#spring-dust-blog

[monggay]

If the request are still open can i ask for Aphrodi and fubuki hugging eachother :3c?

ough. idk what got into my head that i decided to do a rendered style like this. if u have no idea whats goin on in this drawing, well. that makes two of us! still, thank u for the request hehe i made it way harder that it had to be, but it was still so fun :>

[wonderbotpregnancy]

Your @ is cool asf

it's the least i could do after witnessing both his devastating miscarriage and his beautiful successful pregnancy ... it wasnt easy but he finally did it ... (a single tear leaves my eye as i smile softly)

[lanaswansblog]

pics i took today

[chiccherrysblog]

Stevie spinning with her shawl ( absolute icon)

[rogaire]

Hello~

[cupidarrow10]

[kookooluvr]

Teach Me How To Love - Part 4

jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 8.6k

warnings: it's the start of summer break woop woop! some backstory on namjoon and his fiancée, tae being jk's wingman, jk in a leather jacket, oof! tae and jihyo meet and instantly hit it off, jk and oc get a bit flirty, explicit sexual content; sex in a club bathroom, making out, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, standing sex, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), slight exhibitionism, soft dom jk, brief oral (m. receiving), cum in da mouf, a morning handjob (m. receiving), the gang meets oc and jihyo, hana being hana, the start of mai and oc's friendship, oc gets a bit drunk, jk gives her a piggyback ride, she stays the night for the first time, lots and lots of soft feels at the end !!!

a/n: we're taking a little break from the angst with this one, lol. i'm curious to hear your thoughts ! what do we think of hana, of mai, of tae and jihyo ??? also, my girl oc is letting her guard down y'all !!!! what do we think will happen on the jeju trip 👀👀👀

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @chxiosworld @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni

find tmhtl masterlist here

find tmhtl playlist here

It's the last day of the spring semester for the university staff, with final exams done and dusted and students' grades already published. Jungkook and Taehyung walk side by side, making their way out to the parking lot, kissing the campus goodbye for a month.

They have plans to meet the rest of their friends at some club that opened recently. Jungkook has never really been much of a club goer, but he doesn't have to worry about work on Monday, the weather is warm, and he recently bought a nice jacket that he's been meaning to wear out. They're also meeting up to celebrate Namjoon and Mai's upcoming wedding.

Namjoon and his fiancée, Mai, have been engaged for over a year, and with their wedding rapidly approaching, they thought it would be fun to get everyone together and unwind after all the wedding planning stress. Seokjin's wife, Jisoo, will also be joining, as they finally found someone to babysit their kids for the night.

Jisoo and Seokjin met during their university days. She was in med school while he was getting his postgraduate degree in business management. Jisoo thought it would be cute to set her best friend up with Seokjin's best friend, the two instantly hitting it off. Namjoon proposed during spring last year and they plan to get married in August, which is just two months away.

"Hey, just a heads up; Hana's coming too," Taehyung says, getting his car keys from his pants pocket, wincing slightly at the look on Jungkook's face.

Hana is Jisoo's younger sister, who happens to have a rather obvious crush on Jungkook. She occasionally tags along with the group, always finding an excuse to be on Jungkook's arm all night. She is far too forward for his taste, but Jungkook would never say that to her face, so he just smiles and nods along, tolerating her when he must.

"Great," he mutters sarcastically, preparing himself for a night of pretending to listen to her go on and on about why dying her hair blonde would suit her skin's undertone.

Taehyung stops at his car and notices you walking in their direction to get to your car, the one parked right next to Jungkook's. "Hey, look who it is," he murmurs with a smirk.

Jungkook turns his head, his heart rate rising when his eyes land on you. A soft smile spreads across his face as your eyes meet. "Hey."

"Hey, Jungkook," you greet, offering his friend a polite smile. Taehyung grins widely and steps closer, eager to introduce himself properly. "It's ___, right? You teach political science?"

You nod, recognising him as Jungkook’s friend. "That's right, yeah. Is it…Taehyun…?"

"Taehyung actually," he chuckles, clearly the extrovert out of the two men.

"You heading home?" Jungkook asks, turning your attention over to him.

"Yeah. You?"

"My friends are dragging me to some club tonight actually," Jungkook quips with an amused scoff, earning a surprised look from you.

"Wow. Who woulda thought the walls of a club would see Jeon Jungkook," you tease, wondering what it would be like to see him in that sort of environment.

Jungkook laughs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Gotta start the summer off right, I guess. And it's to celebrate a friend's upcoming wedding, so..."

You nod understandingly. You keep it friendly, oblivious to just how much Taehyung already knows about the two of you.

"Well, I hope you enjoy yourself."

Before Jungkook can respond, Taehyung chimes in, unable to hold his tongue. "Why don't you join us?"

Jungkook looks over at Taehyung with wide eyes. He knows what his friend is trying to do. He's used to Taehyung trying to be his wingman and he appreciates it deep down inside, but the subtle glare he shoots him screams, 'Are you insane?' Taehyung simply smiles, so he looks back at you, noticing the surprise on your face at the sudden invitation. He fiddles with his keys in his hand, feeling like he's been put on the spot.

