a put upon sigh. “And you thank me with cruel barbs that sink into my very soul.”

The proprietor huffed goodnaturedly, looking at the chipped earthenware plates as he stacked them.

“A song about abortion today, Jaskier?! Not even one about love?” Jakub shook his head, as though deeply wounded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted them to throw food at you. Nothing better than a free lunch, ay?” He put the plates to one side and grabbed the worn towel from its perch on his sturdy shoulder. He began to wipe the table.

“Hmmph.” Said Jaskier imperiously. “Geniuses always go unappreciated in their own time. Typical. And yet I remain generous of spirit. I’m even helping again today.”

“Yeah, how’s that?” asked Jakub.

“I’ll be keeping this Witcher around your tavern longer.” Said Jaskier. He wound a finger around a tendril of Geralt’s white hair and tugged. Geralt smothered a grunt. The entire tavern didn’t need to know about his proclivities. But now Jaskier certainly did. A smug smile ghosted the bard’s lips.

Jakub flipped the towel back on his shoulder and turned to face them, looking dubious. Jaskier continued casually. “You want a witcher around, Jakub. They take care of monsters or beasties that may threaten your patrons.”

“Well.” Said Jakub with gruff affection, “They apparently don’t take care of pests.”

Jaskier’s smile only grew more smug. He finally vacated Geralt’s lap and stood next to Jakub. He patted the man’s cheek. “Oh you love me Jakub. Admit it.”

The proprietor turned a little pink, grumbling through a lopsided smile.

“And look.” said Jaskier, sparing a backwards glance at Geralt then back to Jakub. “It’ll also earn you more coin. You rent rooms, don’t you?”

Jaskier clearly found little use for discretion. This might normally prickle Geralt's sense of embarrassment. The witcher was affectionate, sure, but his expression of it tended to be more private.

But.

What did he care what anyone thought of him here?

He had been looking at this ‘not my dimension’ thing all wrong. No one knew him here. He could be anyone he wanted to be.

But more than that, Jaskier was already a liberating influence. He had wanted Geralt, so he’d walked right up to him and offered him pants bread.

It gave Geralt ideas. He could do that too, couldn’t he? What would it cost him? Nothing. Besides, it wasn’t every day that a gorgeous man was so enraptured with him.

Geralt thought it vain to dwell on how he looked to others. But between being a witcher, and looking as rough as he did, he didn’t expect much. He remembered the mimic who’d taken his form. Geralt had recoiled to see himself from the outside. The distress hadn’t stuck with him long. It was ok. What he contributed to the world wasn’t beauty. It was his work.

But.

This bard clearly thought differently. The man’s gaze was just this side of worshipful, and his scent was pure lust.

He looked at Geralt like the witcher was a lost treasure being hauled up from the bottom of the sea. He kissed Geralt like the witcher’s lips were glazed with honey.

Jaskier was a revelation.

Like fairy lights blinking on one by one, Geralt remembered things long lost: a desire to be touched like he was precious, a yearning for complete acceptance.

Normally Geralt would stifle that. There was no use being overwrought about things you don’t have.

But this wasn’t a normal situation was it? And he had it, didn’t he? It was standing right in front of him.

In his long life, the one thing Geralt had learned about moments is that they can fly away in a heartbeat. Even in the face of interdimensional portals, time stood still for no one.

He reached again for his coinpurse.

He threw a few coins on the table.

“For the night, sir.”

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder and smiled. The smile was made of promise a sliver of tongue was caught between his teeth.

Geralt’s eyes focused on it and thought, He wants to taste me.

Geralt stood slowly. Jaskier had turned back to Jakub and paused to take a key from him. The witcher loomed behind him, so close that he could feel body heat.

Now that he was standing, Geralt could see that Jaskier stood about as tall as him. His shoulders were almost as broad. Geralt took his waist with both hands from behind. Fuck. He fit perfectly.

Geralt slid his fingers under Jaskier’s doublet and nudged them under the bard’s waistband. His fingertips grazed the top of Jaskier’s hipbones.

“You’re a strapping lad, aren’t you?” he rumbled right into his ear, so only the bard could hear him.

He felt Jaskier shiver, though he valiantly continued to converse with Jakub.

“Th-thank you ah, Jakub. And you’re welcome,” stammered Jaskier, finally showing kinks in his brash armor.

The witcher’s clothes suddenly felt rough. Constricting. There was too much fabric between them. There was too much noise. Too many people. Now that he’d made his decision, his patience evaporated into the musty tavern air.

Jaskier yanked his hand and he knew salvation was nigh. Geralt threaded his fingers through the bards, and allowed himself to be led out of the main room and down a hall to the right of the kitchen. The sounds of the patrons became distant. The smell of old beer grew faint. Soon they stood at the bottom of a flight of stairs tucked away in the back. They were rickety looking and worn. But they led to private rooms, so they were a blessed sight.

Jaskier leaned against Geralt and the witcher felt his hair tickle his neck. The bard whispered,

“Come and claim me.”

Then Jaskier leapt up the stairs.

Geralt did not hesitate. He was grasping his moment.

Edit: 

I’ve got a (smutty) Part III now.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

But Then Came You - Chpt.1

Summary: Loki tries to plan his next moves after being dropped off in a post Decimation New York City. Master list can be found HERE.

Content Warnings: A sassy reader not afraid to call Loki out on his bullshit

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! The first chapter is here! Woo. I know I said 6pm but I literally have no chill when it comes to this fic. There’s no long build up in this one, just straight to our main characters meeting. I hope you enjoy! Chapters will be posted daily. XOXO - Ash

Chapter One

New York is a shell of the bustling metropolis it once was. Loki wanders the half filled streets quietly planning his next move, still unsure of what to do. The Eluskans had been kind enough to drop him off on Earth since he had nowhere else to go. The fall of Asgard still weighed heavily on his mind, his home planet which thrived for millennia gone in a fiery apocalypse. He had been given a few thousand dollars of US currency and a change of clothes to help get him on his way. They really were the kindest people. Loki had to perpetually bite his tongue so as not to lash out at them for trying to help. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t understand what they had done in bringing him back. Their intentions were good but it doesn’t erase the dreams and memories that have haunted Loki since his resurrection. 

The city feels empty in the wake of The Decimation. It had taken Loki a full day of walking through the abandoned neighborhoods to fully understand what had occurred on Earth over the past few weeks. New York was doing what it did best though; the communities were rallying round each other, helping support those displaced by the loss of family and friends. 

The summer heat wears on Loki and he starts looking for somewhere he can cool off for a bit. He’s hesitant to use his seidr to relieve himself of the heat as it’s been spotty at best since he was brought back. The healers advised it would take some time to return to its former strength after all he’d been through. They had encouraged him to practice with it daily to help strengthen it, like one would do for a weakened muscle. Loki wants little to do with his seidr however. It was the reason they had found his body, the incessant little spark that refused to die, and had also led to his resurrection.

The cafe is empty except for the two baristas who are deep in conversation when Loki enters. He’s running on three days of no sleep and needs the small relief caffeine will bring. The icy blast of air conditioning is helping his fatigue as well and Loki hopes he will be able to linger with his drink for a while without disturbing anyone. 

“What can I get you?” The overly cheerful blonde barista asks him. Her name tag reads “Sunny” and Loki almost chuckles at how appropriate that is.

“Espresso, please. A quad shot.” Loki requests. 

“Anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Name for the cup?”

“Loki” 

Your head snaps up at the name. It’s too rare to be anyone else. “Holy forking shirtballs you’re him! I mean, you’re… you.” You blurt out at an embarrassingly loud volume. 

Loki stares at you like you’ve sprouted six heads. “I beg your pardon?” His tone is almost offended, but mostly baffled by your outburst.

“Sorry, I binge-watched The Good Place on Netflix last weekend. And I didn’t mean to call you out like that, I just… know of you. Never expected to meet you face to face like this though.” 

“The Good Place? Netflix?” Loki is still lost, now bordering on irritated. You speak in the hurried way he’s come to associate with youth, your gestures animated as you talk. If he can’t be served his drink here he’ll have to trudge along for who knows how long until he can find another cafe or, Norns forbid, a Starbucks. 

“It’s a show. And you know, Netflix. The streaming service?”

Loki stares blankly at you.

You’re certain your face is the same shade as a tomato as you continue to flounder for words around him. “Or I guess you probably don’t know. I’m sorry. You know that filter most people have between their brains and their mouths? I don’t have one of those. So I’m gonna go get your espresso and leave you alone now. Sorry, again, really.” You slink away to the espresso bar and start queuing up his shots, praying that the ground will just open up and swallow you whole so you don’t have to face Loki again. 

Sunny gives Loki a grin and a half shrug, “You’ll have to forgive Y/N. I wish I could say she’s not normally quite that awkward but she totally is. She means well, you just got her a little starstruck.” 

“Starstruck?” Loki raises an eyebrow at Sunny in disbelief. 

“Yeah, totally.” Sunny nods enthusiastically, “You’re a literal god. Who wouldn’t be?” 

“It’s not the reaction I get from most Midgardians.” He confesses. 

