#oh my phone is dying thank christ i will finally know peace in this world

[ahgaseda]

two can keep a secret || chapter 07

⇥ synopsis : when your father reveals his intention to remarry, you find an unlikely confidant in Mark, your soon-to-be stepbrother, but what began as a revenge fling ironically becomes far more complicated...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Only the sound of forks and knives clinking against dishes filled the dining room. Your parents always insisted on at least one family dinner per week. It had been less than a day since your fight with Mark and now you were forced to sit across from him until everyone had cleared their plates.

Mark ate like a man starved, uncaring as he stuffed his face. Your father was no different. The men said nothing whilst they filled their stomachs. Meanwhile, you poked at your steak and Mark’s mother kept looking around the table.

“Did the two of you have a fight?” she asked suddenly.

You glanced up, like a deer in headlights. Mark didn’t slow down. He swallowed what was in his mouth and simply shook his head, as if anything between you and him was inconsequential.

His mother turned her gaze to you, expectant.

“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel very well,” you told her, offering a placating smile. It wasn’t a lie. Your stomach was in knots almost constantly since you saw those positive pregnancy tests.

“You do look pale, honey,” she crooned.

You swallowed nervously. Did you?

Mark looked up at that, giving you a scrutinizing glance. His first instinct was to worry. Had the fight and pregnancy scare stressed you to the point of illness? Before he could say something potentially damning, your father spoke up, “My daughter never complains of being sick.”

You could hear the concern in his voice.

“Don’t force yourself to eat if you feel unwell,” he continued. “You can be excused and go lie down if you need to.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, tears gathering in your eyes. You desperately wanted to get away from Mark. Rising from the table, you grabbed your plate and pushed your chair back into place. After discarding the uneaten food in the kitchen, you placed a kiss on your father’s cheek.

Then, you bolted. Locking the bedroom door behind you, you hid yourself beneath your blankets, crying until you nearly fell asleep. How were you going to tell your father that you were pregnant?

Mark set down his fork and leaned back against his chair. Was being in the same room with him that torturous for you? Because it damn sure was for him, but at least he managed to endure it.

He missed the feel of your skin and his fingers in your soft hair. The way you laughed when he tickled you or showed you something funny on his phone. How you snuggled up to him when you were sleepy and tangled your legs through his when you were cold. And the handful of times you had spoken his name in your sleep, letting him know he was on your mind even in your dreams.

Mark sharply cleared his throat and decided he needed to bury himself balls deep in another cunt until he forgot about you.

Jackson was reliable for two things: hyping up his friends when they felt like dying and organizing booze-filled parties on extremely short notice. Mark was in need of both, though he favored the latter.

When you stepped out of your bedroom, Mark was doing the same across the hall. Another downside you had forgotten about; your rooms faced each other.

You stopped in your tracks, still clutching the doorknob. Mark finished pulling on his leather jacket and met your eyes.

“Jacks is having a party,” Mark said, emotionless.

That stung. Jackson always texted you an invite to his parties. If he hadn’t, that meant Mark told him not to, which meant Mark didn’t want you to know how fucked up he was going to get.

Or that he was going to fuck around with other girls.

Flashing a brief, awkward smile, you told him, “Have fun.” Then, you brushed by him before any more words could pass between you.

Mark stood there, watching you go and battling with himself. Guilt manifested first, but he shook his head, hoping to shake the feeling away.

You hopped in the car and drove off into the night. You wanted to stay at your best friend’s place for as long as you could get away with. You didn’t want to be in the same house as Mark for a while. The secret was smothering you. Only you knew about the baby in your womb. Every time you laid eyes on Mark, you remembered you were carrying a piece of him inside you. And he had no idea.

Mark preferred drowning in alcohol than in his sorrows. Even as he chased another shot, throwing it back with a grimace, he thought about you. He couldn’t shake the image of you in his head, naked in his arms as you lulled him to sleep.

And now he couldn’t have you. He fucked it up.

You had given him a peace Mark didn’t think he was capable of anymore and it was gone as quickly as it had come. Gripping another shot tightly in his hand, Mark stared off into the distance as a realization sank in.

Jackson appeared at this side, clapping a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “How goes it, brother?”

“I’m in love with her,” Mark whispered.

Jackson froze. He knew exactly who his best friend was talking about. Rubbing his chin, Jackson glanced around to make sure no one was listening in and whispered, “I didn’t invite her. Like you wanted.”

“Good,” Mark said, downing another shot.

“Mark, do you need to talk about…,” Jackson started.

Mark rose from his seat and growled, “Where’s Leah? I know she’s around here somewhere.”

“Yeah…,” Jackson trailed, voice sympathetic. Leah was known for being easy. She was also known for having her eyes on Mark since the first time she saw him.

Mark spotted her in the crowd and headed toward her without another word. He approached her while she danced, wrapped an arm around her waist, and whispered in her ear, “Still want me to fuck your brains out?”

Leah couldn’t drag him upstairs fast enough.

Mark kissed her hard and rough, but she wasn’t you. Her hands felt like ice against his warm skin. Her legs were stiff around his waist. Mark could only picture you beneath him.

Leah, on the other hand, was ready to devour him. She stripped down to her bra under him and unbuckled his pants, reaching for his cock and letting out a moan. She gripped his half-hard shaft and nipped at his neck.

Then, Mark did the unthinkable.

He whispered your name.

Leah grabbed his face, pushing him back and scowling at him with wide, shocked eyes. “What did you just say?”

Mark blinked through his tequila-induced daze. “What?”

“Oh my god, you said her name,” she exclaimed in horror and quickly rising jealousy. “Your fucking stepsister!”

“No, I didn’t,” he stammered.

“I heard it, Mark. Holy shit. Are you screwing her?”

“What? No!”

Leah scrambled out of the bed, snatching her shirt and tugging it back on like she had finally discovered shame. “That’s disgusting.”

Rage and hurt boiled inside Mark until it spilled over and promptly exploded. Angrily, he shouted, “She’s not my stepsister!”

Leah blinked, a twisted smile pulling at her lips. Rather than deny, he justified it. “Oh, you are so fucked.”

Mark understood by the look on her face that life as he knew it was officially over. “You have no idea…,” he huffed in defeat.

You were a mixture of relieved and devastated that you didn’t see Mark at classes the next day. There were a few times your schedules overlapped and you would pass each other in the hall. He must have gotten drunk enough to warrant a hangover from hell.

But Leah made sure to shoulder check you as the two of you crossed paths.

“What the hell…?” you snapped, ready to slug her for staggering you backwards.

“Slut,” she snarled back, shoving past you to continue on her way.

You stood there shell-shocked. Leah never went toe-to-toe with you and you were tempted to pound her into the concrete as you protectively put a hand over your lower stomach.

Fortunately, your best friend appeared and looped her arm through yours, whispering, “Honey, haven’t you heard the latest gossip?”

You rolled your eyes. Never did you give a shit about gossip. “You know I have zero social media presence.”

She pulled you behind a corner and spoke in hushed tones, “It’s about you!”

“Me? What did I do?”

She bit her lip and told you, “Mark was in bed with Leah at Jackson’s party last night.”

Your heart sank somewhere below your chest, into some bottomless pit never to crawl back out again. “Oh.”

“And he said your name!”

The world came to a grinding halt around you.

Mark said your name while he was in bed with another woman. For all you knew he was finishing inside her and he literally called out your name.

You would think about the implications of that later, but for now, your focus was on the fact that it was becoming common knowledge on campus. Which meant word was spreading like wildfire.

“Oh god,” your friend murmured, saying your name in disbelief.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“I see your face. It’s true. You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

There was a pause while you swallowed the lump in your throat. Eventually, you muttered, “It’s complicated.”

She tilted her head and tried to be gentle. “Sweetie, I know he’s technically not your stepbrother yet, but your parents are getting married. It’s happening.”

You seethed, “I’m well aware of that.”

Your best friend hesitated, watching you carefully and noting the emotions gathering on your face. “How long has it been going on?”

You didn’t hesitate to answer, “Since they got engaged.”

She gaped. “For Christ’s sake.”

“He made it better, okay? We feel the same way about them getting married and it just… we were gonna get into self-destructive behaviors anyway. Turns out fucking each other was the most convenient.”

It was hard to tell who you were trying to convince.

She simpered, but certainly didn’t condone it. “You’re in love with him.”

You wanted to scowl. “Am I?”

“When I said he was in bed with Leah, you were devastated.”

You shook your head and shrugged. “I just felt betrayed, that’s all.”

She placed a tender hand on your arm. “They didn’t screw. Apparently they were about to and he dropped your name. She hauled ass out of there.”

That surprised you.

You held up your phone, expecting a text or missed call from Mark and finding nothing. “I need to go,” you told your friend, bidding her goodbye and heading for your car before she could grill you for more juicy gossip.

Hopping behind the wheel, your phone rang and you immediately answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, we got your message about seeing Dr. James. You’re not due for your well woman’s exam just yet, so I was calling to see what kind of appointment you needed.”

It was your doctor’s office. You forgot you called.

Fighting back tears, you looked around the parking lot and whispered, “I… took a few home pregnancy tests and they were all positive.”

“I understand,” said the receptionist kindly. “I can work you in the day after tomorrow. She can confirm the pregnancy and discuss prenatal care or other options with you. Does that sound alright?”

Voice trembling, you replied, “Yes, that would be great. I really appreciate it.”

Meanwhile, Mark ditched the rest of his classes to drown himself in a video game. He was screwed, there was no doubt about it. He checked his phone again for the thousandth time - still no word from you.

He let his head fall back with a groan. You would have heard by now. The girls you tended to hang with were some of the mouthiest he had ever known. They would be itching to spill the tea all over you.

There was a knock at Mark’s bedroom door. He set the controller down and leapt up anxiously, expecting it to be you. God knows, he just wanted you to hold him and lie to him that everything would be alright.

When Mark opened the door, his heart sank.

There stood your father and his cheeks were the color of the fires of Hell itself.

“Mark,” he said stiffly.

“Yes, sir.” Mark held his breath, his heart beating violently against his ribs.

Your father clenched his jaw and hissed, “How long have you been having sex with my daughter?”

chapter 06 ⇤ chapter 07 ⇥ chapter 08

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This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[sleepywinchester]

Behind The Story S2 - Pt 29

Summary: Another shooting season is ending, after being apart for what it seemed like years, you are meeting Jensen in Vancouver. 

Author: sleepywinchester (prev. deanwinchester-af)

Characters: Jensen, Reader, Jared, Gen and Cast Cameos.

Pairings: Single!Jensen x Actress!Reader (Nina Dobrev = Faceclaim)

Words: 1.5k

Beta: N/A

Warnings: implied smut :)

Visual:  n/a

Disclaimer: NO HATE TOWARDS DANNEEL!

We wuv her in this acc but this is just for science lol

Author’s Note: Hola everybody! I hope everyone is staying safe in their homes and that your families and elderly ones are safe as well. For my fellow essential workers, hang in there! I know its hard to be working through this difficult times but this shall be over soon. Hope this chapter entertains you guys :’) I am going to be honest, the last chapters of BTS is just a bunch of behind the story details and more about them and how are they living their life. Not drama, not really a plot, just experiences. I didn’t want to add a whole crazy plot as  I am finishing this story. Either way, I hope you guys still like it. I wanna know all the feelings. As always;  hope you guys like this one ♥

>>> side note: these are the last chapters ever i am not adding anyone to the tag list.

Title: 

MASTERLIST

It has been a couple of months since the last time you were in an airplane. Before taking a break from being a full-time actress, you practically lived inside of one. Since you became a full-time stay at home mom, it was very rare for you to be inside of one of these steel birds. You found flying oddly satisfying and peaceful, which is otherwise for most people. It has been three weeks since you saw Jensen and you could not wait a single day more without being in his arms. The entire long-distance relationship was harder than usual. The wait was going to be over soon, soon as thirty more minutes you were going to see your husband and you could not be happier. 

You and Jensen have been planning a “baecation” for months and the date was finally here. JJ was home in Austin with your mother and father who practically moved to your house to take care of her. It was bittersweet to leave her in the states but the trip wasn’t really toddler-friendly. Instead, you had committed to planning a second vacation, a family one, before the summer ended. 

Your thoughts were up in the clouds when a ‘bop’ noise caught your attention.

Jensen: “Can’t wait to be in Africa with you.” 

A smile formed on your face at the message from Jensen. 

“I can’t wait to be in our hotel tub with you ;)’ You replied feeling slightly flirtatious. 

“Do not  start with your frisky texts when you’re hundreds of miles above the ground…. Too far from me to do anything about it.”

That message made you chuckle and caught the attention of the elderly lady next to you. Shaking your head, you leaned more against the window and continued to text your husband. 

“Why not? If you think about it, I am just building the mood...” 

You glanced at the three dots for a couple of seconds before receiving a reply. 

“Yes, but we won’t be alone until later today…” 

You bit your lower lip, “Then I’ll just have to make up for the time lost.”

“You’re something else…” He replied.

“And you love me for that,” you smiled after sending send.

You looked at the three dots transform into a new text from him.

 “I do. Gotta go back to shooting. To. Be. Continued…” Jensen sent.

In that moment something came up to your mind, a marvelous and sexy idea. You haven’t done this in months, but it wasn’t surely your first time trying it. Standing up from your seat and giving the elderly lady an apologetic smile, you went into the plane’s bathroom. 

You were wearing a buttoned white top, looking at your reflection in the tiny mirror your smirked. This was going to be the start of a romantic vacation. After undoing most of the buttons of your top, you adjusted your breast in a provocative way. You were wearing your hair down and to the side, adding a little bit of spice by running your fingers through your hair and making it a messy look. Grabbing your phone, you opened the camera app and snapped a couple of provocative pictures of yourself. 

Opening Jensen’s conversation, you inserted the pictures and wrote. “Gosh, I reaaaaally can't wait to see you.” And after that the very provocative photo was sent to your husband. 

You fixed yourself into a more presentable matter and turned your hair into a bun. Walking back you smirked as you found your seat and leaned against the window. Doing that felt like you had some sort of dirty secret. The smirk on your face grew wider when you heard your phone beep. 

“You will be the death of me woman.” Jensen replied.

“I am just trying to show how much I miss you,” you replied.

After that reply you let your husband go to work and you took a power nap because you were sure there was no way you were going to have any sleep tonight. 

/ / / 

“Hey Cliff!” you greeted with enthusiasm as you got into the black SUV. 

Cliff was picking you up at the airport since Jensen was still shooting on set. It has been a while since he drove you anywhere and you were very happy to be in his presence. He smiled and continued to put your suitcases in the trunk. 

“How was the flight?” Cliff asked.

You pouted for a second then bit your lower lip as you glance outside the window. It took you a couple seconds to figure out a way to explain the previous semi-frisky event. 

“It was… good,” you curved the corners of your lips. 

He shot a glance through the rear mirror and smirked. “That’s good, my last flight was full of turbulence,” he said.

“I am so happy that wasn’t the case for mine,” you replied. 

“How’s JJ?” 

You instantly smiled, “She’s good and very happy with my overly consenting parents. I am telling you those two give her enough candy to crawl a twenty story building.”

Cliff laughed at your comment, “That’s what grandparents are for.”

You chuckled, “Agreed.”