"Oh, I don't think ___ would want to-"

"Come on, it'll be fun." Taehyung turns to you, feeling confident that he can convince you to join. "You're Jungkook's friend, we'd love for you to join us. We're a lot of fun; you’ll have a good time."

You look over at Jungkook with uncertainty. He offers you a sheepish smile and a shrug, silently agreeing with Taehyung, even if he isn't as forward as his friend. He would have preferred to do things a bit more naturally, but Taehyung's way works too.

It's not necessarily that you don't want to go, but you already have plans with Jihyo tonight. Her date with Mark didn't go well, and after every bad date, she comes over to your place to have dinner and unpack everything that happened.

"I, uhh… I actually have a friend coming over for dinner later. But maybe next time-"

"You can both join us," Taehyung shrugs. He knows he probably seems really forward, but he knows Jungkook is too much of a pussy to actually go for what he wants.

You don't even have to check with Jihyo to know that she'd be more than happy to go. You know that if you reject Taehyung's offer, and then tell her about it later on, she'll just nag you about it all night, and you know she needs a night out after her train wreck of a date. So, with that in mind, you accept his invitation.

"Okay," you murmur, Taehyung's face lighting up as he looks over at Jungkook, the latter man feeling quite surprised that you actually agreed to join him and his friends. You are slightly surprised yourself, but it's a Friday evening, it's the start of summer break, and what's the harm in having some fun after such a long and stressful month.

Taehyung tells you where to meet them and what time, watching you drive off with a satisfied grin.

"Care to explain what all that was about?" Jungkook folds his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow.

"Uhmm, you're welcome. I just got Hana off your back for the night, and you get to hang out with your girl. I just killed both of your birds with one stone," Taehyung grins, patting his friend on the back before walking to his car and getting in. "And hey, maybe her friend’s hot, so that's a bonus for me," he calls out, driving off before Jungkook can argue.

Your stilettos click against the pavement as you get out the Uber, looking up at the packed club, Jihyo reluctantly ending her conversation with the driver before shutting the door. It took absolutely zero convincing to get her to come with you. Taehyung told you to meet them at 9, but you're a bit late because Jihyo decided to wax her legs and armpits for the first time right before you had to leave.

The two of you walk through the crowded club, looking for Jungkook and his friends. The music is booming through the speakers, people are grinding on each other on the dance floor, your dress is short and sparkly, and the smell of alcohol fills your senses. You look through the crowd until you see a familiar face at the bar. Your heart starts to race in your chest at the sight of him. He's wearing a white tank top, baggy jeans and a black leather jacket, his hair styled to show off his forehead. He takes a small sip of his drink as he engages in conversation with Taehyung, and you wish his lips were on you instead of that glass.

"Is he here?" Jihyo asks over the loud music, oblivious to the heat rising in your face.

You nod, keeping your eyes on him. "Yeah. That's him over at the bar. Black leather jacket with the whiskey in his hand."

Jihyo scans the bar area, her eyes widening as they land on him. "Woah. He really is a ten," she muses, nodding in approval before her eyes flicker over to Taehyung, her mouth falling open in awe. "And that's his friend?"

"Yeah, that's Taehyung."

Jihyo scoffs. You told her Jungkook's friend is nice, you didn't tell her he's totally her type – smoking hot. "Thank God I'm wearing a push up bra."

You chuckle and make your way over with Jihyo following closely behind.

Jungkook senses your presence, his eyes landing on you as you make your way over, Taehyung's voice drowning out in the background. His eyes trail from your face down to your feet, his hands suddenly feeling a bit clammy at the sight of you in that short dress. He sets his drink down with a soft smile. "Hey. I was starting to think you wouldn't come."

"I couldn't leave you hanging," you call out over the music, Taehyung turning his head at the sound of your voice.

"___, hey!" His eyes drift over to Jihyo and his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth. She's far prettier than he expected, and his stomach does a little flip as her eyes roam over him. He quickly composes himself and decides to turn on the charm. "You must be ___'s friend," he calls out, holding his hand out to her.

"And you must be Jungkook's friend," Jihyo nods, shaking his hand. Damn, he's even better-looking up close.

"Taehyung," he smiles, holding onto her hand a little longer than necessary.

"Jihyo," she murmurs, holding eye contact.

"Can I buy you a drink, Jihyo?" Taehyung asks, tilting his head with a lazy little grin, neither one of them pulling their hand away just yet.

She looks over at you with raised eyebrows and a smile before nodding and walking off with him, making a mental note to text Mark and thank him for blowing their date.

You and Jungkook both watch them with amused smiles on your faces. "Your friend's smooth," you chuckle, watching them make their way to the other end of the bar.

Jungkook scoffs, leaning his elbows on the bar counter. "Tae's about as smooth as sandpaper."

You laugh, taking a seat next to him. "So, are you gonna offer to buy me a drink as well or...?"