“Oh right, because of the whole ‘trying to take over New York’ thing.” 

Loki nods at her assumption.

“You don’t have to worry about that with us.” Sunny assures him, “Matter of fact, Y/N did a whole paper on it our first year at Columbia. I think she did it just to piss off our psych professor but it was some of her best work. She argued that it was proof anyone can be peer pressured into anything.”

“Peer pressure?!” Loki sputters incredulously. 

“Well, yeah. I mean, Y/N can explain it better, but basically she drew parallels between Thanos preying on your weaknesses, ie. your desire to rule somewhere, and getting you to do his dirty work for him, to a bully preying on a weaker kid’s insecurities and pressuring them into doing something bad.” 

Loki scowls over at your back, displeased to have a deeply traumatic event reduced to something so simplistic. “I don’t think it was quite that simple.” Loki grumbles. 

You hear his grumble, unable to ignore the conversation going on behind your back. “It kinda was though.” You mutter beneath your breath. Or at least, you meant for it to be under your breath. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, was it?” Loki’s tone is bordering on venomous. “Please, come tell me how you know better about a part of my life than I do.” 

The blush that had started to recede flares up again and you force yourself to remain calm and steady as you finish pouring the espresso and turn to face Loki. You spent a whole semester working on that paper and stand by your conclusion. Like hell were you going down without a good fight. “I’m not saying I know your life better than you do.” You clarify, “But I do think the whole ‘Battle of New York’ business is a prime example of peer pressure.” 

Loki’s eyes widen, he’s surprised you’re standing by your preposterous notion even with him glaring daggers at you. “Do I look like an emotionally fragile child to you?” He demands.

“No, but that’s the point. It can happen to anyone. Maybe I’m wrong, but let’s get a few things straight first.” Your brain has gone into investigator mode and you’re in your element now. Loki waives a hand dismissively letting you continue, “Who sought out who? Did you go looking for Thanos or did he find you?”

“He found me.” Loki replies evenly.

“Before you met Thanos had you ever considered attacking New York?”

“No.” 

“Would you have tried attacking New York or any other place by yourself?”

“Well, no. But…”

“Nope. No buts, mister.” You ignore his scowl, you’re on a roll. Excitement is thrumming through your veins, his answers lining up just the way you want them to. “And how did Thanos convince you to try? Did he by chance remind you of all the awful things your adoptive family did to you? Hiding your heritage, denying you of your rightful throne?” 

“It was common knowledge.” 

“Mhmm. And he offered you a place to rule. You only had to help him with one simple, little thing. You knew your brother favored Earth, right?”

“He is overly fond of this planet, yes.”

“And Thanos probably hinted that you’d be ruling the place that was special to your brother. The brother that was given the throne that should have been yours.” 

“Thor and I have reconciled since…”

“But not six years ago you hadn’t.” You shot Loki a cocky grin, you had him right where you wanted him. “So let’s recap, shall we? A more powerful person reached out to you, reminded you of the alienation of those closest to you, played up your supposed right to rule, offered you a chance to do so, and get back at your brother in the process. He offered you everything you could possibly want and the means to get it. Despite the means being wrong and you knowing they were wrong. Sounds like a bully and peer pressure to me.” 

Loki scowled harder to suppress the smirk that was trying to upturn his lips. You had impressed him more in five minutes than anyone else had in five hundred years. “Insightful little Midgardian. I don’t agree with your theory but you clearly put a lot of thought behind it.” 

“I did, thanks. But how are you here? The news said you died in transit to Earth from Asgard. Not like you haven’t fake died before, but still. It seemed pretty legit this time.” 

“The news was correct, I did die. And now I’m here. Waiting on that espresso you’re holding.”

You look down at the steaming cup in your hand, “Oh, right. Sorry. Here you go.” You pass the drink to him and his surprisingly cold fingers brush faintly over yours making goose bumps prickle along your arm. “So, what are you doing here in New York? Other than getting a caffeine fix?” 

Loki takes a sip of his coffee, sighing softly in relief before replying. “I’m not sure yet.” 

You give him a half smile and a shrug, “Well, enjoy your drink.” 

“I will.” Loki nods and moves off to the table in the far corner by the window. 

You turn your back on Loki to face Sunny, eyes wide, your face splitting into a grin. You mouth oh my god to her dramatically and she stifles a giggle. Loki is only across the room and you’re not too keen on making a fool out of yourself again in front of him. Unsure of how long he plans to stay, you busy yourself cleaning the espresso machine to pass the time. You’ll have a lifetime of gossiping with Sunny once he leaves.

Loki sits quietly watching people pass while he drinks his espresso. The dark brew hits his system like a gut-punch and he can feel the drowsiness retreating a little. It’s enough to keep him going a bit longer and that’s all he can ask for at this point. He knows he will need to sleep at some point soon, god or not he’s still flesh and bone. Sunlight hits the curly golden brown hair of a woman across the street and images of his mother blossom in his mind unbidden. The ache in his chest threatens to double him over but he steels himself, clenching the cup in his hand as hard as he dares without crushing it. 

Your eyes keep wandering back to Loki who’s transfixed looking out the cafe window. You try to keep busy but it’s difficult with him so near by. You’d seen many pictures of him and learned so much while working on your paper; it’s no surprise he’s attractive but you had clearly underestimated how attractive he is in person. You notice the second Loki sees something upsetting, the way his eyes darken and his face takes on a haunted expression. You give up pretending you’re unaffected by his presence and head across the room, settling down in the chair opposite him at the table. “You okay?” You ask him softly.

Loki’s eyes remain staring outside and you wonder for a moment if he’d heard you. “I’m fine.” He says finally. 

“I doubt that.” 

Loki’s reply is a perturbed frown in your direction.

“Look, I don’t expect you to talk to me. But I’m guessing some shit went down or else you wouldn’t be sitting here sipping espresso and looking like you’re about to pass out.”

“Some shit indeed.” He bites out deprecatingly. 

“Do you at least have a place to stay?”

“I’ll find one easy enough.” 

“Not right now you won’t. It’s move in weekend for the colleges around here. Plus all the people displaced by The Decimation. There won’t be a free hotel room in the city until at least  next week.” 

Loki curses internally. He can’t just wander around aimlessly until he passes out somewhere like a homeless person. Showing up at SHIELD’s front door asking for a room isn’t an option either, he’s still persona non grata with the organization. He doesn’t think they’re still actively hunting for him though. Loki had been told Thor was unavailable when he’d tried to reach out the day he arrived on Earth and he didn’t push, mostly out of fear of rejection. He’s momentarily consumed with agony and anguish again, thinking of his brother and his current aimlessness in this changed world. This is what he had been brought back into, a painful, useless existence. 

You watch him struggling internally and you can’t just sit idly by. “If you need a place to crash, Sunny and I live a few blocks over with our friend Chelsi. We had another roommate but she graduated and we haven’t found a new one yet. You’d have a bed and a safe place to stay until you find somewhere else to go.” 

Loki looks at you then, meeting your eyes and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He makes a hum sound that isn’t a no and it spurs you on. “I know I’m a stranger but you probably don’t have many friends in the city and I really just want to help. Take your time deciding, we have books over there to be borrowed if you want to just hang out and read for a bit. My shift ends in two hours and….”

Loki cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Stop talking for a minute, will you.” He knows he’s in a tough spot and you have managed to both intrigue and amuse him in the short time since he met you. It’s entirely possible you’re being genuine and want to help but you could also be an assassin. He can't be too careful and he has to be certain. Taking your hands in his, he stares into your eyes and lets his seidr flow through him into you. You feel a sight rush, like when you stand up too fast and your blood pressure drops, and you hold on tightly to his cold hands. Loki searches quickly through your memories and thoughts, digging deep down to the core of your being until he’s satisfied he’s seen enough. There are things buried deep he knows you probably won’t appreciate him seeing but he can be discreet. 

Loki holds on to your hands just a moment longer than he needs to, letting your memories wash over him. You at five, running around the playground with your friends and inviting a sad looking little blonde girl to join you. You at ten, laying outside in the dark with the same little blonde girl looking much happier as you study the stars. You and the girl, recognizable as Sunny now, at fifteen when your parents died and you move your things into the guest room next to hers. You at twenty, moving into your first real apartment off campus, excited and terrified all at once. Hundreds of other memories flutter by as well, blurring together to make up your lifetime. School days and old friends, boyfriends and a few bad breakups, vacations and quiet moments spent at home. Loki is soothed by the simple ordinary memories distracting him from his own past. Regretfully he pulls his hands back, breaking the spell of the moment. 

“What did you do?” You ask in a hushed tone. You aren’t angry, just curious.

Loki swallows hard, relieved you have forgiven his intrusion. “I had to be sure you weren’t a threat.”

“You could have just asked.” You point out. 

“And you could have lied.” 

“Touché. So, what did you find?”

“Nothing of concern. I’ll take that room you offered.” 

You’re pleased he’s agreed to come home with you, hoping that you might get to know him a little while he’s there. “Okay.” You agree, unable to hold back your excited smile. “I’ll text Chelsi and give her a heads up. Sunny heard us for sure but,” you raise your voice pointedly, “she’s too damn polite to admit she was listening while she pretends to wipe down a perfectly clean counter top!” 