At that moment your mother called you via Facetime. Picking the call the first face you see is your daughter’s face covered in chocolate. 

“See? Told you she would be eating some candy by now,” you say as you looked at the screen. “Hey baby! How are you?”

“Good,” she replied with her small cheeks stuffed with candy. “Candy!!” She showed the chocolate bar. 

“I see,” you said with a smile, “grandma giving you all the candy you want?”

JJ nodded her head and passed the phone to your mom.

“Mom,” you said, “she won’t let you guys sleep tonight.” 

Your mom shrugged with no care in the world, “I don’t care - I will stay up until tomorrow for her.”

“You say that now,” you said with a smirk. “She looks too cute.”

JJ was sitting on top of your mom’s lap, bouncing with happiness as she ate her piece of candy. 

“She is the cutest,” your mom kissed the top of her blonde head. 

Tonight was the last night of Jensen shooting for season fourteen. It wasn’t the last season but you surely felt like the time was coming. The feeling was very bittersweet. This show was the beginning of so many good things for you and your family and it ending was a very sad thing to think about.

A smile formed on your lips when you saw that Cliff was approaching the familiar white gates. 

“We’re here,” he said - greeting the guards with a head gesture. 

You smiled at them, glancing at the familiar faces and trailers laying around. Cliff drove directly to the one trailer you have been dying to be since this morning. When he finally parked you quickly hopped off the SUV. He followed you and got your bags off the trunk. 

At that moment Jensen was walking out of his trailer with the biggest smile on his face. 

“Babe!” You shouted, running towards him. 

The people around you might think that you guys were overacting a little, you two were married and there was no way you two could still be this excited to see each other. They all were wrong, you and Jensen still got excited to see each other after all these years. Yes, some days will be normal days and not like big scenes that looked like they were brought out a Hallmark movie but when you build the anticipation of seeing the person you love, most of your reunions look like a scene from a romantic movie. And it surely felt like it. 

You jumped to his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as he wrapped his around your body. Kissing Jensen’s lips felt like home. 

“I’ve,” you began to talk between kisses, “missed - you - so - much.” 

Jensen let out a laugh, kissing you one more time as he hold you tightly. “Missed you too, babe.” 

“I guess my job is done,” Cliff stood by the SUV.  “Am I driving you guys home or you driving?” He looked at Jensen.

“I actually have to stay one more night here, we got a delay and we have to do a night shoot,” Jensen looked at you. “Sorry babe.” 

You shrugged, “It’s alright. I can stay with you in the trailer and we can leave for the airport from here tomorrow.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?” Cliff asked. “I can take you to the apartment - I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay, Cliff,” you said. “I’ll stay.”

He nodded, “Alright. I’ll pick you guys tomorrow for the airport.” 

Jensen nodded, “Thanks, man. See ya.”

Cliff turned and got into the SUV. You looked at Jensen in the eyes, they were dark and mysterious but his smirk gave you an idea of what he was thinking. 

“So…” you pulled him closer and kissed his lips. “At what time you have to shoot?” 

Jensen looked at his watch, “11pm.”

“Oh - we got time,” you said walking into the trailer. 

/ / /

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped for air, “that was-” 

“So fucking good,” Jensen let out, also catching his breath. 

You looked at his eyes, leaning forward and kissing his lips. Both enjoying the bliss of the moment. He caressed your lower back softly as you looked at his chest slowly going up and down. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Jensen,” you said. 

He grinned, giving you another soft kiss, “Me too, babe.” 

Suddenly someone was banging at the door of Jensen’s trailer. You let out a soft groan as you turned and got off the bed, then continued into the bathroom. 

Jensen stood up from the bed, sliding into some sweatpants that were near his bed. The door was still getting banged up.

“If its Jared, I’m fucking killing him,” you shouted from the bathroom.

“Not before I do,” Jensen said before opening the door. 

It was Jared indeed. 

“Dude?” Jensen furrowed his eyebrows. 

Jared looked at him confused, “Why you’re not dressed? We need to go like ASAP.”

“What time is it?” Jensen asked oblivious.

“Freaking 10:30!” Jared shouted and walked into the trailer. 

“Dude-,” Jensen began to talk but you walked out of the bathroom wearing a robe. 

“Surprise!” You smiled to Jared.

Jared looked at you with wide eyes before turning to Jensen. “You guys were fucking.” 

“Yes we were,” you said proudly walking to the fridge, “ and you just interrupted us.”

Jared looked at you and laughed as you grabbed water from the fridge. You and him talked briefly about the trip to Africa as Jensen quickly got a shower and got dressed. In the beginning it was supposed to be a couples retreat but Gen was too far in her pregnancy to travel. 

“I’m ready,” Jensen walked out, holding your lower back. “See you in the morning?” 

“Mhm,” you kissed his lips. “I’ll finish your packing.” 

“Thanks,” he said before walking out.

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[themaskedwriter]

Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Saturdays are not for housing superheroes, and you don’t care if one of them is your army buddy and the other a cyborg who, okay, is kinda cute when he’s not clutching his twitching arm like it’s his goddamn teddybear. So of course, your tiny house becomes a tiny superhero central.

Author clues: An occasional angst queen with a sweet tooth who lives in a very fine country.

Generally, when the phone rings in the middle of the night, it’s never good news. It’s death and mayhem and all manners of misdeeds just waiting to ruin your night, your morning and possibly the entire week that follows. Your solution had been to move around a lot. If you never stay long enough in one place, then death and mayhem and all those misdeeds never get a chance to catch up with you. Unless-

“Someone better be dying,” you grunt when you answer, not bothering with greetings or pleasantries. Anyone calling at, fuck, 3.22 am can frankly go fornicate themselves.

“I need your coordinates.”

“No.”

“Come on, I promise, it’s just for the night.”

“Last time you said that, Wilson, you stayed for a week and Captain America bled all over my couch.”

At the other end of a very unstable line - is he fucking flying and calling? - Sam winces, because yeah, last time was a fucking rollercoaster of bad, and you ended up moving as soon as they were out the door and refusing to answer Sam’s texts for two weeks just to be sure you could get some actual peace and quiet.

“No one is bleeding. Much.”

“Sam…”

“I swear on my sainted nana’s grave no one will be bleeding when we get there.”

We? Jesus, did someone shoot Captain America again? You groan and roll over, pressing your face into the pillow.

“It’s just one night, I swear, we just need someplace to lay low before we can move on and haul ass back to base.”

You hate Sam Wilson. You do, you’ll put it in writing, you’ll write a goddamn op ed for the fucking New York Times listing all the reasons he is a terrible, terrible friend. All you wanted was a nice, quiet life, a little time to figure shit out after an honorable discharge from the Army, and then that idiot had to go and become a goddamn superhero with his goddamn wings and the goddamn Avengers as his goddamn squad. He owes you. He owes you so much and he’ll owe you even more- Aw, fuck.

“I’ll give you twelve hours before I kick you out on your asses.”

“You are the best, I’ve always said that, you know. The best. The goat-”

“Please, never call me that again.”

“Sourpuss.”

“I’ll bill you for anything you destroy,” you mutter, ending the call before Sam can say anything.

Rolling over on your back again, you breathe in deeply through your nose, staring at the light ceiling panelling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You text Sam your coordinates, telling him where to find the spare key because you draw the line at getting up to act as a welcome committee at this unholy hour.

>>Thanks, I owe you one. S

>>U owe me several. Don’t expect mints on the pillows and dont. fuckin. wake me. >:(

>>You’re adorable when you’re cranky. We’ll be there in about an hour.

>>Fuk u

Sam Wilson is a terrible, terrible friend, but at least he doesn’t actually wake you. He’s even up and looking far too chirpy when you crawl down from your sleep loft four hours later. Seriously, fuck Sam Wilson. Fuck Sam Wilson, and-

“I like your digs.” He hands you a cup of coffee and thankfully does not attempt a hug.

“Yeah, well, makes running away from unbidden houseguests easy,” you grunt back, taking a sip of the glorious coffee.

Sam snorts, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “As if you could fit actual houseguests in here. You’re lucky I spent half my childhood playing Tetris, or we would’ve had a problem getting in here.”

You glance over his shoulder, at the blanket-covered lump on your couch. Granted, the damn thing is from IKEA and required at least five curse words for every step in the assembly instructions, but the covering is a nice, pale shade of beige. “So who’s bleeding all over my place this time?”

“No one’s bleeding, I patched ‘im up just to preemptively get you off my ass.”

“So he was bleeding. That why you needed to crash?”

The way Sam hesitates makes it clear that blood loss is not the culprit here. You glare at him, and Sam Awful Terrible Friend Wilson rolls his eyes at you and walks past you and up to the couch, pulling down the covers.

“That’s…” You stare. There’s no better way to put it. “Sam, he’s- Why is his arm detached? Why is it wriggling?”

“We had a minor snafu. Barnes got dosed with something and it made his arm go a little haywire. It’s wired into his nervous system, so we had to do an emergency detachment until the thing is out of his system so he won’t helicopter himself into the sky or, you know, hurt anyone.”

“So why is it still twitching like a zombie limb? Please, don’t tell me he’s turning into a zombie. I can’t deal with a zombie apocalypse. I use Zombies! Run, but that’s the closest I ever want to come to the undead because even with that I fucking jump out of my skin when I start hearing heavy breathing in my ears and-”

“He’s not turning into a zombie, jeez!” Sam tosses the covers back in place, covering up Barnes and the twitchy arm. “It’s still receiving faint signals, so it’s acting like a nervous grandma. It’s completely harmless. Ha! I gotta remember that one when he wakes up.”

Jesus H. Christ. Where is a brick wall when you need one? “Sam!”

“Stark’s coming to pick us up in two hours, we’ll be out of your hair. We’ll even take the arm with us.”

You give an indignant sniff, heading back to the little ladder that leads up to your loft. “Fuck you, Wilson, I’m going back to bed and won’t come down until you and Terminator over there are out of my house.”

“Aw, come on! We’re delightful! Look, Barnes is even more delightful because he is asleep so you won’t even have to deal with him being Mr. Personality!”

You could tell him that from your perspective, Barnes is the preferable option in this situation because he is asleep and thus not bothering you. Instead, you opt for a succinct reply in the form of your middle finger and start to ascend the ladder, coffee mug tightly gripped in one hand. Saturdays are holy, okay? Saturdays are for waking up late, having coffee and then crawling back to your bed where the covers are still warm and just wait for the sun to rise high enough in the sky that you’re tempted to go outside. Saturdays are not for housing superheroes, and you don’t care if one of them is your army buddy and the other a cyborg who, okay, is kinda cute when he’s not clutching his twitching arm like it’s his goddamn teddybear.

To be fair, Sam cuts out his little comedian act, and shuts up. There’s the odd shuffling from below, but nothing more, and you manage to doze off, wrapped like a burrito in your covers. It’s almost enough to make you forget that you have houseguests.

Until Sam pinches your toe.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, shaking your foot and you’re surprised you don’t kick him in the face.

“Piss off.”

“Delightful. We’re rolling out in five. I told Stark to bring you some decent breakfast as thanks.”

Well. Breakfast is an acceptable offering. There better be waffles, or you might need to kick Stark. With a grunt, you start extricating yourself from your covers, rooting around until you find a cardigan to wrap yourself in. Sam’s by the couch when you get down, ripping the covers from Sleeping Barnes and shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, Princess Elsa, our ride’s almost here.”

Barnes, who seems to appreciate sleeping as much as you do, tries to turn over and away from the rude awakening, but apparently manages to tickle himself on the detached arm, because the man gives a very high-pitched yelp before he very ungracefully tumbles off the couch and lands on his ass.

“Morning, Barnes.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” Barnes grumbles with a glare that is… impressive.

“There’s coffee if you can inhale it in the next five minutes,” Sam tells him, shrugging of his umpteenth cuss-out in the last six hours.

“Bring… coffee…”

You’re not a rude host. Unwilling, but not rude. Coffee is a glorious drink, and you would never deny anyone the elixir of Life and General Functionality. You pour a cup for the man, bringing it to him, and Barnes stares at you, then at Sam, then takes a second to look around, mouth slowly falling open.

“Wilson, I think I’m-”

“What? You still not sobered up from the funky gas?”

“Either that, or I fell through the looking glass. Am I gonna grow and have my legs sprout through the window? Because that is not good,” Barnes says, gulping down his coffee and then peering up at you. “I’m not sure if you’re real, but either way, I have very impressive thighs. Hi, I’m Bucky”

He fires off a smile that is probably meant to look charming, but only succeeds in looking loopy. Sam, finally getting a fraction of the embarrassed he should be for dragging himself and this crazy ass man into your home, groans and facepalms. It is hilarious.

“Sam, I hate to say this, but I like this guy.”

“Sam, the hallucination is talking to you.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” you tell him, leaning down to pinch his left shoulder. “It’s a tiny house, made even tinier because yikes, you are built.”

Barnes, Bucky, yelps and his coffee sloshes dangerously against the edges of his mug.

“Well, that just seems very unfair to me. And Steve. Oh, jeez, and Bruce. Do you have anything against swole?”

“First of all, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, and second of all, if you’re Bucky Barnes then I’d very much like to know who the fuck taught you the word ‘swole’.”

Bucky Barnes, the most handsome centenarian in the entire world, is a delight, all smiles and jokes, and Sam is terrible for dragging him away. A godawful wind kicks up outside, heralding the arrival of Tony Stark, and you decide this is way too many superheroes. One is acceptable. Two is pushing it. Bucky, having realized he has in fact not shrunk, takes his time looking around while they head out and ends up clipping his head and oh, how people would blush if they heard the downright filth that Sergeant James B. Barnes lets out as he stumbles down the stairs.

Stark makes a joke about custody exchanges, and you tune out more than half because he brought breakfast, and oh sweet Mary above, there are waffles. Sam and Bucky say their goodbyes, and you wave them off, too engrossed in the gorgeousness of waffles drenched in maple syrup and topped with fresh berries. For this, you could almost be okay with a superhero or two crashing for a night.

Not that you’ll ever be.

You have limits.

So of course, your tiny house becomes a tiny superhero central. First it’s Sam, again. Then it’s Stark. He almost gets his ass kicked out when he goes on and on about how you can live with the bare minimum of technology. You definitely kick him out when he wants to chip your house so people won’t have to call you at the asscrack of dawn to let you know, not ask, they are incoming. He does get back in your good graces by giving you a double serving of waffles.

Then, in quick succession, it’s Steve, Sam and Rhodey, Bucky, Barton and Bucky again. Most of them are okay house guests. Barton wins points by appearing genuinely interested in how you’ve set up your living space, quizzing you about layouts and building and the pros and cons of having your entire life confined to 240 square feet. He also loses those points when you wake up to find him sitting on the edge of the sleep loft, overlooking the house. Sam and Rhodey together is not as big of a disaster as one might think, mainly because Rhodey occasionally pulls rank on Sam and honestly? Thank god. Steve, bless him, tries to bend over backwards to not put you out, and his calls all include at least 75 permutations of an apology for calling.

Bucky.