He smiles over at you, his eyes sparkling under the club's dim lights. "I was getting to it...but, uhm...I don't even know your name, though..."

You look over at him with a puzzled smile before you realize what he's doing. You chuckle and roll your eyes, but decide to play along with his little role play anyway. "It's ___."

"___," he repeats in a quiet little murmur, taking your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "That's a pretty name," he grins, leaning in a bit closer. "You look so familiar. Are you, like, a model or something?"

"Shut up," you laugh, accidentally letting out a little snort. "Do you say that to every woman you meet at a club?"

"Nah," he shrugs, taking a sip of his whiskey, desperately trying to look suave. "Saved that line just for you, babygirl."

"Babygirl? Really?" You cringe, both of you bursting out into laughter.

"Yeah, I know, it felt wrong as soon as it came out of my mouth," he sighs, shaking his head.

"Let's try that again. Do you say that to every woman you meet?"

"Just you, baby." His voice is softer, more sincere. He really means it. He's not the best at flirting, but he’ll do or say anything to make you laugh or put a smile on your face.

You hum, nodding in approval, your stomach doing a little flip at the pet name. "Better."

"I try," he shrugs with a grin, his eyes trailing down to your outfit. You always look good to him, but seeing you in such a short, skimpy dress is doing some funny things to his heart...and his dick.

"You really do look gorgeous, by the way," he murmurs, his eyes slowly trailing back up to your face, his fingers itching to touch you.

"Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," you smile, meeting his eyes.

He scoffs, pretending to be offended. "I was expecting you to be jumping my bones already, but I guess I'll take that."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You look very nice, okay?"

"Thanks," he mumbles, a satisfied grin settling on his face. "Now, can I buy you a drink?"

"I'd love a drink."

"Anything in mind?"

"Surprise me," you shrug.

He calls the bartender over and orders a pineapple margarita. He knows you like tropical fruit, and he didn't want to get you something that would get you hammered just yet.

The bartender makes your drink and sets it down on the counter before you, adding it to Jungkook's tab. You take a sip and hum at the delicious taste. "This is really good."

"Is it?" he smiles, leaning in closer. "Can I have a sip?"

You hold the glass out for him and watch as his lips wrap around the sugary rim, his tongue quickly peeking out to lick the sugar off his top lip.

"Wow, that is good. I should've taken one of those too."

"What about your whiskey?"

He shrugs with a faint smile. "I don't even like whiskey, I just wanted to order it to look cool."

You laugh, finding it quite amusing that someone as hot as him can be this much of a dork. The sound of your laughter makes his smile grow wider, his heart fluttering. He doesn't even seem to notice how many women would kill to be sitting with him because he's too busy staring at you with a dopey look on his face.

You take another sip of your drink, his eyes watching the way your lips move, the way your fingers hold the glass, the way your thighs look in your little dress.

"You know what they say about pineapple, right?" he murmurs with heavy-lidded eyes, leaning over to drape his arm over the back of your bar stool.

"What do they say?"

He leans in to whisper in your ear, his lips lightly brushing against your skin. "Makes your pussy taste sweeter."

Your breath hitches in your throat, almost choking on your drink. "They say that?" you ask, looking up into his eyes with flushed cheeks.

"Mm." It's like a switch has gone off, his persona completely changed. He moves his free hand down to your knee, his fingers slowly trailing up your thigh. "Maybe I should taste it and see for myself if it's true. Y'know...for science..."

You and Jungkook make a beeline for the bathroom, the dim lights concealing you from any wandering eyes. He leads you into one of the bathroom stalls, locking the door behind you. He pushes you up against the stall, his lips on yours in an instant, kissing you hungrily. His hands explore up your thighs under your dress, finally getting to touch you the way he's been wanting to since he laid his eyes on you.

He kisses and nibbles down to your neck, grinding his hips against you, his need for you growing more apparent as a bulge starts straining against his jeans.

Your hands slide up into his hair, moaning softly as he slides his tongue into your mouth.

His fingers trail up to your thong, pulling it aside to run his middle finger through your slick folds. He groans into your mouth as he feels how wet you are. You're already dripping and he's barely done anything yet. He slides his finger up to rub slow circles over your clit. "You're so hot," he mutters, nipping at the junction between your neck and shoulder.

You tilt your head back against the stall, biting your bottom lip to muffle any sounds that threaten to slip out of you. "Is it...unhygienic that I'm...letting you finger me in a club's bathroom s-stall?" You try to keep your voice stable, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Wanna stop?" he asks, chuckling as you frantically shake your head. He withdraws his hand and brings it up to his lips to suck on his middle finger, tasting your essence. "You taste better than any pineapple I've ever tasted," he hums, his eyes growing dark with desire.

Your arousal overpowers any concerns you might have had, feeling a jolt of excitement run down your spine. You watch as he slowly drops down to his knees before you, his hands disappearing under your dress to pull your thong down your legs, putting the wet string of fabric in the back pocket of his jeans.