Sunny laughs and throws the rag down. “Mi casa es su casa, Loki.” She calls back. 

“Thank you, Sunny.” Loki calls back with an indulgent smile. He can’t help but be slightly amused by the pair of you. You’re both so young, the cheery optimism of youth still clinging to you and it's a breath of fresh air to him. He doesn’t look much older than you but he’s pushing 1,500 and after all that he’s been through he feels every single year of his age. 

“Grab a book or play on your phone or whatever until my shift is over if you want. Alex will be in at five so we can head home.” You tell him as you stand up and head back to the barista bar with Sunny. 

Loki wanders over to the bookshelf and pulls down a copy of the first book that catches his eye. Settling into a padded, dark blue velvet chair by the bookshelf, Loki loses himself in the book. He almost doesn’t hear you coming hours later when you stop over with a steaming mug of something topped with foam and sprinkled with cinnamon. “I figured you probably shouldn’t risk more espresso, god or not.” you tell him. 

“What is this?” Loki asks, accepting the warm cup from you.

“Chai tea latte. I don’t know what you like but this felt like it might be a good fit.”

“And why is that?” Loki takes a sip and waits for you to speak before he passes judgement on the taste.

You feel your cheeks heating. You won’t dare tell him your thought process in choosing the drink. Spicy but sweet, complex, an acquired taste, just like the god sitting in front of you. You swallow past the lump of nerves in your throat, “Just a guess, I guess.” 

Loki doesn’t believe your simple answer for a minute but he doesn’t push. “Well you guessed correctly. It’s good.” Loki takes a longer sip, enjoying the rush of sugar across his tongue. He would never admit to something as undignified as having a sweet tooth, but he will admit to himself that he’s enjoying the drink more than anything else he’s had since arriving back on Earth. 

“I’m glad.” you say over your shoulder, walking away to help a new customer who just walked in. 

Loki hums in appreciation, letting himself have just a few more decadent sips before his self control kicks in and he sets the cup just slightly out of reach on the table next to him.

[choupichoups]

CHAPTER FOUR :: Previous chapters

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

::

His phone lays face down on the nightstand, chiming with accusing vibrations from god knows where. He hasn’t exactly kept up with the outpouring of messages since Friday night. 

Eliott doesn’t know what day it is. 

With a burst of energy that sends both dread and respite coursing through his chest, Eliott pushes himself towards the bathroom, standing under the warm pressure of the shower until it turns cold, freezing pelts numbing where his back is hunched over the tiled walls. 

He doesn’t feel any better. There’s a steely blankness in his mind, a faint ringing echoing its walls that has Eliott wondering how he’s able to move around. 

When he gets out, shivering from the cool air breezing in from his open windows, the mere sight of the light emanating from his nightstand grips him with inexplicable anxiety. The familiar drop in his stomach is so unbearable he can’t even bring himself to approach his fucking phone. His eyes search out a pack of smokes out of reflex but a spiteful voice inside his head berates him. Make it worse, why don’t you, it says, go ahead and prove them right, then. 

He goes into the kitchen and gulps down two glasses of water instead. He supposes his piece of shit brain has an effective way of keeping him in check sometimes. 

His laptop is asleep on the kitchen table when he turns around and Eliott taps on it, stares blankly at the timestamp on top of the screen— it’s Sunday afternoon. So he hasn’t been out of the grid for that long then. Not long enough to miss classes, at least. That’s good. It’s good. 

That eliminates the chances of school related emails being included in his growing pile of notifications.

He slides gingerly onto the chair, switching to his Netflix tab to resume whatever movie he’d been watching before he left for that party on Friday. Eliott watches the screen move, colours and sounds around him, none of it sticks but he appreciates the background noise. Appreciates the change in scenery. He’s gotten a little sick and tired of watching the ceiling in between bouts of fitful slumber. 

Eyes still dull from exhaustion, he follows the fast paced sequence playing in front of him until the muffled music clears up, until the teeny voices from his speakers start making sense again, until his brain latches onto the idea of the film, until he recognizes the title, remembers the bits he’d seen from Friday. 

He’s frowning down at a particular twist in the plot when his lock turns, dragging slow and soft, as if it would help mask the disruptive shriek of metal against metal. He doesn’t react much to it— only stares at the door with vague wonder, but ultimately can’t bring himself to care even when the door creaks fully open. He’s genuinely surprised to see Adrien’s head pop out from behind it, searching eyes wandering about until it lands on Eliott and a brilliant smile immediately lifts the entirety of his best friend’s face. 

So Lucas hasn’t told him anything. 

Eliott’s heart clenches. It has nothing to do with relief. 

“Hey!” Adrien sounds so excited that Eliott wants to smile, but his lips don’t get the memo. “I brought lunch. Or dinner, I guess? Whatever.”

He makes himself at home, banging around in Eliott’s kitchen as the movie plays on, now abandoned. Eliott relocates to the couch, letting Adrien’s off tune singing and his computer’s noisy faux explosions fill his head. It’s comfortable enough that Eliott’s eyes fall shut, head tilted back against the back of the couch. 

It’s dark outside the next time he wakes. His laptop’s now connected to his tv screen, playing a different movie. Adrien’s lounging beside him, spoon stuck in his mouth, eyes trained on his phone. 

“You gonna share that or what?” Eliott manages to croak out, reaching for the bowl of take out in Adrien’s lap.

Adrien practically jumps at the sound of Eliott’s voice and that finally, finally fills him with enough humour to conjure up a smile. It feels fucking good. He hopes it lasts. 

“Fuck off, yours is in the fridge,” Adrien says once he recovers, sliding his bowl far away from Eliott’s reach. 

Eliott groans, “That’s too far.”

“Your place isn’t that big, calm down.” But Adrien gets up anyway, dragging his feet as he heads for the kitchen to heat up the leftovers. Eliott isn’t hungry, truth be told, he does want to continue this streak of normalcy, though. He wants to keep smiling and feeling and eating. Maybe it would push him on a fast track to being himself again come the next day. Whatever being himself means.

Hot food is plopped down on his legs with no warning and his resulting yelp has Adrien in stitches. Eliott’s sorely tempted to dump the entire thing over Adrien’s head, see who’s laughing then, but he did bring Eliott some free food so he gets one single pass for being an asshole. Eliott flips him off, lips still curled in a smirk as he nibbles on his first bite. 

They watch the movie mostly in silence, only with the occasional commentary from Adrien, who’s prone to being very vocal about how angry the characters make him. There’s something off with his behaviour though, almost like he’s forcing the cheer into his voice. Eliott looks over just in time to catch him tapping away on his phone for the umpteenth time. 

So Eliott pauses the movie, confirming his suspicions when it takes Adrien a full minute to realize that there’s now silence where the movie villain’s cheesy droning spiel had just been. He reaches out, one hand curled into a fist, and Adrien stares at it blankly before slapping his palm against it, closing his hand over the fist, holding tight like a child afraid of the dark. He looks like a child too, Eliott’s eyes adjusting to the lack of light to find Adrien’s wide, watery gaze on him.

“I fucked up, Eli.” 

Well that’s new. It’s usually Eliott who fucks up between the two of them. “How much?”

“Big time.”

Eliott sits up from where he’s half melted into the couch cushions, kicking at Adrien’s leg until he does the same. “What happened?” 

Adrien eyes him, says, “Nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m just being stupid.” But he sounds pitiful enough that Eliott can’t not worry about it. 

“Look, Adri, we can’t both feel like shit,” Eliott says, earning a snort from the other end of the couch. “Only one at a time and I called dibs already so just tell me what’s wrong so you can feel less shitty about it.” 

Adrien wipes his eyes. Sniffs a little. “Lucas is missing.”

That’s the last thing Eliott wants to hear. “What?” he chokes out, forcing a neutral tone. His heartbeat picks up in protest. “Since when?”

“Friday, god, I should’ve gone to that stupid party—”

This is all your fault. “What do you mean he’s missing?” Neutrality out the window, apparently. Good thing Adrien doesn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to yank the hair out of his head as he is. 

“I don’t know, he’s been kinda weird recently to be honest, and now he’s not coming home or answering his goddamn phone.” Adrien nibbles on his fingernails, a nervous tick the both of them share. “I’m freaking out, like— what do I tell our parents? They can’t even leave my brother alone with me for two weeks without him going missing, fuck. I’m so useless. What if we get a baby brother? Or a baby sister? How much would I fuck up then? Jesus, I would probably drop an actual infant and—” 

Eliott shakes his head, takes Adrien’s phone away to do something. “Calm down,” he hisses, not sure if he’s addressing Adrien or himself. “Have you checked with all his friends?” 

“The ones I know of, yeah.” Adrien grabs a cushion and buries his face under it. 

A thought occurs to Eliott then, unwanted but he’d rather that than any other worse scenarios. Maybe it’s not his fault. How bold of him to assume Lucas would care that much about Eliott, just another boy chasing him around. Maybe the answer is much simpler. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with him at all. “Maybe he met someone,” he suggests, and he has no right to feel jealousy catching fire like a candle wick, rapid to burn. “Went home with them?” 