He keeps his arm in place for the next couple of times. On the rare occasions when he’ll call in the middle of the day, he’ll always knock and wait until you open, he’ll insist on “earning his keep”, which is how you come to be the recipient of flowers, breakfast, and a very rare bathroom concerto that Bucky doesn’t know you overheard. The man has a very good singing voice, and it makes your heart skip a beat when he croons “It’s Been a Long, Long Time”. He’s the easiest to get along with, even one early morning when you wake up to his shuffling and cussing because your coffee maker refuses to cooperate. He doesn’t mind the quiet, doesn’t fret around like Stark (who insists that the laptop loaded with every streaming service imaginable and the usernames and passwords for each laid out on a sticky note that he left there is absolutely not a pity gift but a sound investment for both of your continued sanity).

“D’you like this?” Bucky asks one evening, his voice floating up from the living room area.

“I mean, it could be worse. I could be housing Stark for the night,” you quip, rolling over and making something that might be construed as a tumble to get to the edge of the bed.

“I feel like that might have been an insult wrapped in another insult. But that’s not what I meant.”

You can only see Bucky’s feet in the soft light of a lamp, peeking out from the covers. He always sleeps with his feet facing the door, always on his back. The only time he hasn’t was the first time when Sam brought him, and something in you feels bad that Bucky can’t relax even in his sleep.

“No?”

“I meant… this. Living in a small box. Moving around all the time. It’s… Doesn’t it ever get hard? After I got- When I got back, Steve almost had to fight me to move into the Tower. I wanted to go home, you know. To Brooklyn. I don’t know, it was a stupid thought, but I kept thinking if I go back, it’s all still there. The apartment we lived in, the same streets and the same shops and… my family. It felt weird to make another home, but now I don’t know if I could move again.”

His voice is soft, a far cry from the persona he’s portrayed as in the media. The Winter Soldier is hard edges and cold steel, but Bucky Barnes… Bucky Barnes is soft, a whisper in the darkness and a longing for something that’s no longer there.

“It wasn’t that hard for me, because I needed this. I was out there, in all of that big space with nothing but orders and trusting that someone else knew what we were supposed to do. I’d had a place back in Atlanta before, and I’d packed up all my stuff and rented the place to some college kids. They’d already moved out when I got back, and I thought I was gonna go nuts the first night back. That place had felt like a shoebox before I shipped out and now it was so… big. Had a friend who made these kinds of houses, so he helped me build one pretty much from scratch and my first night here I slept like a baby.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it.” God, he sounds almost a bit panicked, like he’s insulted you.

“No, I don’t mind. It’s not for everyone. I just feel I have myself better together on less than 300 square feet. I mean, I don’t go from house to house. This is still a home. It’s just a home I can move around with when I need to see new places.”

There’s a little huff. “Like the middle of nowhere, New Mexico?”

You glance back to the small window next to your bed, at the clouds tinted in burnt orange and vivid pink, the sun setting slowly into the vast horizon. “Yeah. I’ve never been here. I wanted to see it, and now I have.”

“You know, that sounds like I’m gonna wake up in the desert tomorrow morning because a bird is trying to steal my covers.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes,” you tease, crawling back to roll yourself into your own covers again. “I wouldn’t leave you with that blanket. It’s my favourite.”

“Yeah.” His voice is almost a whisper, but you can still make out his next words: “Mine, too.”

When he leaves the next morning, something feels different. He’s tentative at breakfast, burns a few pancakes and once again clips his head on the doorway heading out when Nat touches down the quinjet to pick him up. Breakfast changes hands, Nat fills you in on some gossip. Bucky’s shoulders are slumped when he trudges up and into the cargo hold.

“Wait!”

You run inside, depositing the bag of breakfast on your counter, grabbing the blanket from the couch and folding it into a mess that would pass exactly zero inspections before heading back out. Nat’s joined Bucky on the quinjet landing, and she quirks and eyebrow when you all but thrust the bunched up fabric into Bucky’s arms.

“A bit of home,” you blurt out, immediately feeling heat creep up your cheeks. “Can’t hurt to have more of that.”

Bucky chuckles, “No… I guess it can’t.”

You move three days later. The New Mexico desert makes you restless, makes you itch for something else. For a couple of weeks, you drift further and further north, looking for a place that doesn’t put you on edge. You plough through the Midwest, but there’s always something. You text Sam just to become annoyed and feel something else. He calls a couple of times, facetimes you on your birthday so the whole gang can wish you happy birthday. you smile, taking a screenshot to save the memory for a rainy day. They’re all there, sitting around an obscenely big dinner table, glasses raised, mouths open mid-sentence. Stark looks magnanimous as always, sunglasses perched on top of his head, Steve’s got an expression that’s somewhere between his Captain America-smile and a genuine Steve Rogers-grin. Bucky… Bucky is not there. Or at least you can’t see him. Maybe he’s at the very end of the table, obscured by the others. Not that you care. You don’t. You absolutely don’t. You definitely don’t look for him in the picture every time you bring it up.

You move again. It’s too calm. You’ve had no superheroes visiting in two months, no late night calls inquiring about coordinates. Stark’s laptop is shoved into a drawer where you can’t see it, there’s a new blanket draped over your couch pretending it’s always been there.

>>Coordinates?

The text from the unknown number comes in late one evening when you’re gearing up to let bygones be bygones and forget the Midwest ever existed. You could cry with how happy it makes you, even though a text means one or more of them is in trouble and maybe you should be a little worried, too. The Avengers are good people, but they’re not unlike cats, dragging others with them. Like murder bots and weird aliens. You dutifully send your coordinates, biting your lip before adding:

>>Don’t wake me, and don’t make me wake up to bad guys on my porch

>>They scare the neighbours

>>I have a reputation to think of

Your only neighbours are trees, but still. No one likes bad guys.

Setting your phone down, you tuck yourself into bed. Whoever’s coming knows where to find the key to get in. Stark, again, wanted to set you up with some biometric doohickey that would make it impossible for anyone not in the system to get in, since “keys are so unreliable, look at Parker, he could probably pick it after five minutes on youtube”. He stopped talking when you pointed out your house is a glorified box on wheels, and that there are far easier ways to get in than to pick the lock or even rush the door. You’d had to tell him he was not allowed to turn your house into a tank.

When the sun rises, waking you up with a well-placed ray right in your eyes, you expect to hear… something. Sam, Nat and Steve are all early wakers, there would be the telltale sounds and scents of breakfast being prepared. Tony, much as he tries to vehemently deny it, snores. God, is it Barton? You raise your head, and let out a sigh of relief to see the loft empty save for yourself and the sparse furnishings. Could still be Barton, he’s just learned to stay out of your nest and accept that he’s not top of the pecking order here.

But when you get down from your loft, there’s no one there. Blinking, you look around, as if whoever texted you last night will jump out from some impossible corner. The couch is untouched, everything is where you left it. Was it Bruce and he couldn’t de-Hulk so he slept outside? You check your phone to see if there are any unread text or missed calls, but there’s nothing.

>>Did you leave already?

The reply comes within seconds.

>>No. Outside.

So… Bruce? Furrowing your brow, you go pull a pair of sweats from the hamper, yawning wide before you head for the door. You’re not exactly sure what to expect, but finding the clearing you’ve set up camp in empty is… anticlimactic, to say the least.

“Hello?” you call out, stepping down the stairs, a shiver running down your spine from the cool morning air.

Nothing. The wind sighs in the tops of the trees, a crack from a branch breaking the calm. Ahead of you, something catches your eye, far too colourful to be part of the wooded area.

“What the hell?”

Folded neatly on the ground is your blanket, your old blanket, the one you gave to-

“Sam told me you’d been moving around a lot. Figured maybe you could need a bit more home.”

You yelp and whirl around to find Bucky sitting on the stairs, filling up the doorway and smiling smugly at you.

“How-” You look at him, then around at the clearing and back to Bucky, pointing at him. “You- What?”

“Sorry, I… thought it would be fun. It was creepy, wasn’t it?” He scratches the back of his head, getting of the stairs, approaching you slowly. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Are you okay?” It’s second nature by now to give him a once-over, to expect bruises and scrapes and, let’s be honest, blood. Seeing nothing doesn’t necessarily mean he’s okay. These yahoos are notorious about playing off little things like internal bleedings, cracked ribs and concussions.

“What, no! I mean, yes, yes, I’m okay. I wasn’t in any scuffle. Haven’t been for a while. You can check me if you like.”

Pursing your lips, you look him up and down while you circle him, prodding at his ribs, his hands, his cheekbone. Satisfied that he’s not injured, you come to a stop in front of him.

“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you again, but… why are you here?”

“Been travelling. Sort of like this, but without the… tiny house, was it? I thought about what you said, about home and all that, and I realized that maybe I need to reevaluate what home means. Going away to figure out what I miss and what I need.”

He raises his right hand to drag the fingertips along the soft blanket, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It sounds cheesy as all hell, but your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, because he looks so content, so relaxed.

“Yeah? Did you find the answer then? What’s home?” you ask, cursing your voice for sounding breather than you ever intended it to.

“See, I packed light. Couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, the regular stuff… and this.” He takes a firm hold of the blanket with both hands, pulling it from you, shaking it out. “And I missed a lot of things in the beginning. People… things… comforts. But I learned to make do without all of those. Only thing I couldn’t get past missin’…”

You watch wide eyed as Bucky wraps the blanket over your shoulders, tugging at the ends to bring it in tightly over your chest, cocooning you in it.

“…is in this blanket,” he finishes, his gaze focused on where his hands holds it close. “I missed mornings with you. Even the first morning when I woke up feelin’ like a drunk sailor after pub crawl thinking Stark or someone had shrunk me down to the size of a bean. I missed your tiny house and your couch and your coffee and… and you.”

And you.

Maybe it’s another cliché, but you can’t help the smile, the sudden joy that bubbles up along with the sensation of right. All these days that have somehow bled into months of moving, of unease, they are drawn into this moment. They breathe a sigh of relief, settling. This is it, this is what all that drifting was about. Finding the spot where your roads would lead you to stand toe to toe, wrapped in a well-worn blanket and realize that home can grow from a warmth that accumulated over so many mornings. You push at Bucky’s hands, making the blanket part, tugging the ends from his grip to sling your arms around his neck, bringing him into it.

The kisses don’t happen until later. First, there’s the quiet, the seconds and minutes wrapped in the blanket. Then, there is breakfast and coffee strong enough to make a spoon stand up straight and slightly overscrambled eggs and Bucky’s voice drifting from the bathroom with hums breaking up the lyrics. You kiss him like you want to taste him, commit him to memory, pulling him down by his neck and drawing in a sharp breath when drops of water fall down the neckline of your t-shirt. He kisses like he’s finally at rest, safe even when his attention is diverted.

>>Coordinates? Bit banged up, wings took a hit, out of your hair before tomorrow

>>image.jpeg

>>Sorry, find another safehouse, this one’s occupied

>>TMI WAY TMI DO NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD

>>It was just a selfie!

>>IN BED

>>Get ur head out of the gutter /JBB

>>I hate you guys

You smile at the final message, setting down the phone and curling up against Bucky with a sigh. The sheets are a mess by your feet, Bucky’s body heat enough to keep you both warm.

“Occuped, huh?” he smiles, tracing your lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

You nod, pressing a kiss to the finger.

“Welcome home.”

[adonis-koo]

Three’s a crowd

| 7 |

Plot: (CEO AU) When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was suppose to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation…

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Jimin, Hoseok/Reader, Taehyung/Reader,

Genre: Smut, angst, drama, angst with a happy ending

Word count: 8.6k

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tags: spanking, slight daddy kink, master kink, pet kink, degradation kink, humiliation, bdsm, heavy bondage, blowjob, male receiving, begging, hair pulling, toy kink, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, light whipping, scratching, doggy, double penetration, squirting, dom!jimin

Warning ⚠️ This fic touches on drug use, alcoholism and abuse. Please read with caution if any of these things are triggers for you 🖤 

Your head was groggy and it felt like your skull was going to cave in at any moment, it took a second for you to even realize where you were. Where were you? You felt confusion wash over you as you glanced up from the dingey bed, this wasn’t the hotel...and that was definitely an arm around you. Your head snapped to its owner as your lips parted, that was Jungkook, you slept with Jungkook....again.

Licking your lips as the vague memories of the previous night came to mind, some were more clear then others as you groaned. You really slept with him despite knowing he was in a relationship, forced or not. God, what did that say about your morality? 

You felt a cringe pull on your face as you scanned over his peaceful expression, how could he be okay with this? Was the better question. You got it, he obviously didn’t love her but still, she clearly held some sentiment or at least affection for him.

Pulling open your phone you groaned at the time, it was nearly ten in the morning, sitting up you rubbed your head before sighing, god this headache was killer. Your head throbbed and your back was immensely sore, your body satisfied but damn, at what cost? You kept asking the question in hope for some answer that didn’t seem to come. Glancing back at Jungkook, his nose scrunched up in disdain from you pulling out of his arms, still fast asleep. 

For half a second you thought about smash and dashing, having already fulfilled the first part. But then you’d feel bad, not that you didn’t already but you’d feel even worse. Biting your lip you rubbed your head in contemplation, what were you supposed to do? 

It’s not that you had intended on aiming for a relationship with him, because inevitably in your case: relationships never worked out. But finding out he was actually unavailable was...admittedly off putting, because what if you did end up liking him more then just as friend? Were you even friends? You had only met him a few days ago. 

“What’s with the long face?” Fuck.

You glanced back at Jungkook’s groggy figure, yawning as he stretched out, the amused smirk on his lips as his eyes washed over you. Above all else, what were you supposed to say to that? ‘Oh hey sorry, I was just wondering if I’m qualified whore now, thanks’ 

You gave a shrug as you rubbed the back of your neck before stretching your arms out. Ignoring his question altogether as you yawned, “We should get back soon, my phone’s dead and knowing my mom she’s probably freaking out.” Your body ached in objection but you pushed yourself off the bed anyways. Not really sure if you wanted to be so close to Jungkook.

Given everything that had happened, surely he’d understand your reasoning. It was a lot to take in and now that you had finally caved and slept with him regardless on his relational status, you felt a bit sick. Maybe it was the hangover, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to hang around any longer.

Jungkook said nothing for a moment, his chin lifting slightly as he tilted his head, his expression unreadable but you could almost feel him trying to figure you out, quickly catching up on your shift in demeanor, though not understanding why, “Let me call my driver then, daylight is too exposing to walk back on foot.” 

You had been pulling the shirt over head as you turned back to face him, flannel in hand as you nodded before pausing, would it be too obvious if you wanted to walk back by yourself? It probably would, and honestly it made you cringe a bit internally. 

But maybe going out with him last night wasn’t such a good idea, you hadn’t brought him with the intentions of sleeping with him. You just wanted to get to know him more as a person. And you did, but it still remained cemented that you had slept with him anyways. You couldn’t blame anyone but yourself, Jungkook had been very clear on not feeling guilty, and furthermore he wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty. 

It wasn’t that you had regretted it, or well maybe you did? You weren’t sure anymore, what you did know was that you needed time to digest everything that had happened.

Pressing your lips together as you clasped the flannel, “For you…” you nodded in agreement with him as he curved a brow, making you shrug as you felt obligation creep up on you, “I think I’m just gonna go on foot, it’d be more discreet anyways than going back with you. I’m pretty well known for all nighters.” You had turned around again, grabbing your phone from the floor, it must’ve fell from your jeans, or did you throw it? You couldn’t remember.