He licks his lips at the sight of you, his hands trailing up your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. The smell of your arousal hangs heavily in the air as he lifts one of your legs and drapes it over his shoulder, his hands splayed over the backs of your thighs.

"Gotta be nice and quiet for me, yeah?"

You look down at him, your cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. You nod quickly, gasping as he presses a light kiss to your clit, your stomach muscles tensing momentarily.

He chuckles, watching you grow a bit flustered. He feels powerful being on his knees in front of you, knowing that he holds such an effect over you. He starts slow, lightly kissing your clit, his tongue peeking out to give you a few gentle licks, keeping his eyes up to watch your face.

He watches the way your lips part and your eyebrows furrow, your breath hitching in your chest as he starts lapping at your pussy. The music thumps through the walls, people's voices echoing just outside. If someone were to hear you moan, they'd know that he's getting you off, eating your pussy like it's the tastiest thing on earth.

He lifts your knee higher to get better access to your pussy, your eyes rolling back in your head as he sucks on your clit.

"F-fuck, Jungkook," you moan, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He feels a surge of satisfaction that he can make you squirm in pleasure. He moves his tongue with a fierce determination, his fingers digging into your thighs, his cock straining against his jeans at the sound of your breathless moans.

He reaches down and undoes the button of his jeans with one hand, unzipping it to pull his cock out, needing some relief. He starts lazily stroking it while his free hand slides between your thighs, pushing his index and middle fingers into your sopping entrance.

The sight of him pleasuring himself, mixed with the sensations of his tongue and fingers is almost enough to make you cum right that instant. You hold onto the door of the stall with one hand, the other gripping his hair as your high starts creeping up on you.

"Mmm...'m gonna cum," you whine, biting your bottom lip so hard, you almost draw blood.

He curls his fingers inside you, finding that spongy spot that makes your knees go weak. His tongue laps at your clit, your body tensing and trembling, trying desperately not to scream out as your orgasm suddenly washes over you, harsh jolts of pleasure rushing through you.

He rides you through it, pressing soft kisses to your throbbing pussy and inner thighs, looking up at you with a dazed look in his eyes. He stands up and licks his lips and fingers clean, his hard cock standing tall through his open zipper.

"Damn," he mutters, his voice slightly out of breath. "That theory might be right."

You let out a breathless huff of laughter, your legs tingling, your pussy pulsating. He steadies you with his strong hands on your hips, letting you taste your juices on his tongue as he kisses you.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a few pumps. "Fuck me," you whisper against his lips, feeling his cock twitch in your palm, his breath hitching at the feeling.

He can only nod, too lost in his own lust to speak, his mind completely clouded by desire. He spins you around, pinning you to the stall, his chest pressed to your back. He pulls your hips back, grinding his cock against your ass.

"Gonna let me fuck this ass one day?" he teases, knowing you'll shut him down like you have before.

"Don't even think about it," you scoff, teasingly pushing your ass back against him.

"Worth a shot," he grins, tapping the head of his cock against your asscheek before aligning it with your entrance, a soft moan slipping from your lips as he pushes it in.

His eyes close as he sinks into you, his forehead falling forward against your shoulder. He groans at the feeling of you clenching around him, your tight, wet heat sucking him in. "Shit, you're so tight," he mutters, thrusting into you, his hands sliding up to your chest, giving your breasts a squeeze over your dress.

The pace is slow and steady at first, the constant thump of the bass and the muffled voices outside serving as a reminder that you're in a public bathroom. He soon starts to get lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him, his thrusts getting a little less controlled. He lets out soft grunts into your ear as he fucks you from behind, his eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on the feeling of your walls wrapped around him.

Then the sound of people entering the bathroom snaps him back to reality, his thrusts slowing down. He quickly covers your mouth with his large hand, his lips brushing against your ear. "Shhh, baby," he whispers softly, the tip of his cock still sitting snug between your walls.

You squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate on not being too loud, his cock inside you making it increasingly difficult. He slows his thrusts down to a languid rhythm, the thrill of other people nearby making it feel sexier, dirtier. "Good girl," he whispers, giving you a particularly deep thrust, his palm pressed firmly over your mouth to muffle your moans, his free hand moving down to rub tight circles over your clit.

You hear the sound of the girls' voices as they touch up their makeup at the sinks, mixed with the loud thumping music outside. Jungkook doesn't let up, thrusting harder to test your ability to keep quiet. It makes your head spin and your pussy throb.

After what feels like an eternity, the girls leave the bathroom, and it's like your body knew to wait, because your orgasm hits you almost immediately. Jungkook keeps thrusting, chasing his own high. You know he's close, his moans growing louder, his thrusts getting sloppier.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum...where do you want it?"

"In my mouth."

He quickly pulls out and watches as you drop to your knees before him, wrapping your lips around his cock. You suck on the head and stroke the shaft, looking up at his through your lashes.

One look down at you and he's cumming with a low groan, his hips stuttering as he empties himself in your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your hair. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, watching as you swallow every last drop, his stomach muscles tensing and relaxing as you lick him clean.