“No,” Adrien denies, muffled. “Lucas doesn’t do that.”

Flashes from Friday night’s party make him swallow, throat clicking at the image of Lucas and that guy headed fast towards the bedrooms. “You sure?”

“Uh huh. Hundred percent.” 

Adrien’s phone interrupts them with a startling ring. Instinctively, Eliott slides a finger to accept the unknown call, putting it on speaker so Adrien could hear as well. “Hello?” Eliott answers, hesitant, when Adrien looks like he doesn’t plan on emerging from his cushion any time soon. 

Confused silence, and then a timid, “Adri?”

Lucas’ voice. Eliott drops the phone on the table like it’s suddenly grown spikes. 

It’s a good thing Adrien comes alive at that moment, his cushion flying off the living room and into the kitchen. “Where the fuck have you been?!” he practically screeches in the general direction of the phone. 

There’s some static, the sound of sheets ruffling. “I don’t— I don’t kno— no, shit, hold on.”

Adrien’s face is flushed with anger. “The fuck you mean you don’t—” He rubs a hand over his face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Eliott sincerely doesn’t know whether to be thankful of, or lament the fact that Adrien keeps the phone call on speaker. 

“Of course? Of course? So why the hell haven’t you been answering my calls, Lulu?”

“I’m sorry, my phone died,” Lucas groans from the other end, sounding miserable. Like he’s—

“Are you hungover?” Adrien voices out the question in Eliott’s head. 

“Yes.” The one word packs such heavy attitude it almost makes Eliott laugh— until he remembers it’s Sunday evening so Lucas being hungover means he’s been drinking again on Saturday and well into the morning after. “Would you tone down a little?”

“No, I won’t tone the fuck down. Do you know what time it is? And you sound like that? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” 

“I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Lucas,” Adrien pronounces the name slowly, how he always does when upset. “Where are you?”

Unperturbed, Lucas repeats, “I said I’ll be home tomorrow, father.” And then he hangs up.

Adrien looks two seconds away from flinging his phone out the window. It’s times like this when Eliott truly appreciates being an only child. 

“Whose phone number was that?” Adrien asks, visibly holding back from redialing the unknown number.

Eliott shrugs and heads into the bedroom for his phone; there’s no harm in checking his contact list. He figures it’s time to stop avoiding the inevitable anyway. At least Adrien being present would alleviate some of the stress from checking on his unread messages. 

Turns out he doesn’t have the phone number Lucas used registered on his phone either but what he does find out is that Lucas has blocked him on Instagram. And it shouldn’t hurt. It really, really shouldn’t. It’s a fucking phone app, the act is borderline juvenile. The laugh he lets out is rusty, unfamiliar to his own ears, bitter in its quietness. He should have seen it coming, it’s what he deserves after all. But knowing so doesn’t make it feel any less horrible.

“You okay?” Right. Adrien’s there beside him, clueless as to what Eliott’s done to his precious little brother. Eliott knows he’s played a dangerous game and now Lucas holds all the cards.

“Yup, just peachy.” Eliott shoves his phone behind the couch. Out of sight out of mind. “You want a drink?” 

Adrien sweeps a hand over his eyes. “I need ten.”

“I only have cranberry juice.”

“Ugh, fuck.”

“We can use the fancy glasses and pretend it’s wine.”

“Yeah, okay, close enough. Juice me up.”

::

::

Come Tuesday afternoon, Eliott feels less like living as a hermit deep into the woods and more like throwing people deep into the woods. 

Irritation simmers at the surface of his skin like gasoline, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation. So he does his best to stay away from the crowds, and forces himself to interact only when he’s cornered, because apparently some people can’t read the atmosphere despite his closed off demeanor. 

Mysterious, some would call him and it’s so fucking stupid. Aloof. Intimidating. Cool. 

He’d laugh if he weren’t so keyed up, throat scratchy with the urge to snap, shoulders hunched to keep in a festering fury he has neither time nor will to put out. 

It doesn’t help that his hands have developed a mind of their own, obsessively checking for a message that will never show up. He’s irritated that there’s only one voice he wants to hear. He’s irritated that people still try their luck in approaching him, he’s irritated that they laugh and speak and move around him like he isn’t some ticking time bomb. He’s irritated that despite all the noise and the clamour, everything is still so goddamn boring, nothing to pull him out of his head, nothing to crack open his barrier, nothing nothing nothing. 

His most wakening moments happen during the events leading up to, and the ones following after, himself getting punched in the face. 

It’s exactly how it sounds like, but in Eliott’s defence, it's completely and utterly not his fault. Just a giant misunderstanding and too much testosterone involved in the mix. 

It happens when Eliott’s just about to leave campus, skipping out on the final half of his last class so he could catch the early bus and continue being miserable at home. Hands busy untangling his headphones, he doesn’t realize he’s got company in the hallway until he hears a very unimpressed, very familiar voice coming from the other end. Eliott throws himself into the next hallway, heart beating erratically while he stands with his back plastered against the wall. 

“Listen, Nathan,” Lucas is saying, thankfully unaware of the film worthy stunt Eliott had just pulled. He slumps down on the ground and accepts the fact that he’s officially the king of being at the wrong place at the wrong time nowadays. 

Or maybe the king of eavesdropping is more accurate?

His phone vibrates against the floor where it’s shoved inside his pocket and Eliott scrambles to kneel up, cursing under his breath as he fumbles to muffle the sound of the missed call. 

Cautiously, he peeks out, but both boys are still occupied with their conversation. Eliott ducks back into his hiding place, rationalizing if the loss of dignity he’d experience should someone catch him crab walking towards the staircase would be worth dodging Lucas’ ire.  

Maybe he simply puts the king in panicking, at this point.

“Nigel,” Nathan— or Nigel, really, corrects him. Eliott winces in sympathy. So that’s how Lucas plays it, huh. 

“Nigel. I’m sorry about the party,” Lucas continues, and Eliott knows exactly what he’s going to say next. “I was a little drunk.” Fucking hell. 

Nigel lets out a breathy laugh. “Come on, Lucas, you can’t say you felt nothing.” 

Alright, Eliott’s sympathy is quickly fizzing out. 

“Feel what?” 

“There’s something between us, Lu.” 

“We met four days ago,” Lucas deadpans, ruthless in a way that has Eliott a little taken aback. There’s no hint of the playful tone Lucas had always used around him.

“You kissed me at the party.”

“I said I was drunk.” 

“You weren’t, why don’t you just give us a chance? I could be—”

“No,” Lucas interrupts, “it’s nothing to do with you, you’re a great guy so don’t bother wasting your time on me.”

“You’re not ever a waste of time.” 

That gets a laugh out of Lucas. “That’s uh, sweet, but I’m serious. Please.” 

Eliott squeezes his eyes shut. You’d know if I was rejecting you. He thunks his head on the wall behind him, staring up at the pale ceiling as he wills for time to turn back. 

But of course it doesn’t. All that happens is that Eliott misses the rest of the conversation he’s listening in on and only realizes it’s over when shuffling footsteps make their rapid way straight towards where Eliott is squished into a corner. 

And oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

Except Lucas rushes right past him, anticlimactically. 

Eliott knows he’s got about two seconds to decide whether he’s going to let him go or if he’s going to gather the balls to at least apologize. 

In an act of bravery that probably surprises the deities themselves, Eliott calls out for Lucas, wincing in preparation for a storm as he traces the way Lucas’ entire body tenses up. A voice in his head tells him to leave it, that they’re headed straight for corrosion and nothing he says would change anything. Eliott almost succumbs to it.

But Lucas keeps walking, not once looking back, and Eliott feels a deep-seated panic settle over him, the magnitude of it louder than the jeering from his own mind. He trips all over his own two feet and hurries to match Lucas’ pace. “Lucas, please, I just want to say—”

“Sorry?” Lucas bites out, only stopping when Eliott physically stands in front of him to block his way. “Is that what you wanna say? Or are you above apologizing to your failed conquests?” Eliott recoils, mouth opening a little but Lucas doesn’t let him speak. “Nevermind, I don’t actually care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Adri.” 

Lucas keeps his head lowered, and Eliott’s chest constricts, hands slightly shaking where they’re hidden inside his pockets. God, he’s always been terrible at confrontations; he’s either too angry or too much of a coward to say the right thing. It has never occurred to him to apologize in exchange for Lucas’ silence, though, and he doesn’t want Lucas to think that’s all Eliott cares about. He only wants to— he wants to—

What? What exactly does he want?

Lucas steps to the side, intending to walk off again, and Eliott can’t have that. He doesn’t have the words lined up quite readily in his mind yet but he knows, for sure, that if Lucas just stays for a couple more minutes, the words will come to Eliott. He can feel it, it just—

His hand belatedly grabs for Lucas as his mind chases after the words, almost missing Lucas’ arm entirely. But just as quickly as he’s held, Lucas shakes Eliott off, stepping backwards violently enough to have him careening into the wall. It goes against Eliott’s every instinct to not reach out steadying hands as he watches Lucas stagger. It’s only the intensity of Lucas’ glower that stops him, like he’d have no problem smiting Eliott into smithereens if he dares to lay another finger on him.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” Lucas throws his backpack on the ground between them and Eliott watches it skid to the tip of his boots, a dawning dread churning at the pit of his stomach. “You made it very clear where you stand, Eliott. Now why don’t you be a man of your fucking word for once and just fuck off!” 