“Okay…” Jungkook had pressed his lips together, his expression contorted as his eyes puzzled in confusion, but he wasn’t going to ask questions, “You sure? It’s a long walk back.” 

Why did he have to be so fucking sincere? It almost struck a nerve at how considerate he was, you turned back as you nodded, trying to keep your face as mellow as possible, as if you weren’t dying to drop kick the door and bolt for your life, “Yeah it’s cool, on my feet nineteen hours a day, remember?” 

You forced the smile on your lips, not feeling as natural as it should’ve been. But then again that was subjective given the situation, really it shouldn’t have felt natural and that thought did make you feel a bit better.

Jungkook didn’t look sold on your smile either apparently but covered both his confusion and suspicion as he nodded, the smirk coiling on his lips as he leaned back against his hands, the rays of sun seeping through the blinds really did make him look angelic, even with such a devilish smirk on his face, “Fair enough, see you around Y/n.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you exited the room, exhaling in relief as you paused outside of the door, closing your eyes before forcing your feet forward. 

You weren’t sure why you felt so odd, you didn’t feel guilty, but you also didn’t feel right doing this with him. You had slipped out of the motel, the streets busy and the crowd thick as the sun blazed, your head was still groggy and the loud noise made it pound as you groaned. This was gonna be a long walk back.

It felt like the walk back would never end but eventually you did arrive, dragging your feet beneath you feeling dead to the world as you ignored all the stares you had gained in the lobby, well aware you stuck out more than ever. But now? Now you just didn’t really care, you had a killer headache and all you wanted was tylenol, some fish crackers and sleep. 

That luxury didn’t come to you though as you opened the door to your room, “Oh god…” you had muttered it under your breath as you sighed, rubbing your forehead as your mother paced back and forth in your room, head instantly snapping towards you.

You had half way turned around as she snapped at you, “L/n Y/n, over here right now.” 

You groaned as you turned back around, trudging into the room as you shut the door, your mother’s brows had knitted together in both anger and worry as you slumped down sitting on the edge of the bed as she paced back and forth, “Twelve hours and not a single word from you! I was worried to death! Y/n we are not in Seoul, you can’t just go run off and not come home until morning!” 

And there it was, she kept on ranting as she paced back and forth. Your mother was- a little protective of you, and given your past you couldn’t necessarily blame her, but you were 21 now. Sure you weren’t that old, but you had been navigating the harsh world as soon as you could be employed as a teen. 

You use to get into a lot of arguments with her about it, but eventually you gave up altogether, just letting her yell as much as she wanted, chastise you until she felt better, and then you’d go on your merry way. 

You didn’t mean to make her worry, but you were going to do what you wanted regardless. You weren’t a kid anymore, you hadn’t been a kid for a long time now. You felt the surge of bitterness squeeze against you as you sighed leaning back against your hands.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me!” Your mother scolded, pointing an accusing finger at you as you nodded, granted your expression looked spacey and less than interested, “Y/n this needs to stop! I understand that you work nightshift at home, but we aren’t at home. You can’t just go out all night without telling me.”

There was a pause as if she was waiting for you to object. But honestly? When she got like this you would space out, waiting for her to finish because ultimately the conversation wasn’t going to anywhere. You were going to disagree, she’d say you were too young, you’d argue you were old enough, rinse repeat. 

You weren’t interested in fighting about it anymore. She huffed as she crossed her arms, “Well? Where did you go?”

“Oh my god,” You sighed, having sworn you weren’t going to argue but her words made you groan anyways, standing up as you rubbed your head, “I went out with Jungkook last night, okay? He’s never been to an arcade before and I took him. Plain and simple, I’m not a kid mom christ.” Just seeing her expression made you sour further, her look all too familiar and you had swore, you truly did, that you wouldn’t fight with her, but you could already feel it brewing.

“Went out?” She repeated your words as if they were poisonous, “Jungkook is engaged you have no business going out with him Y/n.”

Ah yes, just what you needed to hear right now. Sighing you ran a hand through your hair as you nodded exasperatedly, “Yeah mom, I know. Keyword we went out, why do you just assume there was something more there? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not interested in marrying rich!” It was the truth and also a lie. The truth being you genuinely weren’t interested in marrying someone- hell even dating someone with the amount of wealth Jungkook had. 

The lie came from the fact that you had literally lied through your teeth about going out with him, because you did in fact, sleep with him. Not like you’d ever admit that to your mom, 

Your mom huffed, fumbling with her hands as she began to pace again, “Y/n I am not with Seung because he is rich! I’m with him because I love him! Even if you were just friendly with Jungkook that could still come off the wrong way to his fiancee!” She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Oh nevermind, you wouldn’t understand, you’ve never been in love a day in your life. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you meet someone who changes your life Y/n.” 

Raising your eyebrows as you pressed your tongue against your cheek, she was really gonna pull that card? So what if you had never been in love! You couldn’t help that! “This trip means a lot to me Y/n, please be considerate before running off without saying anything. Understood?”

Sighing, you collapsed against the bed, letting your arm cover your face to keep your annoyed expression hidden, “Yeah.”

After hearing the door clicked shut you sighed, curling against the middle of the bed as you tiredly closed your eyes, your head still throbbing in immense pain. Why was it you always had to be considerate of her? 

You were the one who was lied too, you didn’t want to have a stepdad or brother and honestly you didn’t care. Okay? You really didn’t, everyone could consider you officially unbothered. If it made your mother happy? Cool, but you didn’t want anything to do with this shit. 

Maybe it was your pounding headache that made you so cynical, or the stress you were putting yourself under with Jungkook, and god forbid you even think about what you had done earlier that day with Jimin. 

On the bright side, things couldn’t possibly get worse from here.

By the time you had woken up from your groggy state you had felt a little bit better, rubbing your eyes as you sighed, pulling yourself  the covers as you briefly glanced at your phone.

Groaning you flopped back down, most of the day was spent with you sulking in bed, Jimin had tried coaxing you to come out but you had refused, saying you weren’t feeling well. And it wasn’t exactly a lie, you were really ready for this trip to be over. 

Jungkook had also sent a text your way, not explicitly saying he wanted to fuck, but that’s what it had alluded too, apparently he had an hour break coming up and was hoping to spend it you. Well that was to fucking bad because it would be a frozen day in hell before you got out of this bed.

You had blew him off, giving him also a lame excuse for not wanting to see him, your phone had went off five minutes ago but you weren’t mentally prepared to look at his reply. It wasn’t until roughly around two hours later that you had got up.

Aimlessly walking down the hallway with phone in hand as you explored around the hotel. Looking through various floors and ignoring everyone who store at you, looking close to probably homeless in their opinion but you didn’t care. 

Eventually you had even found yourself in the same store this mess had all started, looking at all the gowns you wanted, letting your hands run against the soft materials in hopes of maybe grounding your mind that was far away. Unfortunately it didn’t work as you stumbled back from accidentally running into someone. She blinked surprised before bowing instantly apologizing, you had quickly recognized her though, Irene. The seamstress who had been taking Jungkook’s measurements a few days ago.

“Oh it’s fine! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You had replied casually making Irene glance up from her bow, realizing she knew you as she gave a sheepish smile. Maybe a little too use to dealing with the snobbish upperclass for her own good.

“Y/n! It’s good to see you again, how have you been?” She tilted her head, curiously, but her words made you furrow your brows. Had you told her your name before? You remembered how informal she was with Jungkook and briefly you wondered if they had been an item or, friends with benefits? She seemed to know him well, well enough to talk the way she did.

But her words made it sound like she knew something was up, which made you tense slightly as you shrugged, giving a sheepish smile, “Oh...I’m okay, just a little overwhelmed with all of this,” you waved your hand in gesture of the hotel making her laugh with a nod.

Irene had folded the fabric in her hands as she nodded, as if understanding what you meant as she replied, “Yeah I can understand that, it’s a lot to take in if you didn’t grow up around it. Has Jungkook talked too you at all…? He’s been a bit, spacey lately.” She hurried her last sentence in explanation as if realizing her question was weird.

“Oh well…” You glanced away, and maybe that was enough of an answer for her, but you had shrugged again, thinking back over the last few days before your lips quivered into a frown, sighing as you glanced back at Irene, “I mean we’ve seen each other a few times...Are you…”You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to pry but also extremely curious, “Are you acquainted with Jungkook?” 

You weren’t really sure what to allude by that word because you didn’t really know where they stood, he didn’t act the way he did with you, like he did with her. It was still possible he had an affair but, you couldn’t say for certain and most of all you didn’t want to assume without any actual evidence.

Not like there was a problem if he had but...Her words were odd. Irene’s eyes dilated slightly as she pressed her lips together, gaze flickering around the room before she sighed altogether giving you an apologetic look, “We are...Look I can’t talk about it, it’s really something for him to tell you, if at all. But yeah, we’ve known each other for a long time.”

She nodded, fiddling with the fabric, suddenly looking nervous as she fumbled, “Ah anyways, I better get back to work. I’ll see you around.”

Irene had quickly excused herself with another bow before hurriedly walking away leaving you more confused than before. Why was she so anxious? It felt like you had left the store with more questions than answers, but it’s not like you had went with the intention of that regardless. 

Sighing you eventually got a brisk text from your mom, demanding you sit in for dinner. You had left her on read as you went to get prepared. You had got about three more texts in the process before you had showed up for dinner, looking a little more decent as you saw the visible relief on her face, shooting you an unappreciated look as you sat down. 

Both men had greeted you as pair usual and given your observant nature Seung hadn’t suspected anything, Jimin however had been persistent in trying to get you to talk, not like that was anything new. That was until you felt his hand press against your knee from beneath the table. 

Swallowing harshly as you shot him a look, the smirk pulled on his lips as he leaned in, “You’ve been a shut in, all day. What’s up.”

Closing your eyes you sighed, grabbing his hand as you wrangled it off your knee, “Nothing, I just haven’t been feeling up to doing anything today.” His hand latched onto the inside of your thigh giving it a small squeeze making you shift in your seat.

Watching your mom laugh with Seung as they continued their lively conversation, Jimin leaned in closer, as if waiting for them to see your interaction, “You look stressed, not trying to stroke my own ego. But I’d like to think I could take your mind off whatever it is. Tempting right?” He gave a cocky smile as his fingers stroked against the skin of your thigh.

Your mind was screaming at you to not be a dumb bitch, but your body was saying you were dumb anyways, might as well go for the 0.2 IQ anyways. It was a bad idea, but if there was one thing in your life that you could not fail at, it was making terrible decisions, “I’m listening.” You glanced towards the table as you murmured, unable to watch the victorious look on Jimin’s face as his hand trail up to your burning core.

Fuck he was gonna do this now? “Well imagine this,” Jimin licked his lips, leaning in closer as his voice softened like velvet, purring out, “I have handcuffs in my room with your name on it. Mmm, all tied up against my bed post, if you’re too loud I’ll have to gag you though, your choice of a ballgag or my hand.”

It was getting difficult to keep your face from blushing and your legs not squeezing together as his hand gave a feathery stroke against your wet core, “Oh look, you’re already wet.” Jimin laughed softly against your ear, suddenly leaning away as you tried to muffle a small whine. 

Jimin had cleared his throat gaining both parents attention as he gave an innocent smile, “Y/n just told me she isn’t feeling very well. If you don’t mind I’m going to escort her back to her room.” 

Both Seung and your mother were none the wiser as they dismissed you both, and as soon as you were out of sight his hand wrapped around your waist, dragging you close to his body. Standing in the elevator as you bounced against the heels of your feet, feeling antsy at your decision. God this was a bad idea, a really bad idea.

But at the moment you didn’t want to think anymore, you had thought all day and honestly all you wanted was your body to ache in pain and be fucked until you physically couldn’t think anymore. When the elevator opened to the next floor though your face had instantly paled.

Oh jesus christ. This could not look good to his eyes, there’s no way it could.

“Oh Jungkook, where have you been? I haven’t seen you all day.” Jimin casually greeted, making you remember he had no idea what you both had been up too the last few days.

Jungkook had raised a brow his eyes only looking at you as he stepped into the elevator on the other side of you, tightening the loose black silk tie he wore as he nodded his head in greeting but you could tell by his gaze he was analyzing your every nuance you radiated. 

His eyes burning into the hand that wrapped around your waist, “Busy day, was stuck in a meeting half of it,” You didn’t remember his voice being so deep, Jungkook had shifted slightly closer, his eyes on you again, “Are you feeling better?” his voice had softened a little at the question directed towards you.

Swallowing thickly you looked up towards his tall figure, feeling sheepish under both males gaze as you nodded, “Y-yeah um...I’m feeling okay, I think I need to just get some more sleep is all…” You would’ve used your hangover as the excuse but with Jimin present you knew that was a bad idea, one of the few you weren’t so keen on trying out.

But you could feel Jimin’s heavy gaze on you now, wondering how Jungkook knew about your excuse, or well your false illness. Oh god would you ever reach the final floor? Jungkook only gave a hum, glancing over your features before letting his fingers capture your chin, tilting it up so he could have a better look, “You do look a little pale, you haven’t skipped any meals have you?” Jungkook had tsked at the idea but you had to resist from curling inward at the sudden attention.

Why was he asking this? You couldn’t even answer though as you felt a tug on your waist, your body pressing back against Jimin’s as Jungkook’s gentle grip on your chin broke, “She’s fine.” Jimin replied curtly, your gaze shot straight to the door as you inhaled sharply. Dear jesus almighty give you strength.

You had dared to take a peep at Jungkook but you had almost regretted it, his face contorted into a harsh one, his eyes almost glaring at Jimin with a clenched jaw. Jimin had gave more of an icy look in return, his disinterest showing heavily as you shifted uncomfortably. The silence was thick enough to choke you for a moment, and briefly you thought it was until you heard the final bell of the door slid open. Thank god.

Jimin had tugged on you to lead you out of the elevator but a hand caught your wrist, “Y/n can we talk?” You glanced back at Jungkook, his eyes darting towards Jimin as his continued  voice gritted, “Alone.” 

Jimin had opened his mouth ready to deny Jungkook, and maybe that was for the best. You weren’t sure you wanted to talk to him, but those dark warm eyes were just so tempting. His voice always had that soft note that made you weak. You had spoken before Jimin could as you nodded, “Uh, yeah sure.” You glanced towards Jimin who’s gaze darkened broodly, welp you were in for punishment big time after this. He let go of you reluctantly, giving a silent nod as if saying he would be expecting you in his room later. 

Saying nothing as he walked off, you and Jungkook both stood there quietly for a moment until the sight of Jimin had disappeared. Gaining some courage you finally glanced up at him, your expression hesitant as he sighed, “Can we go to my room? It’s too open out here.”

You gave him a weary look but said nothing as you followed beside him. Stepping into the room that had become shamefully familiar as the door behind you closed, sighing as you wrapped your arms around yourself. This trip was supposed to relax you, but the only thing it had done so far was make you more stressed than you’d ever been before, what were you even supposed to do?

“Look…” Jungkook sighed, trailing behind you as he slowly circled around, “I know I came off a bit...strong yesterday,” he finally stopped in front of you, the dimmed lights of the room making body more silhouetted as the rain gently pattered against the window wall, thunder softly rumbling as lighting filled the sky, briefly lighting his dim face, “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal honestly. Any girl I’ve been with before hasn’t care…” Obviously he had been able to deduce throughout the day why you had suddenly pulled away.