He helps you up and grabs some toilet paper to clean you off. He makes sure your dress is straight and your hair isn't messed up before you leave. As you're about to leave the bathroom stall, he pulls you back and gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up to give you a slow, deep kiss. He tastes himself on your tongue, mixed with some of your pineapple margarita.

"You taste good," he hums.

"Yeah? What do I taste like?"

"Pineapple and cum."

"You're disgusting," you laugh.

He chuckles, giving you one last peck before pulling away and opening the stall door for you, landing a quick slap on your ass as you walk out in front of him.

Jungkook leads you through the crowd of sweaty people to get to his friends' booth, the guys all there already. He knows his friends can be a bit much sometimes, but he has a feeling they’ll like you. Taehyung and Jihyo are already at the booth, the two getting well acquainted.

"Everyone, this is ___," he calls out over the music, sliding into the booth to sit next to Seokjin and Jisoo.

"Kook, I didn't know you have a girlfriend now," Mai smiles over at you, looking excited to meet you.

"Oh, I’m not- ...we’re just friends," you murmur with a faint smile.

"Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought…" she trails off, feeling a bit bad for assuming.

"It's okay," you chuckle, sliding in next to Jungkook. "It’s nice to meet you all," you smile, immediately being welcomed by his friends. You learn who each of his friends are, that Jisoo is Seokjin’s wife, that they have two kids, and that Namjoon and Mai are the happy couple about to get married. They all ask you a bit about yourself, curious to know who Jungkook’s lady "friend" is.

"You work at the university too, right?" Jimin asks, getting acquainted with you straight away.

"Yeah, I teach political science," you nod, quickly learning that he’s the outgoing one Jungkook told you about before.

"That's impressive," Namjoon muses, his arm slung around Mai’s shoulders.

Jungkook leans over to talk to you over the music, giving you a little insight of each of his friends. "Seokjin is the CFO of YJ Tech and Jisoo is a cardiologist."

"Wow," you quip, giving Jisoo an impressed look. "A cardiologist? That’s impressive."

"Please," Taehyung scoffs playfully, shrugging his shoulder. "A PhD is just as impressive as an MD."

"So, you're saying that teaching literature to 20 year olds is equally as impressive as doing open heart surgery?" Jimin asks, shaking his head in amusement.

"You're saying it's not?"

"Right, because if I’m having a heart attack, I want you there to read me a poem."

While the attention is now on Jimin and Taehyung's bickering, Jisoo's sister, Hana, turns her attention over to you. She has been silently watching you for a while, watching the way Jungkook leans in to whisper in your ear, the way he smiles whenever you speak. It makes her stomach twist in jealousy, and she's having a hard time hiding it, basically piercing you with her eyes. With everyone else preoccupied, she uses the opportunity to finally speak up.

"So, ___ was it? I'm Hana."

You look over at her, offering her a polite smile, completely oblivious to her one-sided animosity towards you. "It's nice to meet you."

She gives you a curt smile, her eyes flickering over to Jungkook. "Kookie, you never told me about your friend before. You guys seem...close."

Jungkook picks up on her snarky tone, but he ignores it. "We are, yeah," he murmurs, looking over at you with a little smile.

Hana looks between the two of you, mentally rolling her eyes. "Jungkook, did you notice I cut my hair? It looks good, right?"

He sighs, giving her a half-hearted smile. "It looks nice, Hana."

She smiles, fluffing her bob, her long, manicured nails tucking some of it behind her ear. She's a pretty girl, with sharp features and trendy style. She's quite confident, so she can't understand why Jungkook's eyes keep drifting over to you and not her.

"I love your hair," you smile, your tone soft and sincere. "I don't think I could pull off a bob."

"Yeah, well, not everyone has the face for it."

You're a bit taken aback by her tone, but you don't read too much into it, instead turning your attention back to Jungkook. He gives you a smile, his fingers trailing up your thigh under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You have the face for any hairstyle," he whispers, causing your cheeks to heat up.

Jisoo and Mai on the other hand are far more welcoming than Hana, the two immediately hitting it off with you. Mai especially has taken a liking to you, the two of you finding a comfortable rhythm as you get to know each other. You find out that you have a lot in common. She's great to talk to, she's super funny, and she's stunning, so you see why Namjoon is head over heels for her.

"___, c'mon, let's go do some shots!" she squeals, dragging you along with her to the bar. Jungkook watches the two of you with a soft smile on his face, chuckling as you look back at him with wide eyes. It's nice to see his friends getting to know the woman he thinks so highly of, and he hopes this is a step in the right direction for you and him.

Some of the guys and Jisoo go off to get some drinks, and Taehyung and Jihyo hit the dance floor together, leaving Hana alone with Jungkook. She gets up and slides into his side of the booth, sitting closer than he would like.

"Long time no see, stranger. You too busy with your new friend to send me a text?"

Jungkook clears his throat and shoots her a curt smile, wishing he were anywhere else right now.

"I've been busy with work, Hana," he scoffs. "And ___'s not a new friend. We've been friends for four years actually."