A part of him flares at the harsh words, naturally, but Eliott understands he’s reaping his own harvest. Although Eliott is many, many terrible things, not once has he ever refused to take responsibility for the hurt he’s caused, no matter what state of mind he’d been under at the time. So Eliott shoves down the anger that heats his blood, ignores the temper pounding at his head, and swallows twice before speaking. This will not be a repeat of Friday night. 

He picks up the discarded backpack and carefully approaches, making sure to leave enough space between the two of them so as to not smother Lucas. “Please,” he says, voice quieting as he stretches an arm out to hand the bag back to its owner. “Just look at me, please?” 

Lucas’ shoulders rise and fall with each breath, the very picture of righteous fury, but when he does look up, Eliott’s met with none of the animosity he expects. Instead, Lucas’ eyes are wide and scared, tears threatening to spill from those lovely blues. Eliott is shot by the sight of it, unprepared to see Lucas — headstrong, spitfire Lucas — looking so devastated. 

He can’t comprehend how someone so beautiful could allow someone as unworthy as Eliott close enough to hurt.

“Don’t do that,” Lucas says just as softly, and Eliott flinches as a finger ghosts along below his eye. He brings his own hand up, chasing after the whisper of Lucas’ touch, and Eliott realizes he’s also crying like some pathetic echo to Lucas’ feelings. “Stop it, I’m supposed to be cussing you out right now,” Lucas scolds, snatching the bag from Eliott’s hand. “I can’t do that if—”

Eliott would have loved to hear the rest of that sentence, even if it’s just more insults hurled towards him. He’s sunk low enough to admit that anything is better than a cold shoulder from Lucas. 

As it is, he never gets to hear the full of it, because someone is pulling him back by the arm in one second, and then he’s down on the floor in the next. Eliott registers the familiar pain at the bridge of his nose once his head stops ringing.

Fuck, at least that punch literally knocks the sadness part of his rapidly cycling moods— Eliott doesn’t feel much like crying now. No, irritation comes flooding back with a vengeance and if it weren’t for the sight of Lucas’ figure standing in front of him, Eliott would’ve gotten up and returned that blow twice as hard. 

“What the fuck?” Lucas yells at the perpetrator, blocking Eliott from view when the guy tries to go in for more. Eliott sits up, one hand feeling around his nose, content to let Lucas handle whatever the hell’s going on for now. “What’s your problem?” 

“He’s bothering you!” Ah. Good old Nigel. Where did he even come from? 

“We were talking,” Lucas hisses, shoving Nigel back when he hovers too close. “Would you fucking chill? What are you even doing here—” 

“Talking?” Nigel sneers, eyes cutting towards Eliott, who waves back with a slightly bloody hand and inwardly snickers when it seems to piss the guy off even more. “I was fucking worried about you, that’s why I came back and this is what I get? Is this why you rejected me? Hung up on Demaury, are you?”

“I’d watch the next words coming out of that mouth, Nick.”

“It’s Nigel! Fuck, whatever, you want to be another notch on his bedpost? Go ahead, but don’t come crawling to me when he—”

Eliott pulls Lucas back and launches himself forward, letting the satisfying crunch of Nigel’s nose under his knuckles power him through the inevitable sting that comes after. Behind him, Lucas mutters a high pitched, Jesus Christ.  

“Stop, just stop. Sit down, Eliott.” Lucas rushes to push himself in between the two of them and it would be so, so easy to move him. Just put Lucas to the side and continue letting off some steam, but Lucas doesn’t sound like he’s playing around and Eliott would like to live until he graduates, at least. 

To Nigel’s credit, he does look like he’s regretting everything he’s said right about now. Maybe part of it’s the bleeding nose but Eliott would bet it’s mostly due to the pissed off expression Lucas is currently wearing. 

“Sit,” Lucas repeats. Eliott sits with only minor grumbling. “You.” He directs his scathing voice towards Nigel who’s halfway to quaking by now. Eliott scoffs, the guy wouldn’t survive a day as Lucas’ boyfriend. “Go to the nurse.”

“You’re making me go alone?” Nigel squeaks out.

“Want him to hold your fucking hand or something?” Eliott can’t help but pitch in, biting back the rest of his words when Lucas levels him with a look. 

“Shut up.” Lucas rubs a hand all over his hair, making a bigger mess out of them. “You know what?” he says, chuckling a little maniacally, “I don’t even want to deal with either of you.”

And then he just takes off to the end of the hall. Eliott, for the second time within the hour, falls all over himself to follow. He still hasn’t apologized and he has to do it now. 

“Lucas, I am so fucking sorry,” he blurts out once they’re alone at the stairwell. Eliott’s still standing by the door, hesitant to keep going as Lucas eyes him from the bottom of the stairs. “I was a dick on Friday and even before that I— I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

“Okay.” Eliott’s head snaps up, and Lucas laughs, backing up until he hits the wall, the distance between them ever increasing. “Okay, I just. I just don’t get it. Why did you go after me if you were just going to ignore me in campus? And why did you go for someone else while I… while my dumb ass finally thought… I mean, I know you aren’t exactly a date to marry type of guy but come on, me and her? At the same time? Why?”

Eliott shakes his head against the questions, words stuck at the tip of his tongue, refusing to come out. He has so many and too little to say all at once. He wants to say that Lucas scares him so he’d taken the coward’s way out. He wants to say that he only did it to prove something to himself— wants to say that he failed to prove that exact something to himself.

“I freaked out, okay? I just, I didn’t— I don’t know how to handle you,” he forces out, voice small, vaguely aware that none of that likely made a smidgen of sense. Even so, he makes his way down the stairs with no protests coming from Lucas. 

“And?” Lucas prompts, sounding slightly less murderous this time.

“And what?” Eliott steps down the last stair, finally on level ground with him. 

“That— that’s it?” 

“I don’t know…” 

A long silence follows, like Lucas is waiting for him to continue. But it quickly becomes apparent that no follow up is coming through. “Nice. Okay. Good talk,” Lucas snorts, “see you around.” 

“Wait, wait.” Eliott truly hates himself for losing words when he needs them most. “Lucas, please, I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him up every time he wants to lay it all out in the open— a well groomed defence mechanism, maybe. And the easy solution is to shift the blame away from himself, remind Lucas that Eliott’s free to do whatever he wants as long as he’s not committed to one particular person, but he knows that’s not the point here. What Lucas wants to hear is something that Eliott is yet to admit even in the safety of his own head.

The fire exit door opens to mild chattering from a group of girls heading up the stairs and Eliott doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t care about how this might look like to them. Lucas, on the other hand, takes it as an opportunity to shove past Eliott. 

“Better fix that then,” Lucas whispers, drawing close yet maintaining it so that not a single part of them is touching. “Cause you can think all you want, Eliott, but you’ll never have me.” 

Looking into his eyes, Eliott understands the phenomena of even the warmest blue oceans being unable to hide the cold black down under if you only push deep enough. They brush shoulders as Lucas slips inside the door, leaving Eliott to stand alone on the landing, struck speechless.

::

::

Eliott’s figured it out, you know. The big elusive formula to avoiding heartbreak.

He’s sitting on Sofiane’s couch, a bag of ice pressed to his smarting nose. He doesn’t think it’s broken but then again, it’s gone too numb for him to really tell. 

Going numb. That’s it, that’s the formula. 

It’s worked out so, so well for him. People can say shit all they want but Eliott still thinks he’s lived some of his best years ever since he just stopped caring. Except somewhere along the way, he’d made a mistake, had possibly gotten too complacent, too confident with the life he’s gotten used to and now—

He’s tripped up. Because he sure as hell is the furthest thing from numb right now. 

And it honestly hurts like a fucking trainwreck.

You’ll never have me.

He squeezes his eyes shut, welcoming the sting that comes with the movement. “Sof,” he calls out, a little nasal from how careful he is to not agitate his injury. 

“Yeah?” The cushions dip under Sofiane’s weight and Eliott feels a glass of water and some painkillers being shoved into his hand. 

“Why did you wait so long for Imane?” 

His question goes unanswered long enough for Eliott to remove the ice bag off his face.

“What?” Sofiane asks, rightly confused.

Eliott sighs, “You’ve had a crush on her since before high school. It’s not like you’re ugly—”

A snort, “Well thanks.”

“—and there were lots of easier options,” Eliott continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Plus we’re friends with Idriss! Isn’t that, I don’t know, intimidating?” 

“I’m not looking for an easy relationship, Eli, I want a real one.” Sofiane shrugs. “Why would I be intimidated? Idriss is nice and I haven’t done anything wrong so it’s not like—” 

Eliott looks up when Sofiane cuts himself off, watching the morbid realization settle over his features. “What?” He might as well play dumb for as long as he can. 