“Jungkook,” You sighed, dropping your arms as you closed your eyes, hearing the hesitance in his voice as you continued, “What are you trying to say?” You had already explained to him it was a lot different in the regular world, cheating wasn’t okay, even under different circumstances. Trying to explain that again would’ve just been a waste of your breath.

Jungkook shifted slightly, stepping closer as he gave a hum, fingers restless against his sides as he answered, “What I’m trying to say is,” he paused for a moment as if trying to figure out his own thoughts, “I don’t want my engagement to ruin this- I do like you- W-well I mean, I think you’re really fun and…” Jungkook’s words began to rush a little and if you didn’t know any better had the lighting not been so dim his cheeks would’ve been a little red, “I don’t know about you but… I wanna see where this goes.” 

It was your turn for your face to flush, oh god was this a confession? You felt like you were in highschool again as you parted your lips, closing them several times like a dumb gulping fish as you finally coughed a stutter, “Uh..! See where this goes like….?”

“Romantically.” Oh wow, fuck, fuck, fuck he said it. You didn’t think he’d actually say it, but Jungkook’s voice had grown more confident again as he stepped closer, “Not saying that it will, but...I don’t know, I’m just curious...aren’t you?” Oh hell no you had barely known this guy for three fucking days, you’d admit easily you got along well. And yes you were very compatible but there was a lot of problems for you to even try and consider a relationship with him.

Honestly, it almost seemed like too much work for you to even try, he came with a lot of baggage, not like you didn’t but- his was different, a whole world different. Furthermore you weren’t really looking for a relationship at the moment, work was too time consuming and regardless if a guy was high maintenance or not, or you just didn’t have the time to invest. But Jungkook’s voice had lowered a tone making it deep and velvety. Seduction lacing his every word as he softly spoke them.

He was the epitome of gracefulness, you though? Your face had to be bright red and you were almost sputtering too loud, your mind splintering at just the idea of commitment, were you even mature enough for that? “Uh...I mean...I guess? No offense but like...yeah we have sexual chemistry and all of that but…!” You jumped slightly as his hands that had gripped your waist, gentle but firm enough for you to not bolt, “But- but! Ah! I-I mean I don’t know if we’d make a good um! Couple y’know?” 

You were suddenly backed against a wall, Jungkook’s lips, just as soft as you remembered pressing against your neck as he hummed, “You didn’t say you weren’t curious though,” 

you almost choked on your own spit at his warm tongue dragging up your neck, his hands still placed firmly against your waist, “I’m not saying it’s going to go anywhere, but I wanna find out. I did tell you I was keeping my options open.” Jungkook was a fucking bold guy to add that light little teasing comment to his sentence, the playful smile on his lips grazing your skin as the little flutter of kisses met against the base of your neck. Wasn’t he being a little too casual about this?

Your eyes had already closed as you shifted against him weakly, “I-I guess…” You stumbled out, “I can’t exactly tell you not be interested in me…” you muttered weakly, “But..um..I haven’t really known you long enough to say the same.”

Jungkook had let his fingers trail against your waist, stroking against the fabric of your shirt as he hummed, “That’s fine, I never said you had to be,” he bit down against the base of your neck, making you breath out a tiny whimper, “But I don’t give up easily either,” You could feel the wicked smirk on his lips against your skin, “Have you slept with him?”

This time you did choke on your own spit as you coughed, feeling your face become even hotter as your face contorted into one of horror, was it really that obvious? You thought for sure that maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t have figured out so quickly, “Uh what?”

“Jimin,” You could feel his grip on you tighten, his voice deepened into a more guttural one as he scoffed out, “Did you sleep with him. I haven’t forgotten about him taking you to the sauna, that wasn’t as innocent as it looked, was it? Hm?”

You could hear the jealousy spitting in his tone and you supposed, given his sudden interest in you it would make sense. Your body was already hot as it was, but thinking back to the sauna only made it worse as you murmured, “W-well you see..um not really?”

Jungkook’s fingers dug into your sides making you jump as you let out another breathy whimper, “Hope he fucking enjoyed seeing my marks on you,” Jungkook muttered, okay wow this guy was a lot more possessive then he looked, your body though only found it hotter and his deep voice was really doing something to you, “See babygirl? They were useful for something after all.” Fuck he was gonna start with the pet names now?

But with Jimin being the topic on demand your mind went back to his dark gaze, he was gonna kill you. Your body had stiffened at the thought as you shifted against him, “I...I need to go Jungkook... he’s waiting for me.” 

His grip tightened for a second and you could feel the strain of his jaw, obviously not wanting to let you go now knowing where you’d be going and what was about to be done to you, “Tch let him.”

“Look,” Your voice firmed a little bit, making his grip on you loosen at the seriousness in your voice, sighing as you placed your hands against his chest, pushing him away slightly to get a good look at him, his eyes dark and glossed with a claiming lust, “I get it, you wanna see where this goes between us. But you don’t own me okay? I’m willing to…” 

You glanced away, expression faltering slightly as you sighed, “See if I actually like you, but until then, you’re more than free to sleep with anyone you want. Same goes for me, and right now, if I don’t go back to Jimin it won’t be hard to connect the dots. Didn’t you say it’s better if he didn’t find out?”

Jungkook’s jaw only clenched, glancing away from you in annoyance as he sharply exhaled, but you could tell by his face he knew you were right, “Yes...Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he muttered under his breath, reluctantly letting you go as he stepped back, “But I expect you in my room first thing tomorrow morning.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as the tiny spark of mirth danced in your eyes, “Sure, if I can still walk.” 

Humming as your lips pulled into a small smile, almost waltzing away from him as he huffed, muttering under his breath, “Oh I’ll give you something to limp over tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but snort out a laugh at his words, it was almost amusing to see the shift in his attitude. But there was a lot to think about now, Jungkook was a little too interested in you. And while you made it very clear the feeling wasn’t mutual, you had made the mistake of saying you were curious as well. Curious to see if you would develop something deeper with him, and that alone was enough for Jungkook to pursue.

For now though, walking down the empty hallway, you were about to go into the lion's den and just remembering Jimin’s expression let you know you were in for a very long night. Stopping in front of his door you took a breath, deciding maybe you should ask for some words of wisdom before entering

Okay that was useless but it was worth a shot, sighing you shoved your phone back in your pocket before gaining the courage to open the door into the dark room.

Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, legs spread and his jacket had been discarded, his tongue pressed into his cheek as his dark eyes landed on you, “Hope you’re ready for punishment slut, talking to other men was a bad way to start your night.”

His words had instantly shot between your legs as your lips quivered slightly, “Don’t just stand there, strip. I want you over my lap. Now.” Jimin demanded, his eyes dark as he leaned back against his hands. His face ran icy cold but your body was contrasting it hotly as you quickly fumbled with your clothes. Letting them drop from your body leaving you exposed in nothing but a bra and panties.

The night hadn’t even begun but your legs felt almost numb as you quickly walked over, Jimin let out an impatient huff, grabbing you and hauling you over his lap, “You’re such a naughty girl,” Jimin tsked out, his hand running over your ass making you shift under his hot touch, his voice giving a false sense of security you knew he was taunting you, daring you to try and relax, “Last time we were like this you were in my lap for punishment.” 

The slap rang out and the skin of your ass stung harshly as you cried out a whimper, Jimin lifted his hand again spanking you harsher than the last, “Understand your punishment right? You know I really can’t fucking stand Jungkook some days.” Your ass was undoubtedly red but Jimin gave an even harsher blow making tears sting in your eyes, “Don’t act like an innocent baby either, I know you’ve noticed him eye fucking you anytime we’re all together.” 

Your core was burning hot and arousal was beginning to shamefully seep through your panties at his rough manhandling but fuck- it was hot seeing him get like this.

“Imagine being spoken for and still fucking other girls,” Jimin practically sneered out, his spanking had stopped though as you heard something rattling, that’s when your body stiffened at the realized he was taking off his belt. Oh shit you weren’t gonna be able to stand after this...were you?

“But you’ve been a good girl haven’t you? You’re only filthy for me, aren’t you?” On any other occasion it would’ve taken a whole lot of self restraint to not laugh at the irony. But feeling the sharp sting of his leather belt suddenly slam down against your ass, the noise echoing through the room louder and the pain etching into your skin forced you to choked out a sob.

“Y-yes I’m daddy’s good girl!” You whimpered out, but Jimin ignored your pleas slamming the belt down against your ass again making you bury your face into the bed to muffle your sobs.

Jimin scoffed as he lets out a growl, “You don’t deserve to be with daddy tonight bitch. Apologize to your master for talking to other men, I’ll consider stopping.” 

The leather stung into your skin again, the pain close to unbearable but your body was practically running a high of its own as you choked on your own words, “I-I’m sorry master. P-please let me make it up to you, please I’ll do anything master.” 

Jimin’s lips coiled into a sadist smirk, his fingers trailing your sensitive bruising ass, your body trembling beneath his touched as he hummed, “Anything?” 

“Y-yes…” you whimpered out, the tears still trickling down your face.

Your body tensed in anticipation as Jimin plucked you up by the hips, setting you on the ground as he stood up, “Very well, you can seek forgiveness, but I hope you're prepared for it to be at the expense of your throat.” Jimin had opened his nightstand, “Are you on pill.” 

You swallowed thickly at the shiny silver cuffs in his hands as you nodded eagerly, you lower body in immense pain at your kneel sitting position, “Y-yes.” 

“Good.” Jimin hummed his stride was slow in no particular hurry as he stopped behind you, “Because I’m filling you up all night long, you’ll be a good little cum dumpster and take it, won’t you?” 

You felt the metal wrap around your wrists, the rapid clicking as he shut them. They weren’t tight enough to cut off circulation but tight enough that they would definitely chafe over time, “Yes master.” You answered obediently. Your body aching and burning for relief but you had a feeling you weren’t going to achieve that for a long time. 

Jimin wheeled around until he stood in front of you, undoing his pants before letting his cock spring free, eyes lidded and dark as he commanded, “Open your mouth pet. I’m gonna fuck your throat until your a gagging crying mess. Only then will I forgive you.” 

You had already obediently opened your mouth, giving it a stroke before pushing his tip into your throat, it was big making your mouth stretch as he gave a hum. Grabbing the back of your head before forcing your mouth to take all of him.

Your jaw ached and feeling his large cock down your throat made you gag immediately, your throat tightening around him making him moan lowly. 

Jimin didn’t cease though as he firmly pulled at your hair making your head bob against his length. You body was desperate for what little air it could get and you were choking on him, making your eyes sting painfully but Jimin ignored your whimpers forcing you to bob on his cock harder.

Your panties were beyond soaked, constantly shifting and moving your sore bruised ass in hopes of trying to touch yourself but nothing was working. Your hands continually tried to move towards your aching core but the only thing it provided was a dull pain in your wrists.

“Keep choking pet, you’ll get relief when I say so.” Jimin growled, your head was beginning to ache at the feeling of his tight grasp yanking against your scalp. He forced your mouth all the way back to his base as he moaned again, forcing you to stay at his base as he listened to those sweet little gags and pleas from beneath him. 

Tears were already blurring your vision as they trickled down your face, saliva was drooling from your lips from how much you were gagging on his cock but Jimin only ignored you, focusing on how your small throat squeezed against his cock. Jimin finally began to rock his hips slightly, making his cock stretch against your throat, a new round of wet noises filling the room as you choked again. Your body desperately seeking air only forcing you to gag further.

“Mmm fuck what a good pet,” Jimin praised out, his tight grip on your hair didn’t cease though, “Your little throat feels so good around my dick kitten. Keep gagging for your master.” It wasn’t hard to fulfill his request. Your throat was greedily trying to suck in what oxygen it could forcing you to continually choke and gag on him, your wrists continuously shaking forcing the once dull pain to sharpen.

Jimin let his hips roll away from yours, his cock sitting back against your tongue before suddenly flicking his hips back towards you, his thrusts coming unexpected as you gagged again. Your tears were non stop now but it was symphony to Jimin’s ears as he ruthlessly fucked into your mouth, your throat burned intensely and your eyes stung in match with your wrists but he didn’t stop until you felt his cum squirting down your throat.

His head was thrown back as he let out a moan. Panting as he took a moment to gather himself, letting his softening members slip from your mouth as he thumbed your tears, “You’re forgiven kitten. Get up, I have a treat for you.” 

You weren’t honestly sure if you could stand, your wrists were dug into your cuffs and your lower body was near numb from the pain of your spanking. You nodded though, not even daring to attempt to speak after your throat being fucked raw. You didn’t want to know what your voice sounded like.

You struggled to get up, your lower body throbbing in protest and your legs weak but you managed to sit up on the bed, the key to your cuffs sitting on top of the nightstand but that wasn’t what Jimin had went over to get. Just the sight of the vibrator in his hand made your legs shake, it looked like one of those high tech expensive ones too.

Jimin licked his lips as he turned back to you, the smirk pulling back on his as he walked over, “You’ve been such a patient kitty haven’t you?” He rubbed the top of your head, your neck craning for the attention as he grabbed you by the hips shifting you further into the bed as he parted your legs, “Lay down while master treats you.” 

Your legs were shaking and nothing had even been done to you as you laid down uncomfortably. Your wrists still cuffed behind you making your back awkwardly arch and your shoulders ache as the metal dug into your wrists again. There was a loud buzz sounding almost like an electric razor, your legs weakened at just the noise but the next thing you knew Jimin had opened the band of your panties placing the vibrator inside setting it against your clit.

Your voice tore out a loud moan, your throat sore and raspy but your body was sent into shock at the sudden thrum in your clit. 

The vibrator pounding into you making your legs shake and your body twist and turn as the heat in your core rapidly built, “Cum for your master kitten.” Jimin purred out, his nails raking into your thighs, just enough to leave a small sting as your body contorted with a whimper. Tsking he let a hand reach inside your panties, turning the vibrator up.

The noise heightened and so did your moans, the vibration brutally burning into your clit as Jimin continued to scratch down your thighs delicately. One shift of your hips made the vibrator move, suddenly pounding into your sweet spot that triggered your orgasm. Snapping in white pain as a scream ripped from your throat, your hips bucking and your body withering as you whimpered continually at the vibrator that pounded away into your gorged bud.

Your legs were shaking and voice was scratchy but Jimin only licked his lips, placing his hands on your thighs to steady you as your voice got louder. Your body already sensitive making the pain wave over your bud, “Keep going kitten.” Jimin encouraged, his hand going back to the vibrator to turn it up even more making you cry in pain. He only shifted the vibrator slightly though. Letting it hit back against your sweet spot as your moans strung out cracked, your hips trying to buck again and your second orgasm was making you see stars but Jimin was still fiddling with the vibrator. 

“Keep going kitten, you wanted a treat don’t go crying on me now.” Jimin mocked but your eyes already had a fresh batch of tears, the overstimulation burning in your body but Jimin had finally grabbed the vibrator only to rock it into your clit. You had let out another loud moan, twisted into a sob as your hips obediently bucked into the vibrator, your hips spazzing as he ran it over your sweet spot again. Your little abused bud forcing you into a third orgasm that had nearly made you black out. 