"You've never mentioned her before."

"I didn't think I had to," he shrugs.

She rolls her eyes, brushing her fingers along his bicep, her long nails lightly trailing along the leather of his jacket. "You should hit me up some time...when you're not too busy. I could help you unwind a bit," she purrs, looking up at him with her sultry eyes.

"That's okay, I don't think I need to unwind."

"You're such a stick in the mud," she sighs, rolling her eyes. "You should loosen up a bit. Have some fun once in a while."

He scoffs, his eyes trailing over to you at the bar, watching the way you laugh and chat with Mai, how pretty you look when you're carefree, the way your eyes subtly drift over to him when you think he's not looking.

"Believe me...I have plenty of fun," he murmurs, unable to take his eyes off you.

You end up having way more to drink than you initially planned, you and Mai downing shot after shot. With every shot Mai pushes into your hands, the more fun things start to feel.

"So! You and Jungkook," Mai grins after downing another shot of tequila. "What's the situation there, hm?"

"The situation?" you ask, your eyes subtly widening. "What do you mean?"

Mai chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She can tell the question caught you off guard a bit, but she genuinely wants to know. She isn't trying to pry or make you uncomfortable when you just met a while ago, but she isn't one to beat around the bush.

"Come on, don't play coy," she scoffs, giving you a pointed look.

"We're just friends," you mutter with a faint chuckle. "We work at the same university, we get along great, we're friends. Simple as that."

Mai raises an eyebrow at your answer, her intuition telling her there's more to the story than you're letting on. She grins at you, a knowing look in her eyes. "Oh really? Just friends, huh?" She glances in Jungkook's direction for a brief moment before returning to you.

"Mhm. That's all it is." You immediately down another shot, avoiding her eyes.

Mai studies you for a moment, her gaze quite perceptive. She can see there's a bit of defensiveness in the way you brush off her question, but she decides not to press any further, not wanting to put you on the spot. "Alright, alright...if that's what you say," she says with a small smirk, although she knows there's more to the story. Your gazes linger a bit too long for you to be 'just friends'.

You roll your eyes with a faint chuckle, turning the conversation over to her. "You and Namjoon, though. You make a great couple."

"Thanks! We are kind of adorable, aren't we?" She looks down at her ring and her expression softens. It's clear she's truly smitten with him, and him with her.

"How long have you been together?"

"We've been together for about seven years now," she smiles fondly. She leans her elbow on the bar counter, resting her chin in her palm. "I swear it feels like I've known him my whole life. I can't wait to marry him."

The subject of weddings and marriage is a bit of a sore subject for you, but you don't want to take away from Mai and Namjoon's moment, so you nod and smile, not wanting to dwell on your own misfortune. "I can tell. You're good together."

"Thank you," she murmurs with a soft smile. "Speaking of the wedding, we're actually taking a little pre-wedding trip to Jeju in two weeks. My parents have a beach house there and they never use it so we thought it would be fun to get everyone together. You should come!"

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting an invitation from someone you met an hour or two ago. "Really? You want me to come?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun! You can come as Jungkook's plus-one," she smiles, clapping her hands together in excitement before reaching over to take your hands in hers. "Will you?"

You're a bit skeptical about spending three days in Jeju with Jungkook and his friends, who you just met, but Mai seems so happy and you don't want to disappoint her. "O-Okay...yeah, I'd love to."

Mai orders another round of shots as a little celebration for you agreeing to join them on their trip, and by the time you finish them, you're both too tipsy to care about how loud you're both laughing or how bad your headache will be tomorrow.

When Jungkook comes to look for you, he finds you and Mai toppling over the bar counter in laughter about something she just said.

"Hey. How much did this one make you drink?" he asks with an amused smile, finding it kinda cute how drunk you are. He's not used to seeing you like this, but you seem to be having fun.

"Hey! Mai invited me to Jeju! Apparently I'm your plus-one!"

This is news to him, but not necessarily bad news. In fact, he's quite happy to hear that you'll be joining him on the trip.

"That's great," he nods with a soft smile, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

"I'm gonna go find Joon!" Mai says, giving you a few flying kisses before hurrying off to find her fiancé and presumably make out.

"You're pretty drunk. Maybe we should get you home," he smiles, gently rubbing your back.

"Nooo," you whine, dramatically tilting your head back to look up at him. "I don't wanna go home. I wanna dance. I love this song!"

You get up too fast and stumble, holding onto Jungkook for support. He holds you by your waist, making sure you don't trip over your high heels. "Okay, missy. I think I should get us an Uber."

He leads you out the club, shooting his friends a quick text to let them know he's heading out. The cool evening breeze hits you as you stand on the sidewalk, making you shiver. Jungkook notices, so he quickly removes his leather jacket and gently drapes it around your shoulders, clearly not bothered that he's wearing a thin tank. He'll stand in the cold if it means you're warm.

He orders an Uber to his apartment, standing with you in the cool evening air, his free arm resting around your waist to make sure you don't trip or stumble.