“Who did you get in a fight with?” 

“I told you, some punk with a hero complex.” 

“Over what?” 

He puts his nearly melted bag down and reaches for the glass of water, taking his time in swallowing down the painkillers. “Nothing.”

“Eliott, I can’t help you if you won’t tell the truth.”

“Who says I need help with anything?”

“Uh, the fact that you came here with a bleeding nose for starters?” Sofiane shakes his head, watching Eliott practically drown himself with his glass of water. “Eliott.”

“Hm?”

“Please tell me you listened to what I told you at that party.”

Oh god, he really should’ve gone to Idriss. There’d be less sympathy and more laughing but at least Idriss doesn’t know that Eliott’s maybe slightly a little more than attracted to Lucas. 

“What party?”

“Stop acting dumb!”

“I’m not!” 

A pillow is thrown at the crown of his head but it thankfully misses his face, and Sofiane sounds like he’s laughing more than anything, so Eliott figures it’s safe to drop the act. “Okay, fine, no, I didn’t listen.”

“Ugh, Eliott.”

“I know. And I fucked up.”

“Already? It’s been less than a month.” 

“I know, fuck.” 

“So what happened?”

Eliott shrugs, getting up to toss his ice bag in the sink. “Nothing. He told me to leave him alone.” 

Sofiane’s got a strange constipated look on his face. Good to know some of his friends have that much faith in him. “Wait, Lucas said to leave him alone?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

He returns to the living room and drops back down on the couch. “Unless ‘why can’t you just leave me alone’ has another secret meaning I’m not aware of then yes, I’m very sure.” 

Sofiane whistles lowly. 

“It was my fault though,” Eliott admits, poking at the threads peeking from the cushion covers. “He saw me and Eleanor.” 

“Oh.” Sofiane actually looks a little apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“It’s fine, nobody forced me to approach her. And I said some shitty stuff too so it’s not like it was all because of that.” 

“Adrien doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“Mhm.” Eliott pulls at the ends of his hair, only feeling slightly better now that someone else is privy to his little secret. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I mean, nothing happened right? So is it so bad to just move on from this?” 

“Yeah. Problem is that I don’t want to move on.” 

Hearing that, Sofiane straightens his posture, turning fully on the couch so that his whole body is faced towards Eliott. He sees enough of Sofiane’s giddy smile from his peripheral to feel like he’s just activated the guy’s slumber party mode. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Sofiane goads, grin widening when Eliott responds with a groan. 

“Shut up.”

“No, really, is the Eliott Demaury actually crushing on someone right now?”

Gross understatement. “I will eat all the food in your fridge if you don’t stop.” 

Sofiane laughs him off, arms swaying about as he wiggles in his spot and damn, are the guys really going to be so happy to see Eliott catching feelings? Well, probably not Adrien considering the context but still. 

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” Sofiane stops his bird mating dance and schools his expression into somewhat of a serious one. 

“Which part of he told me to leave him alone did you miss?” 

“Fuck, that’s right eh?” Lip caught between his teeth, Sofiane peers up at Eliott like he’s got something to say but is holding back for whatever reason. Eliott narrows his eyes at him until he continues with a hesitant, “How about give it some time? And then shoot him a text message? No harm in asking for one more chance, it’s a yes or no question.”

“He has me blocked on Instagram though, and he never gave me his phone number.”

“Oh my god.” 

“Yeah.” Eliott thunks his head back down on the couch, fingers busy tracing invisible patterns on the covers. “How did Idriss react when he found out about your crush on Imane?” 

Sofiane shrugs, slumping down on the space beside Eliott. “He got all winky and said he’d put in a good word.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” A pause, and then socked feet poke against his, annoying enough to have Eliott looking away from the very interesting ceiling Sofiane’s apartment has. “But I also don’t have a, uh, colourful relationship history like you so… no offence.” 

Eliott blindly throws a cushion in Sofiane’s direction and relishes in the squawk that follows. 

“But hey?” Sofiane continues when Eliott doesn’t say anything in response, “let it rest for a while, Eli. If you still feel the same after that, then at least you’ll know it’s really serious this time.” 

He already knows. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Eliott.”

“Hm?”

“You weren’t always like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Eliott isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say in return, but it seems like Sofiane isn’t looking for a response anyway. “Adrien’s known you forever and yeah, the past couple of years might be at the forefront of our minds right now but we know you’re a good guy. Adri knows that the most.” 

Eliott quirks an eyebrow and Sofiane raises his hands, palms up as he shrugs. 

“All I’m saying is that things might not be as bad as you think they are, okay?” 

“Okay.” Eliott still thinks it’s pretty bad, but he’s not going to argue against a source for hope. 

::

::

Eliott wishes he could say he gets productive for the next two weeks that follows but really, all he’s done is drink coffee, pretend to start on his assignments, and miss Lucas’ snarky messages. Not necessarily in that order. 

Sofiane’s taken pity on him five days in and sometimes lets Eliott borrow his phone to pine over Lucas’ Instagram posts. Granted, Lucas doesn’t post much but the one photo he put up of himself looking bored at the skate park is enough to last Eliott for a few more days. 

He’s very much aware that he’s being wildly pathetic, rejecting parties left and right (he already knows they’d be boring anyway), rejecting dates left and right— also potentially boring, but he’s mostly afraid of further proving to himself that Lucas has already ruined him for everyone else and they haven’t even kissed yet— or hugged, for that matter. Pathetic indeed.  

On Friday, though, he gives into Idriss’ well-meaning and most likely accidentally set up date with one of his classmates. If only to ward off any suspicions from how weird he’s acting. Adrien’s been side eyeing him a little too much for comfort these days. 

So he’s on this date and the guy’s very cute but he’s also talking about American football like it’s a gift from the gods themselves. Eliott knows nothing about American football. This would usually be the time when Eliott would excuse himself to the bathroom and speed google some facts on the subject so as to impress his date. But right now, he doesn’t care about being unimpressive at all. 

The guy, Aron, is an exchange student from California— all tanned skin and pretty smiles and endearing accent. He’s probably what the kids these days would call a snack.

It’s too bad Eliott can’t help but think that Lucas’ smaller silhouette would look beautiful against the red backdrop of the massive booths they’re sitting in. How he keeps wishing to brush his hand against soft brown hair every time he glances up, hands lying limp on his lap when he’s met with the blond of Aron’s neatly styled coif instead. The blue of Aron’s eyes isn’t quite deep enough and Eliott can pinpoint exactly which shade it is on his dried up palette at home. He still can’t figure out the right mix for Lucas’. 

Anyway, the point is that he’s losing his mind. 

When they reach a short lull in conversation, Eliott rushes to say, “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” And proceeds to lock himself in a stall, sit on the toilet lid, and stare at the lights blankly. 

The bathroom door slams open not long after and Eliott stands up on instinct, ready to remove himself from the vicinity should there be some kind of beef brewing, but only one set of footsteps pace to where the sinks are.

“Hey, you still there?” The person says, presumably into his phone.

Eliott reaches to unlock the stall, he’s had enough eavesdropped conversations to last him a lifetime thank you very much—

“Lulu? Can you hear me clearly?” 

You have got to be kidding me. Fate must think this is funny. He must be some kind of joke to the deities or something. 

“I’m at work, Lucas,” the guy says regretfully enough and Eliott does pull the stall door open then, keeping his head down as he tugs on the knobs of the sink, washing his hands for lack of any other excuses to stay. “Where’s Yann? Didn’t you guys go together?” The tap shuts off, Eliott reaches for the paper towels. “Oh— oh, damn, good for him but— no, you should stay there and I’ll call your brother okay— what do you mean no? Lucas, shut up you sound shitfaced.” 

If Eliott’s learned anything from his accidental sleuthing adventures, it’s that Lucas is a terribly reckless drunk. Finally raising his head, Eliott meets eyes with Lucas’ blond friend through the mirror. It’s admittedly a little funny how he gapes wordlessly at the sight of Eliott. 

Not one to miss an opportunity, Eliott takes advantage of the obvious distraction and snatches the phone from the guy’s hand — Arthur, his name tag says — he’ll apologize profusely later but Eliott really doesn’t want a repeat of Lucas going missing for an entire weekend.

“Where are you?” he says into the phone, noting that there’s no blaring music coming from the other line. If Lucas is where Eliott thinks he is right now then at least he’s outside the house already. 

“Whoa.” Lucas’ voice is slightly distorted coming from the other line but Eliott still sighs at the first sound of it after the too-long silence. “You’re not Arthur.” 

“No, so where are you?” 

“Nooo, where are you?” Lucas giggles into the phone and Eliott has to suppress a smile. Fuck, this is serious but Lucas is being an idiot. “You sound like someone I know.” If he’s being this friendly with Eliott then it only means that he’s past the point of tipsy and well into happy drunk territory. 

“Wanna take a guess?” Eliott easily dodges when Arthur tries to grab his phone, the latter flinching back in surprise when Eliott has the gall to put a finger to his lips and shush him. 