The pleasure forcefully tremoring through making you whimper and moan repetitively as Jimin took the vibrator off of you. Clicking it off with that devilish smirk on his lips, “See? That wasn’t so bad was it kitten?”

“N-no master.” You whimpered out, your voice quiet and it hurt to just speak, even if it was a whisper. You closed your eyes as your breaths heaved, ready to let sleep over take you but you knew it was going to be a long time before you were granted that. 

You felt a hand pop your thigh making your eyes snap open as you shifted, swallowing as you saw a plentiful of things laying a little way from you both, “Don’t forget you’re here to pleasure your master,” Jimin snapped lowly, “You don’t get to sleep until I say so.” 

You whimpered as you felt him roll you over, the pain in your wrists lessening as Jimin lifted your hips up, “I’m sorry master.” You whimpered out as his hand stroked against your bruised ass. Your whimper heightened when you felt him spread your cheeks, feeling something cool slide against your hole. Lube, or maybe lotion? Jimin testingly pushed a finger in making your whimper, “Fuck your so tight, have you done anal before kitten?” 

“O-once master. Long time ago.” You sharply inhaled, letting your head turn so the side of your face would press into the mattress. Jimin gave a hum as he pumped his finger slowly, stretching you before adding in a second your let out another whimper, squirming as he sped his pace a little.

Jimin took his time stretching you accordingly before pulling his fingers out, you could hear the sound of a cap opening before closing again. His hand was slick, coated in leftover lotion as he grabbed onto one side of your hip. The other guided his tip into you. 

His tip pushed in as you gasped a whimper, shifting and moving beneath him as your hole stretched uncomfortably, “Mmm fuck you’re so tight kitten, feels so good around my cock.” Jimin purred out, pushing his cock deeper into your ass making you moan again as you whimpered. 

You could take a massive dick in the front but from behind? You didn’t have a lot of experience anal before and you could feel it. Jimin had let you stretch around him before he began thrusting starting slow at first as his hand ran down your lower back, the other holding onto your hip. 

“Mmm gonna let me pound into you kitten?” Jimin asked, you jolted at the feeling of something hitting against your back. Something like a tassel whip, it was light but enough to leave a small sting on your back making you give a scratchy moan.

“P-please master.” You whimpered, a strain in your neck was beginning to form from your head being turned and you were sure the cuffs would leave a dark rings around your wrists by now. But feeling Jimin’s large erection stretch your tight hole forced you into a dazed state as he whipped your back again with a little more force making you whimper.

“Good pet.” He hummed before letting his hips suddenly slam into yours, his balls slapping against your wet pussy making the room filled with lewd noises and your loud moans, “Mm fuck, so tight.” You felt the sting against your back again making you whimper as his cock pounded into you, your hole burning in a whole new way as he ruthlessly thrusted. 

Letting his whip hit against your back continually as your body burned, his cock twitching inside you making him slow down, “You take my dick so good kitten, you’re gonna make me cum early. I have one last thing for us, will you be able to take it kitten?” 

Jimin had paused inside you, you had to bite back an objection at his pause, but it was difficult with his large, pulsing dick buried deep in your ass. 

“Y-yes master.” You whined making him laugh, you could feel him move slightly before straightening his posture. Your body jumped however at the new sensation. Silicon running up your wet pussy coating in your hot arousal. 

Jimin pushed the tip of the dildo inside you making your body almost convulse. 

Your body felt ready to burst as Jimin ignored your cries, pushing the dildo inside you further filling your pussy tightly. The walls of your entire lower body felt full enough to burst as Jimin began thrusting again. 

You couldn’t even make a sound anymore as his hand began to thrust the dildo inside of you. It was difficult to even think of anything besides how much your body was taking inside of it, the dildo continually hit your g-spot though finally forcing a cracked moan from you. Your body was being visibly moved with every thrust from Jimin though, his cock pounding into your abused hole as he moaned. 

“Squirt for master.” Jimin demanded his hand going faster on the dildo before angling it to drag against your hypersensitive clit. Dragging its large shaft over and over the bud again as you strangled a cry your body shaking violently at the rapid orgasm beginning to form.

He thrusted the dildo inside of you, hitting your g-spot one last time before you came. You could only see in black and the liquid came squirting out coating the dildo as it trickled to the bed below. 

You were gasping for dear life as the tears began streaming down your face feeling Jimin’s thrust became rougher but more uneven as he continually dragged the dildo against your g-spot, forcing your body into spitting more liquid, just as violent as before as you choked another sober. 

“Keep taking it pet,” Jimin growled out, his hand refusing to slow down from thrusting both himself and the dildo inside you, forcing you to ride your orgasm painfully long but you were a good girl. 

Letting him keep overstimulating you as you cried, taking it like the champ you were. You had squirted one last time making surely the biggest mess in your life as Jimin came. His moans strung and cracked beautifully as he filled you up.

You both had breathed raggedly for a moment before he removed himself and the toy from you. Shuffling before you felt the bed dip again. Jimin had grabbed your hands unlocking the cuffs before letting your limp body drop against the bed, “Sleep kitten, you earned it.” His hand nuzzled into your hair, you didn’t have to be told twice.

Note: don’t mind me bathing in holy water over here, things are about to get verrryyy interesting soon 👀 also!! Thank you guys so much for the love and support!! It always makes me so excited to write plus your comments have me dying 😂🖤

Taglist: @sapphireprinces5 @jazzytfw @theslumberingcat @mrsfandomz @cainami @nininek12

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[prussiumscribbles]

Glasswork

Arthur laughs, and the next thing I know, he’s wiping my glasses. He puts them back and stares at my face to make sure they’re not slanting. “There you go. That’s better.”

I push them against the bridge of my nose. “Thanks.”

He pulls his hands from the warm pockets of his jersey jacket and wraps them around mine. It’s hard to hate him when he’s like that.

I wish Arthur will let me sleep. I wish he’ll take me by the hand, drag me home, toss our clothes on the floor, and curl up under the sheets until the sun comes up. But he has other ideas.

Street lamps cast halos in the fog, which I’d describe as heavenly if I’m not exhausted from following Arthur around the city while he gets plastered at stupid o’clock in the morning.

“Hey, Alfred?” He looks above his shoulder, his words coming out with mist. His nose is red. “You alright, mate?”

I nod.

Arthur laughs, and the next thing I know, he’s wiping my glasses. He puts them back and stares at my face to make sure they’re not slanting. “There you go. That’s better.”

I push them against the bridge of my nose. “Thanks.”

He pulls his hands from the warm pockets of his jersey jacket and wraps them around mine. It’s hard to hate him when he’s like that.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Three parties, two fucks, and a bajillion drinks later, I forgot we went to see a band we’ve been dying to see for ages.  

“Loved it,” I say, keeping my eyes on the floor, “Felt like Sziget all over again, don’t you think?”

He chuckles. “Well, this one was completely mental, but Sziget was something else.”

I feel his breath against my cheek as he leans close and wraps an arm around my waist. Summer last year, he and I went to a music festival in Budapest. There was a special kind of freedom then— it was our first time to travel outside England together. It was the kind of freedom that let us hold hands and kiss and be ourselves in public without being self-conscious.

The festival was electric. We sang and danced and jumped in the pit with a sea of strangers. From the lights to the atmosphere, it felt fucking awesome. Damn, I still get goosebumps whenever I think about singing back with the crowd. We were with everyone, and I was with Arthur. There was one point when we said, fuck it, and abandoned our tent to wander around the city. We booked a hotel room to drink and kiss and touch and lay naked, whatever felt good, until we were so hung over we missed our train to Vienna the next day.

“Where do we go now?” I ask.

He pulled away, stuffing his hands back to his jacket’s pockets, and walked two paces in front. “To my mate Gilbert’s.”

Of course, three parties aren’t enough. To be honest, I’d rather be at a concert where my arm will be around his shoulders, and his face next to mine.

Arthur’s in his element walking around in a black skeleton shirt and a skull painted on his face, which are an obsession he gets from watching too many horror films. I’m pretty sure I look like an overgrown toddler beside him with my wolf hoodie — I didn’t have the time to be excited about Halloween this year.

Half of the city’s still awake. Harley Quinns haunt the streets with their melted make up and baseball bats. A vampire awaits to suck on Fake Kylie Jenner’s neck in a café we’re passing by.

A bitter taste spreads on my tongue as we walk past a mile-long line of people waiting to be granted a golden ticket inside a high-end club. I can already taste the bile rising up my esophagus while watching these Halloween monsters— vultures— making out, smoking, picking up fights just to party and forget this night the next day and do it all over again next week.

If I’m thinking out loud, my friends must be giving me weird looks right now, saying, What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you Mister People Pleaser? People think I love being surrounded with crowds all the time, but the truth is I hate it. Nothing can make me feel terribly alone than being with mindless, alcoholic attention seekers. They will be the downfall of the 21st century, trust me.

What I’m saying is I love socializing— I do— but once it starts taking over your life, once you find yourself desperately blowing your money on your liquid lunch, Tequila Tuesday, or Whiskey Wednesday just to forget whatever shit you wanna forget, you’re becoming the loser here so you have to think twice… I don’t know, maybe it’s the alcohol talking, I don’t know anymore.

We keep walking despite being surrounded by vultures, whose hungry eyes follow us, working out if they can take us as their prey. And this is why I’m staying with Arthur. He may be an obnoxious little shit, but he’s still my best friend, so I can’t let the vultures have him.

I turn my attention back to Arthur who’s happily chattering away, whether I’m listening or not. His phone rings relentlessly inside his back pocket, but he ignores it. Sometimes, I’m not sure if it’s really him who’s acting or the powder he sniffed in the toilet. He did some at the last party, and didn’t forget to offer some as usual, but I declined. You’re no fun, he said and disappeared into the bathroom.

Lately, only drugs can put him on a festive mood. See, this is the person I’m using as an example, a warning sign— this is the person I never want to become.

“…and then, they had to run off because the police caught them drinking smoking weed in the park—“

His phone rings again and cuts off his thrilling monologue. “Oh, bugger off!”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Some guy I slept with two nights ago,” he tells his boots.

We’ve never been exclusive, really. We’ve established that a long time ago, I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with the idea of other people taking him to bed. I don’t wanna hear about it I don’t wanna hear about it I don’t wanna hear about it—

“Why does he keep bothering you?”

He licks his lips. “He said he likes me,” he stares at his cracked phone screen as he finally types a message. “Can’t seem to get enough of me because, y’know, I’m mental.”

He chortles like it’s the funniest thing in the world and expects me to laugh with him. When he sees my straight face, he shrugs. “It’s what they like. They think, ‘oh yeah, I wanna be with a crazy person, they’re brilliant’. They think we’re all cliff diving, road trips at three in the morning, and all those exciting adventures. Hell, they’re bloody mental.”

The images send painful blows to my stomach. I don’t understand why Arthur would ever want to be around those people, but he seems to be pleased with the attention, so whatever.  

He pulls me inside Londis to get some canned beer. I open my mouth to protest, but he interjects, “It’s only cider.”

It’s only Tuesday night, Jesus Christ, how am I supposed to last until Friday? Late nights have been a terrifyingly familiar scene to me since university. Two years of binge drinking, and I feel like an old man already.

I’m tired and angry, but never with Arthur. I’m angry at the system, whatever it is that glorifies the self-destructive culture— getting wasted every night, being sleepless for reasons and depending on coffee or drugs to function, leaving people homeless or penniless… I don’t wanna be those people.

On the counter, I toss ten quid to pay for the two cans he grabbed for me, but Arthur will have none of it. I shrug and put it back to my pocket. I hear my favorite song from the speakers, one of those songs played on the show tonight. It thumps inside the walls of my chest, echoing with the images of the concert, the bouncing crowd, the dark, the lights strobing Arthur’s face.

“How can a song about loss sound so uplifting?” I ask as we step outside. The breeze slaps my face.

Arthur plucks a cigarette stick with his lips. “It’s called ingenuity.”

“Right.”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Well, it’s not just about loss, really. It’s about being happy in a sad situation, and sad in a happy situation… The ups and downs, and the moments of euphoria you get.”

The streets are getting more deserted now. We march to the park across us. Arthur lights his cigarette and takes a long drag, eyes staring at the dark distance.

“When I die, will you play it at my funeral?”

I comb my hair back with my fingers. “No.”

He nudges me in the rib. “What exactly is the use of you?”

I lift the muscles that make me smile, not saying anything else. We keep walking until we find a bench to support our weight. My cheeks are frozen, and Arthur is wobbling a little bit. We could’ve went inside a restaurant to have a proper dinner, but we’re both broke especially Arthur.

“Why don’t we go home? We can skip class and get shitfaced tomorrow at lunch,” I suggest.

“I see I’ve taught you well,” Arthur replies, a flicker of pride in his face. He’s the one who taught me how to be blind drunk at midday, and smoke my first cigarette. “But I need this right now.“

I open my canned cider and take a few gulps, hearing my stomach grumbling in protest. Cider isn’t really the best peace offering for your empty stomach.  

Under the street lamp, I watch Arthur’s face discreetly. His make up is wearing off. I can see the fresh gash above his left eyebrow from playing jiu jitsu, the sport that gives me an excuse to beat people without being jailed, he claims. No matter where he gets them, he’s proud of his scars and injuries— he’ll show up in class with a black eye from a bar fight the night before, and parade it around the campus as if he’s a fucking war hero.  

Beyond us, the city is slowly stirring for the next day. I glance at my watch; the Tube will start operating in half an hour.  

Arthur lies down the bench, the top of his head touching my thigh. “Hmm, this bench is not as horrid as I thought. I should probably get used to it by now.”

“I told you, you can always stay at my place. You have the key, right?” I tell him. “That’s the use of me, dickhead.”

He gives me a smirk that have always blown me away, either from admiration or irritation.

“Alfred, promise me one thing: don’t let other people tell you how to live your life,” he says. It seems our conversation has taken a turn and is passing through the deep forests of his mind. “Even if it means your family disowning you and your landlady throwing you out of your apartment because you can’t make the rent. Fuck all of them! It’s your life, you’re supposed to be in control of it. Nobody else.”  

He sits down again and downs his drink out of spite. Imitating the voice of his father, he says, “If only you’re like Allistor…” His face contorts with disgust. “If I’m like him, I’ll be six feet under by now too, for fuck’s sake! They can’t expect me to be like him. Suppose they prefer me blown up in the desert as well? I’d like to go my way, and on my own pace, thank you very much.”

“Arthur…”

I don’t know what to say. Under some circumstances, I’d have thrown my arms around him and held him and told him everything’s going to be okay.  

I can only make myself look at his face. The skull that gives an illusion of bitterness and danger, as if saying back off or you’ll die, is fading now, revealing his true face. Lonely and vulnerable. What little is left from his shattered pride after he was disowned. Just like the skull, the drugs are wearing off, and his problems are sinking in. Even the chemicals can’t dissolve the sadness in his eyes.

I gaze into them— those eyes that shine green, resembling sea-glass. I miss the bright spark in them, the way they did in Budapest, or under the Cornish stars where we camped and shared our first kiss, back when he was sincerely happy.

He blinks, tugging me back to the present.

“I’m tired of this…” He whispers as he turns away to hide his face. I’m staring at his back, and I can imagine his muscles rippling underneath his jacket.  

His phone rings again, and he answers this time.