"Where are we going?"

"My apartment. You can stay over and I can drive you home tomorrow. Is that okay?"

Usually, you wouldn't stay the night at his place, but it's not usual circumstances. You're drunk, your feet hurt, and you just want to lie down, so you simply nod and give him consent to take you back to his place.

"What about Jihyo? I should text her."

"I just saw her with Tae with a minute ago. They seemed pretty cozy," he chuckles. "He said he'd give her a ride home, but you should probably still text her to let her know you're leaving."

You get your phone out and try to text her, but the keyboard looks a bit blurry, so you opt for a voice message, getting a thumbs up and an eggplant emoji in return.

The Uber eventually arrives and Jungkook holds the door for you, helping you inside before sliding in next to you. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder the whole way back to his apartment, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. "You sleepy?"

You nod, your eyes already starting to droop.

When the Uber drops you at the front of his apartment building, he sees the way you wince as you try to walk to the entrance, so he silently kneels down before you and helps you out of his heels, letting them dangle from his fingers as he turns around and gestures for you to get on his back.

You look down at him with a faint smile, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck, letting him give you a piggyback ride up to his apartment. "Thank you," you mumble into his neck, his cologne filling your nose.

"You don't have to thank me, baby."

The pet name rolls off his tongue so naturally, so sweetly, and usually you'd make a little joke or tease him about it, but you don't. You smile and try to ignore the butterflies going crazy in your stomach.

He gently sets you down when you reach his apartment, getting his keys from his jacket pocket to unlock the front door. He leads you inside, just like he normally would when you're over here, but this time he's not rushing to undress you or stick his tongue down your throat. His touches are gentle, and slow, and soft as he leads you to his bedroom and helps you change into an old t-shirt of his. He gets some wet wipes from the bathroom and gently removes your makeup for you. He puts toothpaste on his spare toothbrush for you and stands by your side while you brush your teeth. He goes to the kitchen and gets you a glass of water and an Advil for the headache he knows you'll have tomorrow morning, making sure you drink it.

He pulls back the duvet for you and helps you get settled in. He gently lays the duvet over you and brushes some of your hair out of your eyes, looking down at you with so much care and protectiveness. He sits on the edge of his bed and watches as you try your best to keep your eyes open, his smile growing wide enough to hurt his cheeks.

"So, you're joining us in Jeju, huh? How exactly did that happen?"

"Mai invited me. She's sweet. I think we really hit it off. We took a lot of shots," you mumble sleepily.

"Yeah, I saw," he scoffs. "That's why you're so drunk."

You chuckle, your eyes slowly falling closed.

"I'm really glad you're coming, by the way."

"You are?"

"I am," he murmurs softly, his gaze lingering on your tired face. He likes seeing you in his bed, a peaceful look on your face, your cheeks still flushed from the alcohol, your hair splayed over his pillow. You're almost too pretty to be real. He watches you for a while before reluctantly getting up to change out of his clothes.

You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he gets up to go and change in the bathroom, smiling up at him when he returns in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. Your expression changes to one of confusion when he gets a pillow and turns to walk to the living room.

"Where're you going?" you ask, your voice soft and sleepy.

"To sleep on the couch. I know you don't do the whole 'sleeping in bed together' thing, with your rules and all..."

He's right. You don't do the 'sleeping in bed together' thing. So why do you feel so disappointed that he's going to be sleeping on the couch instead of the other side of the bed?

"You don't have to sleep on the couch, y'know. This is your home. You should sleep in your bed...with me..."

He stops in the doorway, looking over at you with wide eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. He never thought he'd ever hear those words coming from your mouth, and he isn't sure if he's the drunk one or if you actually said it.

"I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything-"

"I'm not."

He stays in the doorway for a few seconds, thinking this can't be real, but when he keeps blinking and you don't disappear, it sets in that it's real. He slowly makes his way back to bed, setting his pillow down and carefully getting under the covers with you, keeping a respectful distance. He has seen you naked and bent you in unspeakable positions, but he knows that simply sleeping in bed together is different for you. He knows that it's about more than what it appears to be, so he keeps a distance because you simply being here is enough for him.

Jungkook turns to face you, watching as the moonlight shines in through his bedroom window, a silvery glow illuminating your face. He feels a strong urge to touch you, not in any way sexual, but to just be physically closer to you. When you slowly turn your back to him, he's met with disappointment, but your next words cause a smile to break out onto his face.

"Can you give me back scratches?" you mumble sleepily, you voice sounding a bit groggy from the alcohol and exhaustion.

He stays still for a moment, just wanting to bask in this moment a bit. He slowly inches closer and reaches out to slide his hand up under the fabric of the oversized t-shirt you're wearing, and ever so lightly run his nails along the skin of your back. You're warm, and soft, and your skin is stained with his scent as you lay in his clothes, on his bedsheets. He doesn't say anything because words aren't necessary in this moment. He just slowly runs his nails over your back and listens as your breathing starts slowing down.