“Mmmm,” Lucas stalls, but Eliott knows he’s got the right answer. He tries not to dwell on the fact that drunk Lucas remembering his voice sends another one of cupid’s arrows straight into his heart. “Weed guy.” 

And Eliott laughs, inexplicably happy about that. “Where are you, Lucas?” 

“I don’t know…” His syllables drag as he speaks and Eliott hears some shuffling and then a worrying crash, before Lucas’ laughter can be heard from a distance. “There are two blue houses!” 

Yeah, Eliott knows exactly where he is. “Stay there, okay?”

“Why?” 

“I’m—” But he’s not sure if Lucas would only run off if given that information. “We’ll get you home.” He doesn’t wait for another response, returning the phone back to a stunned Arthur. “Remind him to stay where he is every few minutes, god knows how many times he’ll forget.” 

Eliott dashes out the restaurant like a man on a mission, bullshitting about some urgent emergency as he passes by a confused Aron. He feels bad, really, but if he doesn’t trust sober Lucas to follow any given instructions, then he trusts drunk Lucas even less. 

When Eliott gets off the bus and jogs the rest of the way to the house, it’s a relief to find Lucas’ hooded figure sitting on the pavement across from where the party is still obviously going strong.

“Lucas.” No answer, Lucas doesn’t even stir. “Lucas, come on, let’s get you home.” He reaches out gingerly, testing the waters by poking at Lucas’ arm. 

“Go ‘way,” Lucas says, sounding a lot less friendly than he’d been on the phone.

Eliott looks around and spots two empty beer bottles beside Lucas. He blinks down at them, having a hard time understanding if Lucas is actually even more drunk than he’d been earlier. 

“You can’t stay out here.” Eliott sighs, crouching down in front of him. 

“Well why not?” Lucas lifts his head off his curled arms, unfocused eyes glaring at a spot just above Eliott’s right ear. 

Without much else to do, Eliott sighs again. “Let’s go.” He tries to tug at Lucas’ sleeves to get him to stand, but only succeeds in making Lucas stumble backwards from how fast he tries to get away.

“Don’t touch me, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Oh god, he’s dealing with a child. “I’ll tell Adrien.” 

“You won’t tell Adri shit!” Lucas stands up, finally, but only to walk up to Eliott and point unsteady fingers to his face. “You’re not even supposed to know where I am! He doesn’t even know I like— he doesn’t know you played me! You. Won’t. Tell. Him. Shit.” He pronounces each word with a hard jab to Eliott’s chest. 

And okay, fuck, he’s got a point. “Fine, suit yourself.” Eliott steps back, hesitating, but maybe it’ll be smarter to have someone else take Lucas home instead. He turns around, looking through his contacts to see if Sofiane or Idriss would be available. 

“Fine!” Lucas screams from behind him and Eliott looks over his shoulder in time to catch Lucas sitting back down on the ground, hands pressed to his eyes. 

No. Eliott can’t walk away from him like this again. 

Eliott marches back to where he came from and promptly throws Lucas over his shoulder, barely staggering even when Lucas starts kicking and punching as much as his drunken limbs would allow. 

“Let me down!”

“Not until you behave yourself.”

“Now!”

“You won’t get anywhere like this and you know it.”

“I fucking—” Lucas slumps down, body steadily getting heavier as he stops struggling in Eliott’s hold. “I hate you,” he mutters softly and that, moronically enough, is what makes Eliott stumble. He tightens his arms around Lucas, pausing to realign his balance. “I hate you,” Lucas continues, sniffing in between words. “Why are you even here? I told you to stop already.” 

Eliott slows his walk, Lucas’ hitching breaths sending freezing pelts straight to his chest. They stop moving once they reach a corner, Eliott lowering Lucas down so he can stand on his own two feet, but Lucas immediately curls up, crouching on the ground like standing is too much of a chore at the moment. 

“Hey, I’m sorry okay?” he whispers back, bending at the knees so that they’re level with each other. “I promise I just want to get you home safe, that’s it.” He digs around his pockets for his phone, placing the device inside Lucas’ hands once he finds it. “Here, Adrien is speed dial 3, call him any time you feel you need to. I don’t care if he yells at me, I won’t walk away from you again.” 

Lucas fiddles with Eliott’s phone, running his thumb along the screen once before clutching it to his chest. “I can’t go home.” He blinks, a tear escaping from his eye. 

Eliott brushes it away before he can stop himself. “Why not?” 

“My parents think I’m sleeping over at Yann’s and mom will be so disappointed if I come home like this,” he says miserably, more tears running down his cheeks. 

Ah. Shit. “Come on, get on my back.” 

Once Lucas is settled on his back, now much calmer than earlier, Eliott continues walking, but turns to a different direction this time. 

“Where are we going?” Lucas asks drowsily, lips pressed into Eliott’s shoulder. 

Where indeed. 

::

::

Lucas is a near dead weight behind him when Eliott finally gets his door open. It’s a struggle when Lucas refuses to cooperate and lets his legs slide down every time Eliott lets go of them to search for his keys. But eventually they do make it inside. 

Eliott drops Lucas as gently as he can on the bed, huffing once he’s successfully done so without cracking any heads in the process. 

He roots around his closet for some clothes Lucas can use for the night when the sound of jackets and pants zipping startles him from the task. He turns around, eyes wild, when Lucas starts throwing his clothes — everything— off himself. 

Eliott almost wipes out when he slips on a sock in his rush to get to Lucas before the dumbass has the chance to remove his underwear off with his jeans.

“Stop, stop, hey.” Eliott catches Lucas’ hands, laughing when Lucas opens his eyes just to glare at him.

“It’s so hot.”

“It’s really not.” Eliott huffs another laugh, waiting until Lucas’ hands go slack in his before letting go, but he does help remove Lucas’ jeans when it’s clear that the latter is going to stay irritated until they’re off. 

It’s a workout to get him to wear a shirt, what with Lucas being hellbent on removing as many clothes as possible. Eliott knows it’s bound to get cold in the middle of the night, though, and he will not be responsible for Lucas catching a cold in his bed. 

“You’re so nice,” Lucas mumbles once he’s settled, looking warm and cozy in Eliott’s loose shirt. He’s so fucking cute, and it doesn’t help when Eliott feels those arms sliding around his neck, tugging him forward. Lucas doesn’t use much force to have Eliott following along helplessly, but it’s not like it would ever take all that much to have Eliott willingly inching into his space. 

Dredging up whatever’s left of his common sense, Eliott anchors his hands on either side of Lucas to keep somewhat of a distance between them. 

He shakes his head, arms trembling not only from the strain of keeping his weight off of Lucas. “No, you’re just drunk.” 

Lucas smiles, eyes half mast, still pretty under the hint of moonlight. His fingers brush maddening strokes over Eliott’s hair. “Eliott?” 

“Hm?”

“Why have you never kissed me?” 

Eliott’s heart thuds a frantic rhythm in his chest. “You never let me, baby.” 

The fingers in his hair stop moving, and Lucas’ eyes flutter close, Eliott watching the shadows of his lashes flirt along smooth cheeks. “I’ll let you now.” 

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down inch by minuscule inch. Lucas’ breath is warm and smells of alcohol, but Eliott knows he only has to duck down and bury his face in the space between his neck and shoulder to get his fill of the scent he’s truly been missing.

He doesn’t. Maybe in the future he’d have the privilege to do so. Hopefully.

Eliott lets their noses touch, light and fleeting, before he leans up and drops a gentle kiss over Lucas’ forehead. 

“Goodnight, Lucas.” 

[lovedsammy]

such sweet sorrow; [sastiel coda to 15.03]

I’m mad at Dean rn, so I wrote a vent fic. This is not very Dean friendly (following canon). Wrote this in less than an hour so….. not very well done, and probably has mistakes everywhere. I can’t bring myself to care, lol.

@casquecest @wendibird @avalonsilver

SUMMARY: Sam finds out that Dean caused Cas to leave. 15.03 coda. Some Sam and Rowena feels. Angst galore. Mostly Sastiel. :)

READ HERE on Ao3

He can still feel the grasp of the blade between his fingers, the plunge into soft flesh, see Rowena’s blood drying on his hands. He can still see her, her face wet with tears, pale from a combination of the blood loss and fear, her entire body trembling. And yet, her expression had never wavered in its softness, her smile warm and fond as she prepared for her final swan song.

Goodbye, boys.

It’s a memory on repeat in slow motion, even from behind his closed lids when Dean speaks to him.

“What you did, Rowena….”

He remembers the way her lithe body had fallen into the mouth of Hell, swallowing her hole and closing behind her like a suction hose. She’d looked beautiful in death, her red hair flowing behind her, dressed in her pink, flowy gown. She’d looked like something out of a fairytale, Sam thinks. It’s an odd association, one that is quite unlike who Rowena was, but it’s how Sam chooses to remember her.

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t. But he wishes that, more than anything, he’d had.

And beneath the loss of her, there are so many more welts festering in his heart.

Sam hurts, and hurts, and hurts.