“Hello?… Er, yeah… Alright, then… Fuck you!… We’re coming over… Right… I’m hanging up now, twat.”

He faces me with that smirk again, like he turned off his sadness for another night. Something bubbles in my chest. “Off to the Land of Free Booze And Food!”

I can’t find it in myself to refuse him (but when did I ever?). The bitter taste returns in my mouth as I find too many drunk people ready to sleep the day away. Almost everyone is half-naked— the girls on their skimpy crop tops or bras, the boys shirtless— and is either passed out or rubbing against each other, showered with booze. There are people in the kiddie pool, and there are some making out in the dark corners. Only a few people are standing by the food counter.

I tug at Arthur’s arm. “Should we head out? It looks like the party’s over.”

He bats his eyelashes. “Alfred, mate, if you really wanna go home, then go. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

No, you won’t.

He frees himself from my grip and finds his friends at the counter. I sit on a couch on the corner to sulk while he talks and laughs and flirts with his remaining early-morning energy. I take off my ugly wolf-head hoodie to glare at it. By the time he’s tipsy, he heads towards me, carrying a plate of fish and chips and cradling a bottle of beer in his other arm like a baby.

We pick on the food (I suddenly realize my hunger went away unnoticed), and Arthur liberates a pack of cigarettes from some poor dude’s back pocket. He offers and I take one stick. We sit like this contently for god-knows-how-long, the two of us occasionally laughing about something stupid, until he closes the distance between us and kisses me.

His lips are chapped but soft, too familiar from all the years they’ve pressed against mine. They find their way to my chin and under my jaw as his warm hands take possession of my skin. Arthur pounces at me with the force of a lion catching its prey, cupping my face, and grinding against me. With my back against the couch, I look around, alert. Nobody seems to care if we fuck ourselves silly in a stranger’s living room.

Arthur reaches down to unzip my jeans. He really can’t seem to close his legs tonight.

“Arthur,” I murmur, pulling away. “Arthur, we’ve had two already.”

His thick eyebrows knit together like I’m speaking Mandarin. “So what?”

“I’m tired.”

“I’ll ride you.”

“Jesus, Arthur.”

I wish he’d live like he’s made of glass sometimes.

He sighs and stands up with nonchalance. Spotting his new prey by the kiddie pool, he hollers, “Hey, Snake!”

Before he can take another step away, I tell him, “You never really appreciate anything I’ve done for you, do you?”

He snaps his head back to my direction, and confusion is written all over his face.

I give him everything I can, but it’s all a game to him. It seems like Arthur only uses me for pleasure, to make him feel good when he’s feeling miserable, and not really valuing our friendship.    

“I’m only good enough for fucking and passing time.”

My voice cracks a little in the beginning, but it turned louder and stronger, enough to draw anxiety on Arthur’s face. I assume he’ll black out the next day and ask about what happened. He always forgets this kind of night, but I refuse to make this one of those nights. I want to make him feel, and leave this feeling deep inside his heart so he won’t ever, ever forget. I’m doing my best for him because I care, but he pushes me over the fucking edge.

“You always play the victim as if you’ve never done anything to deserve every shit that happened!”

The house stirs. My words might have come out louder than I wanted. People are startled. What’s going on? say their faces. Some of them are too passed out to care.

“You’re right,” he replies. I’ve never wanted to wipe that annoying smirk from his lips so badly. “You’re only good for fucking and passing time. Hell, you can’t even fuck well! Why do you think I let other people take me home?”

My fists clench. This is what he wants, I tell myself. He’s pushing my buttons because he wants me to give him a brand new pain, the physical kind that will leave marks and fade in time. I’m not giving in to his dare.

I take a deep breath and count to ten. “You know what? I’m going home,” I say. “I don’t care if you’re coming over or not. I’m leaving.”

As I lay in bed, I listen to the cars passing outside my apartment and watch the stray lights paint the walls of my room. I twist and turn, reach for my phone and hesitate, then bury my face on the pillow. I blink my eyes a couple of times, trying to get rid of a thought gnawing at me, which is my last thought before I fall asleep. I remember expecting a call from a hospital or the police station concerning a certain Arthur Rafael Kirkland because his family refuse to acknowledge his existence.

The next time I open my eyes, daylight floods my bedroom, passing through the half-drawn curtains. I panic for a second, searching for my desk clock, but then I remember I don’t have class until 1pm during Wednesdays.

“Alfred…”

I recognize the figure sitting on the edge of my bed before I can put my glasses on. I look at him the same way I did at the park last night. There are no more traces of the skull make up, and I can see his face clearly now. There’s the gash near his left eyebrow, pinkish and healing fast. Relief bursts in my chest, knowing he didn’t get his face smashed in the few hours we weren’t together. Dark circles bloom under his eyes like two-day-old bruises, and his hair tousled. He looks awfully exhausted.

This is the person I don’t want to become.  

Perceiving my lack of response, he bites his lip and fidgets with his fingers. “I wish I hadn’t been terrible last night,” he says. “Forgive me.”

I wish I can say I’m not drawn into bad habits, but I am. No matter how far he pushes me away, I keep gravitating to him.

“Come here, you.” I envelope him into my arms, and he tenses for a moment, startled by the gesture. I hug him long enough for him to hold me too, and we kiss. The gentle, hesitant kind, not the hungry, aggressive one. He wraps his lips around mine, expressing what his words cannot. We let our mouths linger against each other’s skin, feeling warmth in this intimacy. We pull away and I tangle my fingers on the hair at the back of his head. I lean closer so our noses are touching, and I look into those green eyes.

Here is the person I never want to be. Here is the person I’ve allowed myself to love.

[Also on AO3]

[olllmaatta]

hang an anchor from the sun

connor didn't expect to leave the world cup as jack eichel's friend, yet here he is.

and it keeps on snowballing from there.

(this is for @dyllarkin i’m sorry this took me so damn long lmao hope you like it anyways fam)

ao3

Connor finds out about the ankle sprain from NHL.com, picking up his phone after a cooldown cycle in the gym after morning skate. Immediately, he goes to compose a text, something like that sucks or I’m sorry or hey, if you need to talk, just let me know because apparently they’re that kind of friends now. (The World Cup was weird.) But then he remembers how much he wouldn’t have appreciated texts like that back when he broke his collarbone, how much they reminded him of all that he wasn’t doing. And sure, they’re not rookies anymore, but both of them do still have the weight of failing franchises of their shoulders.

So instead, he googles o shit i’ve fallen and i can’t waddup and texts the resulting image to Jack, captioning it is this you?

He doesn’t wait for a response, resolutely putting his phone away and going to shower. If Jack doesn’t text back, that’s fine. He’s probably hopped up on drugs anyways, and Connor is almost definitely not high on Jack’s list of priorities. That’s fine. It’s fine. As long as Jack will be back on the ice in a month or so, everything will be fine.

Jack still hasn’t texted back by the time he wakes up from his pregame nap, but Connor tells himself again that it doesn’t matter. He’s got to get to the rink and focus on his own game, the weight of the C on his chest feeling like more than just a letter and a title. Last year, he was the prophesied saviour, the Next One, but now? Now he’s supposed to be the leader, and he’s not sure if he can do it.

All that fades away when he steps onto the ice, however, blood rushing and skates cutting through the fresh ice. This is their season opener, and hell if he’s going to waste it thinking about a friend on a different team who sprained his ankle. He’s got bigger fish to fry tonight.

And the game itself might not be the prettiest he’s ever played, but he comes away from it with two goals and an assist and his first win as captain of the Edmonton Oilers under his belt, so that’s good and all. He also gets Johnny asking him if he’s heard anything from Jack, as if Connor’s supposed to be keeping track of him just because – well, just because he’s Connor McDavid, he supposes. “He hasn’t texted me back,” he had said, shaking his head.

Johnny had looked surprised, as if he had expected something more from their relationship. “Me neither,” he had settled for saying, however. “If you hear anything, let me know, okay?”

Connor wonders about this, because if Jack was to text either of them back first it would definitely be Johnny, who was a. exclusively Jack’s liney throughout training camp and the first game and b. not Connor McDavid, whom Jack had apparently only very recently stopped hating. But then he’s finally on his way home, having passed on requests to go out tonight in favour of – honestly, he doesn’t know.

His place is quiet and empty when he gets back, just like he expected, but he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if there was someone here waiting for him, maybe sitting on the couch aimlessly watching whatever plays after postgame or snacking on the chips he keeps hidden from himself. But there’s nothing waiting for him at home but the darkness and the chill of heating that somehow still hasn’t kicked in.

Shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie, he plugs his phone into the charger on the countertop and rummages in the fruit up drawer of his fridge for a snack, looking to get an early night. His phone buzzes as he rinses an apple, and he ignores it for a moment, thinking that it’s got to be someone texting to congratulate him or something. He’ll deal with that later. But then it keeps on going, telling Connor that he’s got a phone call from someone that evidently will not be dissuaded by his not coming to the phone. With a sigh, he picks up without looking at the screen. “Hey, this is Connor,” he says.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jack responds. “I – I got your text.”

Connor laughs despite himself. “Did you appreciate it?”

“You’re a few months behind the times,” Jack says. “But yes, I appreciated it anyways.”

“Good to hear,” Connor says.

Jack’s silent on the other side of the line for a moment, the two just listening to each other breathe, but then he finally says, “It sucks, you know? That it happened at practice and all.”

Connor hums in agreement, taking another bite of his apple. “You’ll be back soon,” he says despite knowing just how little statements like that actually do to help.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says. “Good game tonight, though.”

“You watched it?” Connor asks, pleased despite himself.

Jack laughs. “Caught a few minutes in the third. You looked good.”

“Thanks,” Connor says. “You – get better soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack says dryly. “Whatever the great McJesus says. You sure you can’t lend me some of those godlike healing powers?”

“Healing powers my ass,” Connor responds. “You think I wouldn’t have used those when my collarbone got fucked up?”

He can hear Jack’s grin through the call. “Man, you probably just wanted a break. Lazy-ass motherfucker.”

“Fight me, see if I’m lazy,” Connor shoots back.

“Dude, you have no idea how much I would’ve paid to fight you a year ago,” Jack responds.

Connor smiles even though he knows that Jack can’t see him. “Yeah, well, what about now?” he asks before he can stop himself.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Connor’s worried that he’s misstepped, somehow, and Jack’s going to hang up on him and ghost him and fade out of his life and the very idea is terrifying.

But then Jack laughs again. “You’ve got the worst taste in everything, of course I’d still fight you,” and Connor breathes a sigh of relief.

(He lies awake thinking about this when he finally hangs up and goes to bed half an hour later. It scares him how much Jack’s insinuated himself into Connor’s life, made himself indispensable and irreplaceable. But he accepts it – he has to accept it, because now that Jack’s slotted himself into a hole in Connor’s life, Connor doesn’t know how to let go.)

(And that’s okay.)

Jack texts him even more than he used to while he’s in the middle of recovery, something that Connor most definitely did not expect but embraces wholeheartedly. It seems that he wakes up practically every other day to some kind of complaint about how PT fucking sucks or to some dumb meme that he found while browsing Reddit. It’s strange, this easy friendship they’ve somehow fallen into together. And, sure, this may have been what Connor was looking for when he asked Jack to hang out that one night during the pretournament games, but he can say with some certainty that he never expected to be this successful.

When Buffalo comes to Edmonton, Jack’s not on the plane (for obvious reasons). Connor tries not to be terribly disappointed by this, but it was still one of the few chances he had to hang out with Jack and it’s a shame to let it go to waste. Wish u were here, he texts before he can stop himself, and then forces himself not to avoid his phone for the next forty years. It’s completely normal thing for a guy to text his friend, right? It’s not going to – Jack isn’t –

Me too, Jack responds.

Connor’s heart swells with fondness, even when Jack adds, we’re still gonna beat ur ass tho.

“Who’s got you making such a stupid face?” Nursey asks, leaning in in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Connor’s phone screen.

“Your mom,” Connor shoots back automatically, pocketing his phone.

(He’s informed by three separate people in the next five minutes that he’s still grinning like a loon.)

Connor sends Jack a few Snapchats of his latest attempt at cooking after a game one night. He forgets about timezones, however, and doesn’t get a response until the next morning. It’s Jack, just woken up, hair messy and face still creased from the pillow. Connor thinks he’s beautiful.

He also spends too long staring at the picture to actually process the caption.

So instead of responding generically, he chooses to leave Jack on opened and call Stromer instead. “What do you want, Davo?” Stromer says, mildly miffed. “I have to leave for practice in five minutes.”

“Jack Snapped me as soon as he woke up and he looked so good,” Connor says bluntly.

Stromer cackles right into the phone, forcing Connor to pull his ear away from the speaker. “Jesus Christ, that’s why you called me? I thought you were like dying or something!”

“I am dying here,” Connor whines, flopping back on his bed, dropping his phone next to him.

Stromer probably rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re being so dramatic over Jack fucking Eichel, man, what the fuck happened to ‘he’s objectively hot but also an asshole so I’d never fuck him’?”

“Fuck you, I don’t sound like that,” Connor protests halfheartedly.

“You’re completely stupid over him,” Stromer laughs, completely ignoring Connor’s misfortunes. “I can’t believe this, oh my god, this is fucking gold.”

“Shut up and let me pine in peace,” Connor says.

Stromer laughs. “If you wanted peace, you wouldn’t have called me.”

“You’re right,” Connor sighs, rolling over onto his stomach. “Distract me. Has Brinksy done anything supremely stupid lately?”

“You don’t even know,” Stromer laughs, staying on the line even as he gets his stuff into his car and drives to practice. It’s comfortable, feels like home, and Connor can pretend that he’s not thinking about Jack at all.

When he finally gets off the phone, though, there’s another Snapchat waiting for him. Can’t believe you’re leaving me on opened, Jack says against the backdrop of an unknown road outside a car’s windshield.

Sorry, Connor responds, retaking the picture five times before he’s finally satisfied.

Amidst all the talk of another McDavid-Matthews matchup (which Connor for one thinks is dumb – Auston’s a pretty cool guy and they played on the same line on the World Cup, so the media should maybe stop), Connor gets a text from Jack that simply says I’M CLEARED!!!

And that means that Jack’s going to be playing against him when the Oilers go to Buffalo, and sure, that should be exciting, but then Auston gives him the most shit-eating grin from across the faceoff dot and says, “Got any plans in Buffalo?”

Connor may or may not shove him out of the way with a little more force than is necessary.

(Honestly, Auston’s one to talk. Connor can see the way he and Mitch look at each other. It’s disgusting. He shouldn’t be forced to suffer like this.)

(I swear to God matts and marns are trying to get into each other’s pants, he texts Jack after the game. If he has to suffer through this, Jack’s going to too.)

(Not something I want to b thinking about, Jack responds.)

Jack looks good across the faceoff dot in Buffalo. Connor wants to tell him as much, but the ref is still looking between them like he’s afraid they’ll start fighting or something, so he swallows the words and goes for the puck. But it’s good, though, all clean hits and exhilarating races for the puck, and Connor feels at home in his own skin.

He’s still mildly bitter about the OT loss, though, especially since he didn’t manage a goal of his own and the Oilers choked at the last second again, but at least he put up two points to Jack’s one so that’s something. He can work with that.