God, when would it end? Well, maybe asking their almighty creator that question was a pointless task. God had no intention of letting this end, he knew. At least not yet. When were things ever that simple? All of his life, his and Dean’s, he’d existed as a pawn for someone else’s game, had been a toy to break and toss and throw away without a care for the breakage. His and Dean’s lives were a tale of endless torment -- sometimes physical, mostly mental. It felt like it would never be over. No matter how much God got sick of them, not even if he was gone. God took a personal enjoyment in their suffering.

You’re enjoying this.

He sighs, gathers himself, and decides to leave his room for the first time in hours to see what Cas is up to. He needs a distraction. He’s pretty sure that Cas does, too. The pain of losing Jack is still raw and heavy, and it would overwhelm almost everything else if it weren’t followed by even more of it. His mother. Jack. Rowena. Ketch. So many losses in such a short amount of time that Sam craves just a little to be able to turn himself off, to feel nothing at all. But that thought reminds him of his soulless days, and those are days that can stay far in the past. But Cas… Cas has lost just as much as he has, the boy that both of them loved but who was better suited to have Castiel as his father, in the end. Sam had lost that title when he’d agreed to lock the Nephilim up. But honestly, he thinks he’d lost it long before that.

He meets Dean in the library. 

“Hey,” Sam says, clearing his throat. 

Dean glances up and nods at him around his glass of whiskey. “Hey.” 

“Do you happen to know where Cas is?” Sam asks. “I checked his room, but he wasn’t there. Tried knocking on Jack’s too, thinking he might’ve - but…I didn’t really go in.” Sam stops himself. It was still too soon to think about Jack’s room. He fights the wave of nausea at the realization that everything of the boy’s was still there. The photo of Kelly, his clothes, his DVD’s and comic books. The box of cookie crisp tucked under his bed that he didn’t know that Sam had found but chosen not to bring up…. 

“He’s gone.” 

Sam’s world, spiraling in a haze of pain, comes to a screeching halt. “What?”

“Yeah, he left,” Dean says nonchalantly, and automatically, it gives Sam a bad feeling.

“Why? What happened?” 

Dean shrugs. “He didn’t wanna be here, and honestly? I didn’t really want him here, either. Do I need to say anything else?”

Sam’s a bit stunned by Dean’s disregard for their angelic friend. It was true that Dean and Cas had been having their problems lately (and long before that, really), but this new attitude from Dean concerning one of their last remaining allies rubs him the wrong way. 

“Wait. Don’t tell me that you’re seriously still pissed at him?” When Dean says nothing, he huffs.“Really? Our last angel friend - hell, one of our LAST friends, period, and you... what? You chase him off? You can’t really still be blaming him for Mom -”

“You damn right I’m blaming him for Mom, Sam,” Dean snaps. “Jack’s gone. He’s dead. He’s not here to answer for himself or to take responsibility for it. But Cas? He is. He played a part in that too. He didn’t tell us, he didn’t warn us that something was wrong with the kid! Cas hid that from us, just like he always does, and it ended with us paying the price! When something goes wrong with our lives, it’s usually him at the fucking forefront of it all!” 

Sam shakes his head, awed. “Tell me that you didn’t tell him that.” 

Dean snorts. “Does it matter if I did? He left, Sam. End of story. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. And we can take care of us.” 

And now Sam’s feeling ire to go along with the grief. 

“I can’t believe you. I know things are bad right now, Dean. But come on. Cas is our friend. He’s family. He’s been with us for the past eleven years and has saved both of our asses so many times. He’s been there, when no one else was. Cas had nothing to do with Mom, and it’s crap that you’re pinning that on him!” 

Dean rounds on him. “Sam, I know you’re upset about Rowena, but don’t. I’m allowed to feel how I do, all right?” 

“So am I,” Sam says defensively. “And I for one don’t blame Cas. You chasing him out of here was a choice you made, not me. I didn’t even -” He rakes a hand down his face, and then reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone. “You know what? Fine. You made Cas leave. I’m calling him back.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Do whatever the hell you want. I tell you this, if he does come back, I don’t want him anywhere near me. So make sure to tell him that.” 

“Yeah, that’s not an issue,” Sam growls, and he stalks away to his bedroom. 

He dials Cas’s number. 

It rings several times, but there’s no answer. Sam’s chest clenches in worry. He hopes that Cas is all right. A small part of him also hopes that the angel isn’t angry with him and is ignoring his calls just because of how Dean is acting. When after three attempts there is no response, Sam decides texting might be the next best approach. 

Cas, 

Hey. You left without even saying goodbye. I didn’t even know you were gone until just a couple of minutes ago. Listen, man, I’m sorry about Dean. The way he’s treating you right now is not fair at all. I made sure to let him know that. But I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you. I never have, never will. I hope I didn’t give you that impression. And I feel the need to apologize to you, Cas. I didn’t get a chance to say it before. I know I messed up with Jack, and I’m sorry. I’m going to regret what happened with him for the rest of my life. I loved him, too, and even though I was mad, I never wanted what happened to him to happen. I went to look for you because I know you’re in pain, too, and I hoped we could talk. If not about Jack, then anything. You’re my friend and I want to support you. Please, call me. Text me back. Don’t shut me out. And come home. Please. Dean’s not the only one who gets a say around here.

Sam. 

He waits for a long time, and starts to think that Cas has no intention of responding when his phone goes off. He answers before it’s even past the second ring. “Cas?”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says, and his voice sounds like he’s been crying. Or at least, close to it. Sam can’t blame him. He’s still hoarse himself. “I got your text.”

The simplicity of the statement almost makes Sam laugh, because yeah, he’d hope so. Classic Castiel. It made him even more appreciative of the times when things weren’t as complicated as they were now. “Yeah? Good. That’s good.” 

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks. 

Sam thinks about it, and just decides to be honest. “Awful,” He admits. “I feel like my chest is being crushed with everything that I’m feeling. I can’t really tune it out.” 

“You never really could,” Cas says gently. “You’ve always allowed yourself to feel, and to feel deeply. It’s always a relief to be able to see that side of you still hasn’t changed, even with all that you’ve been through.” 

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that, so he instead goes for the main reason he wanted to talk to Cas in the first place. 

“Cas,” He starts. “Come back. Please. We - I need you here. I want you here. We can just stay and hang in my room and watch Netflix, you don’t even need to see Dean -” 

“Sam, I don’t think I can do that,” Cas says despondently. “I’m sorry.”

Sam was expecting that response, but it stings nonetheless. 

“Please don’t make me lose you too,” Sam says, and God he hates how he chokes on the words, hates how his grief is still so apparent even when he’s trying to mask it. “I’ve already lost too much. Haven’t we both?” 

There’s a despairing sigh from Castiel. “Sam, you’re not losing me. Even if you don’t see me doesn’t mean that you will ever stop being my friend. That doesn’t just stop because of your brother.” 

“Exactly, so…”

“But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to subject myself to more of his animosity,” Cas says resolutely. “Listen to me. I care about you, about both of you, a great deal. And I can still do that without having to be there. You and Dean have each other. You’ll be just fine without me. You’ve done it before.”

I can’t do this alone. 

Yes, you can.

Well, I don’t want to. 

A different time, a different conversation. But Sam holds onto it, because it’s what he’s clinging to most right now. 

There had been a time that he and Dean had been entirely on their own. But that was more than a decade ago and they were different people then. They were just two young men - kids, really -  looking for their dad and trying to kill their mother’s murderer. 

“And what if I don’t want to, Cas?” Sam demands. “I’m tired of having every fucking thing decided for me. Who I talk to. Who my friends are. Who I can let live and who I have to kill myself. My entire life, my fate has been decided for me. Why can’t I decide for a change?” 

He pauses, huffing. “Look, Cas. It’s your call, okay? I want you here. I really do. But the question is, what do you want? If you really don’t want to come back, then I’ll just have to accept that.” 

Cas hesitates, mulling it over. “I’ll come back,” He promises. “Just not now. Not yet. I need time.”

“Okay,” Sam nods. He can hear the disappointment in his own voice, and remedies that. “Take all the time you need. You need to do what’s best for you.”

“Sam, I know I left in a hurry, and I should’ve talked to you before I did. I want to assure you that this has nothing to do with you,” The angel says softly. “I’m not angry with you. I was shocked that you would go along with locking up Jack, but I understand that when it comes to you and Dean, sometimes there’s an imbalance. You’re a mediator. That’s a primary part of who you are. You try to resolve problems. You felt that you’d messed up making choices when it comes to Jack, so you let Dean be the driver.” 

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he can say. Cas is more perceptive in ways than Sam can really appreciate sometimes, and he’s right. He vocalizes what Sam has not said even to himself.

“It was wrong that you did what you did. But I forgive you, Sam. I’m not harboring any negative thoughts towards you. We’re still friends, whether Dean is involved or not. You’re free to call me, or text me, whenever you wish. I’ll answer.” 

Sam closes his eyes, fighting another wave of emotion. “Yeah, me too. You be safe out there, all right? Take care of yourself? And call me if you need anything?”

“Of course.” 

“See you later, Cas.” 

“Take care, Sam.”

Sam hangs up and feels his heart shatter just a little more.