And Jack appears at the visitor locker room after the game, freshly showered and back in his game-day suit, wide grin and stupidest hair and all. Connor’s fairly certain that he’s got the dumbest look on his own face just by the way Nursey’s barely holding in his laughter in the next stall over. “Yo, Davo, want to come get dinner with me?”

“Sure,” Connor says, smiling despite himself.

Nursey wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously. “Be back before curfew! No funny business!”

“We can’t cover for you if you miss team breakfast,” Ebs adds with a shit-eating grin. “So try not to go home with him, okay?”

Connor sighs. “Get the fuck outta here,” he says, but without any real heat.

(He’s thought about it.)

(He’d never tell Ebs that, though.)

Jack takes him to get wings, because they’re in Buffalo and they’re both huge fucking clichés. No one in the restaurant pays them any mind, which Connor is supremely thankful for. “Let me order,” Jack says as soon as the waitress leaves them to pore over their menus.

Connor shrugs. “You know what’s good,” he agrees.

They’re quiet once their waitress has taken their orders and left. Both their phones are out, but it’s not as awkward as Connor might still have expected. Instead, it’s comfortable, an easy companionship, and Jack keeps on wordlessly getting his attention just to show him funny Instagram posts or dumb videos.

Then he suddenly says, “They asked you about me again?” He slides his phone across the table to show Connor an article on nhl.com about the game that they just played.

Connor shrugs. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them about all the time you’ve wasted on Reddit when you should have been napping or the ridiculous number of dumbfuck memes you send me.”

“Excuse you, those are good memes,” Jack shoots back, mock-offended.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘good meme’,” Connor insists, complete with air-quotes and all. Nevertheless, he slides Jack’s phone back to him. “But I didn’t throw you under the bus, is what I’m saying.”

“So what did you say? ‘A good guy’?” Jack reads, laughing. “‘Always kind of talking’? ‘Always kind of the centre of attention’? Wow, what a stellar review.”

Connor laughs along with him. “Hey, they asked what you were like,” he responds.

“‘I definitely enjoyed my time with him’,” Jack continues, voice softening. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, quieter this time. “Always.”

“I – ” Jack obviously doesn’t really know what to say here, and Connor is content to let the moment stretch out between them, taut with some kind of strangely comfortable tension.

Their food comes, breaking the silence, and Connor makes the appropriate noises about the deliciousness of the food, but in all honesty he can barely taste it. He’s too busy staring at Jack’s freckles and the way he licks sauce off his fingers.

“Hey. Hey. McDavid. Connor. Earth to McJesus.” Jack snaps his fingers in front of Connor’s nose, startling him out of his reverie. When Connor blinks in surprise at him, Jack’s voice softens and he adds, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Connor responds, turning back to his food. “Just – thinking about shit, y’know?”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Because Jack has a media façade and apparently also a “friends” façade, because the Jack Eichel Connor used to think he knew back before the draft would never have asked anyone if they wanted to talk. Not even Hanifin.

Probably.

But Connor would probably die of mortification if he actually told Jack what he was thinking about, especially since there’s a spot of sauce on Jack’s chin and all Connor can think about is licking it off. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

Jack finishes another wing, wiping that smudge off his face, and grins. “So anyways, did I ever tell you about the time Reino went to Walmart when he was drunk off his ass and blew like a thousand dollars?”

“Hey,” Jack says quietly when they pull into the hotel’s parking lot, pausing the music. “Mind if we – park for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure,” Connor says, confused but willing to roll with it. Once Jack’s parked and turned off the ignition, he unbuckles, turns to Jack and asks, “What’s up?”

Jack sighs. “This – I – thanks for letting me take you out to dinner, I guess. I had a great time.”

“I’m glad I could bless you with my presence,” Connor says, grinning. Then, because he hates himself, he points out, “You didn’t – take me out, though. It wasn’t a date. We just – got dinner together.”

Jack mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “would’ve been nice if it was” but Connor really isn’t willing to take that chance, so he ascribes it to wishful thinking.

He also really doesn’t want to get out of Jack’s car, though. It feels – safe, somehow, like everything outside waiting for him, pressuring him, can’t reach him while he’s sitting in companionable silence with Jack Eichel. And when he looks over at Jack, the lights of the passing cars fly over his face and play off his hair and make him look ethereal, and Connor –

Connor wants to kiss him.

(Okay, fine, Connor always wants to kiss Jack now, but now? Now he can’t think about anything else, caught up in the barely-visible fan of Jack’s lashes and the bow of his lips and how much he wants.)

Suddenly he notices that Jack’s been watching him this entire time, and he thinks that – maybe – he seems some of what he’s feeling in Jack’s eyes. And he doesn’t want to say anything about it, because what if he’s wrong, but his traitorous lungs decide to breathe out a “Hey”.

Jack says something at the exact same time, maybe “So” or “Well” or another superficially-meaningless word, but it doesn’t really matter because they both burst into laughter a second later, the moment broken.

And Connor thinks that – that maybe this is it, that Jack’s going to turn the engine back on and go drop Connor off at the loop and that will be that, and there’s something inside him that rebels at the very idea of leaving Jack again like this, everything unspoken. But – but it’ll be fine, he thinks as they calm down, reduced again to dopey dumbass smiles.

Then Jack sighs, mutters “Fuck this shit”, and unbuckles his seatbelt. Before Connor can tell what’s happening, Jack’s leaned over the centre console and –

and is kissing him.

One arm tight around Connor’s shoulders, the other one cupping his face, and Connor could melt.

But by the time his shocked brain has finally processed all of this, Jack is pulling back, and Connor already misses the weight of his arm. He grabs blindly at Jack’s hand before he can get too far away. “No, please – c’mere – ” he stutters out, before pulling Jack back into him – or himself into Jack – it doesn’t matter.

They fall together like gravity this time, drawn to each other and feeling the weight in the way Jack sucks at Connor’s lip, the small sound Jack makes when Connor works a hand into his hair, the desperation with which they’re clutching at each other, trying to get as close as possible.

And it’s not perfect, the gear shift digging into Connor’s thigh and the awkward angle straining his back, but it’s also everything he could ever want. Jack is warm, his lips are soft, and his fingers are scrabbling at Connor’s dress shirt, trying to untuck it. Just the thought of skin against skin sends shivers down Connor’s spine.

They break eventually, but it’s not a sure thing, Jack darting in to kiss Connor again like he can’t help it. When they finally stop, lips tingling and hearts racing, Jack rests his forehead on Connor’s, still cupping Connor’s cheek.

He leans into the touch. “I didn’t – I didn’t think – ” he says in disbelief.

Jack smiles, and it’s stupidly charming. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

And Connor can’t help himself, pressing back into Jack’s mouth again, because now he’s allowed. He’s allowed, and Jack is solid and real and here, not just a name at the top of his phone screen or a voice at the other end of the line, and Connor wants to be lost in this moment forever.

He can’t, though, and that hurts more than anything else. He tastes the lingering sweetness of Jack’s Diet Coke on his tongue and feels the breath stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how he’d ever let this go.

But he has to when his phone alarm goes off, telling them that his curfew is fast approaching. It’s so hard to tear himself away from Jack, though, when Jack’s lips are so red and kiss-bitten and inviting and who knows the next time they’ll see each other.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Jack whispers, breath ghosting across Connor’s lips.

“Yeah,” Connor agrees shakily. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses Jack again, one last time, and then forces himself to open the car door and get out, refusing to look back. If he did, he’s not sure if he could still make himself leave.

“– so dumb, Jack, Jesus Christ, why did you ever think this was a good idea?”

“We’re in fucking Aruba,” Jack says, sticking his head out of the bathroom. “No one’s going to recognise us. It’s going to be fine.”

“What if they do?” Connor demands, almost hysterical.

Jack sighs and puts his comb down, reeling Connor in with his other hand. Connor goes willingly, tucking himself into Jack’s side like he belongs there (because he does). “Then they do. We’ve got a plan, remember?”

“Yeah, but – ” Connor starts, before turning to bury his face in Jack’s shoulder. “I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Jack says firmly. “No matter how hard it gets. I just – I just want to hold your hand in public, okay? And if we can do that here, I’m going to do it here.”

Connor can’t find his words. The only thing left for him to do is kiss Jack, so he does, backing him into the bathroom counter. It’s familiar, now, but the way Jack’s tongue feels against his is not something he’ll ever get tired of.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever said it to Jack.

“I love you,” he says again, and it feels like a revelation.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and it’s something he’s always known.

Jack says “I love you too,” breathes it into his mouth and speaks it with his lips and hands and body.

They lose track of time like that, pressed up against the bathroom counter and lazily making out, but it’s all good. It’s all good, because it’s the offseason and they’ve got time, and they love each other and that’s –

It’s all that matters.

[realpaperclipsmagazine-blog]

As the New Year Comes

Different feelings and expectations as the year 2017 comes nearer to its end. As the curtains of 2017 slowly roll down, another year is threatening to come. Oh, the word threatening is quite inappropriate to use. Of course, even if new challenges are sure to come, new opportunities would flow along with double the figure. So, we should think positively and strive hard to achieve what the new rooms for individual and communal growth could offer. But knowing that the year is already at its end, we can’t help but be beset with several questions. In this Paperclips Magazine new issue, here are few of the common questions and what other authors have to say: 1) If you could have a New Year’s wish, what would that be? My New Year’s wish is, I wish God would send down his angels to fight the demons that are infested in bodies that want to destroy our country. - Judy A. King , author of Yellow Star My New Year’s wish would be that my book, The Saints of Bogby Baptist Church could be successful. - Jerry Stafford , author of The Saints of Bogby Baptist Church: An Allegorical Study of Living If I knew that my wish was to become reality, it would have been tantamount to ruling the World and I would wish that in 2018 the people of the World started electing leaders who have the wisdom to master the law of unintended consequences of their decisions. - Yuri Feynberg , author of Child of Gulag In 2018, I would begin retirement from psychology practice so my wish is that I will be productive in sharing with my family and learning. Also, I want to do some consulting works in my writing. Also, to recognize how blessed I am to be this healthy at 80 years old. Mainly, next year, that I will be very alert and try to live my faith and take care of my family especially my wife who has health problems. Continue the opportunities right now to continue in consulting work and that I may be able to do some workshops regarding Blending Families and at the same time, never stop to learn anything new. - Max Price, author of Blending Families: The Honeymoon Comes Later My one wish would be for every animal to live in a home and/or with a family that will cherish them for the precious gifts they are. #adoptdontshop #rescuedog - Amanda Hopkins, author of Daisy Dog Book Series My wish would be for everyone to have unconditional love for animals and each another. - Barbara Poole, author of The Diaries of Liberty the Pug May each day be an opportunity for love to gift all I influence. - Nancy Williams, author of A Return From Grief 2) If you could celebrate the new year, anywhere in the world, where would you go and why? I would return to the large parks in Africa to see once more the elephants, wildebeests, lions, zebras and other animals there. I would do so because this experience of survival in the wild demonstrates my passion: attachment and evolution. Thanks again. - Dr. Mark Beischel, author of Calming the Brain Through Mindfulness Hiking on the Golan Height, with walking staff firmly in hand, cogitating my thoughts as I look both ways and thinking about the history of the region. - David Paul Anderson, author of The Book of Talyara If I could celebrate the New Year anywhere I would celebrate it in Italy either on the Amalfi coast or Siena. Italy is beautiful and rich in culture and history and the food is fantastic. I have been there twice and would like to take my wife there and celebrate the New Year there I think it would be a funfilled night. Since both grandparents came from Italy it would be fun to celebrate it with my cousins that I never met. - Joe Marino, author of Autumn of Life: A Guide to Aging and Dying At first, I thought, I’d love to celebrate in Hawaii, since I’ve never been there; or maybe fly back to some places we’ve been like Flagstaff and Sedona in Arizona. But finally, after giving it much consideration, and some serious meditation; I realized that there IS a very special place ~ Only one of its kind actually ~ where I’d truly love to celebrate this and every year forthcoming. And that place is; The Johnson Park/Lake House, which is extremely special to me. It’s a glorious, wonderful property where I wake up every day to a serene lake-view, enhanced by a glorious, Golden sunrise and the beautiful, peaceful sounds of nature in the backdrop— various birds singing, water gently rippling, and soft breezes whispering through the majestic oak trees that have been artistically positioned upon the property. All of which I enjoy from the balcony attached to the master bedroom suite. And, I end each day with an equally majestic Amber/Russet sunset view over that same serene lake! Breath-taking doesn’t even come close to how to describe it… so, All I’ll say about it is… WOW!!! - Dr. Truth, author of Now I Know! 3) Are you sad to see the old year pass? Like the previous years, 2017 was a good year. My granddaughter phoned me in February, telling me that I was to be a great grandpa. (In truth I thought I was already a great gran pap.) In the spring I got my house painted and all the rotten soffits removed, and replaced. Now I was really feeling that I was on a roll. Many more events followed through— from bad news like death of few friends and being admitted to the hospital due to a contagious disease; to good news like getting a strange email from Legaia Books, wanting to publish my book Mars Star-Walker. Things began to turn around for me. Now three of my books have just been published and currently reside at Amazon Books as well as Kindle Books. - D.L. Calvin, author of Killing for Love No. it’s been a rich year and I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve accomplished a few things during this year. I’m never sad to see a year goes and I’m always glad to see a new year come because there are new promises next year. - Laurence W. Thomas, author of Nostalgia Is in the Future: and other exaggerations So, am I sorry to see the old year pass? I have never really pondered that question, but I guess my answer is ‘No’. Not because it wasn’t a good year, in fact, it was great, but more for looking forward to next year. You could answer this question in so many different ways; for me, I will just choose one approach. I think one of the many ways to measure a year is by ‘Getting’ and ‘Giving’. Speaking for myself, and I don’t think I am alone, my early years were mainly about ‘Getting’. Things like a new car, a pay raise, a big year-end bonus, a promotion, a bigger house and any number of other ‘Things’. The problem with this is that these ‘Things’ lose their luster rather quickly. Then you are on to the next ‘Thing’. As I have grown older, and maybe even a little more mature, I find that ‘Giving’ makes me happier and the luster lasts longer, especially as I lay my head on the pillow each night. These memories have become priceless. So, since finally coming to this realization, I “Give” as much as I can. Not only to make someone happy, but to also make myself happy in the process. - Walter Conley Barthell, author of PEP Talk- A Primer For The New (Or Not So New) Manager Or Coach My answer is shocking, even to myself, but true to what I know to be the facts that have been revealed to me by the Word and Holy Spirit of God, especially recently, because, I see (things getting progressively worse and worse), making this year’s weather disasters actually appear tamer, in comparison to what we will face in the coming months and sevenyear time period. The truth is that, many of God’s children weren’t even listening or looking for the signs Jesus told us to expect, and what seems to be a biblical Tribulation time period is clearly signaling the arrival of the Anti-Christ, himself, who we are now facing currently as a powerful political personality, leading the United States as genuine American believers in Christ. That situation alone should wake us up and cause us to draw closer to God, seeing the implication are astounding, to say the least. - Anthony Solimine Jr., author of Who Said God Can’t Speak Through an Ass No. I’m excited about my life as is presently in December. I’m looking forward for January and the entire year after. - Allan Walter Trent, author of John and Olga Read the full article