Jungkook doesn't fall sleep until it's well into the early hours of the morning. Not because he wasn't tired, but because he forced himself to stay awake. If he allowed himself to fall asleep, the moment would end, so he watched the back of your head until his eyes burned with exhaustion, and he caressed your back until his arm dropped limply to the mattress. He thinks that's what love is. He was never confident enough to say that he's ever fallen in love before, but if anyone were to ask him about love, he'd tell them about you. It was never obvious that he would fall for you. It didn't happen all at once. It wasn't immediate. He thought you were pretty, and he liked your company, but then somehow you slowly crept up under his flesh and made a home for yourself in the depths of his chest. He knows that he loves you, and if you are ever to be laid to rest in the dirt and soil, he will be envious of the earth that gets to hold your body.

You're still quite groggy when you wake up. The sun looks like it has already been out for a few hours, and if it didn't make your head hurt, you'd probably appreciate it. You slowly turn around to find a sleeping Jungkook. He's cute when he sleeps. His lips are pouty, his cheeks flushed, his hair a little bit messy. You realize that you've never seen him asleep before.

You don't get to enjoy it for too long before he starts stirring awake, his eyes slowly fluttering open. He smiles when his eyes land on you, and you mirror his expression. That sunlight streaming in through his window doesn't feel so annoying now that it's illuminating his face, making his glassy eyes sparkle.

"Morning." His voice. It's deep, a little raspy and husky, and it makes your thighs rub together.

"Morning."

"How're you feeling?"

"Not too bad. My head hurts a bit but I'm okay," you smile, inching a millimetre closer. "Thanks for letting me stay over. I probably wouldn't have been able to find my keys in my purse last night anyway."

He chuckles, a low rumble coming from deep within his chest. "It's no problem. You can stay anytime you want."

If it were up to him, you'd stay every night.

You watch as the duvet slides down to reveal his chest and arms, the muscles involuntarily flexing and relaxing. You've always liked his body. He's just the right amount of muscular. His skin is soft and smooth, and when he cums, he has this thin sheen of sweat that makes him glow.

You've barely woken up, you shouldn't be thinking about what he looks like when he cums. But you do, and you can't seem to think about anything else at the moment.

You slowly inch closer to him, your chests almost touching. You look up at his face, and the sleepy smile that resides there tells you he knows what you're doing and he welcomes it. He stays silent as you gently run your fingers through his hair, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into your touch, looking a bit like Miso when you pet her. He doesn't say anything when you slowly trail your fingers down his neck and chest, making a slow descent down to the waistband of his sweatpants. Only when your fingers inch inside does he speak.

"What're you doing?" he asks with a lazy grin.

"Wanna say thank you for last night," you whisper, leaning in to softly kiss his neck, your fingers trailing down to his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

"You don't...have to," he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I want to," you whisper, tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants. "Take these off."

He reaches down and slides his sweatpants down his legs, having forgone boxers last night. He's on his back, with the duvet pushed down to his thighs, the sun heating up his skin. He has a bit of morning wood, so it makes it easier for you to wrap your fingers around him, his skin feeling warm and soft beneath your touch.

You start languidly pulling and pushing your hand up and down his shaft, his cock hardening in your hand. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing growing ragged.

"Feel good?"

"Yeah...feels...feels good, baby..."

You lean your body up on your elbow while stroking him, pressing gentle kisses to his neck and jaw. You quickly pull away to bring your hand up and spit in it, the lubricant making it feel even better. You glide you hand up and down his cock, twisting your wrist at the tip.

"Mmm...don't stop," he groans, his voice husky from sleep. He subtly rolls his hips up to meet your strokes, his abs flexing as the pleasure rolls through his body. He slowly opens his eyes to look up at you, his gaze filled with lust and affection. He brings his hand up to bring your face closer, capturing your lips in a soft, languid kiss. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, seeking entrance into your mouth.

You part your lips and let him lick into your mouth, his tongue brushing against yours. You stroke him faster, your fist tightening around him. His tip is already leaking, the head turning a light pink.

"Fuck," he groans, his eyes squeezing shut, his fingers sliding up under the t-shirt you're wearing to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple.

"This is a really...nice way to s-say thank you," he murmurs, his voice shaking, his thighs tensing.

"Yeah?"

"Mmmm...feels s-so good..."

His head falls back against the pillows with a soft thud, finding it hard to focus as you speed up your hand. He looks like he's struggling to keep his eyes open, the expression on his face absolutely blissful.

"Fuck, I'm close," he whimpers, his hand involuntarily squeezing your breast. His face is scrunched up in pleasure, his eyebrows are furrowed, his hair is messy. His cock leaks profusely, the head turning a darker red colour. It's a beautiful sight to see, him writhing in pleasure, his muscles tensing, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tries to prolong the pleasure.

You lean in to whisper in his ear, your teeth nipping his earlobe, your breath hot on his neck.

"Cum for me, Jungkook..."

It's like a dam breaks, thick white ropes of cum painting his abdomen and chest, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. A string of curses falls from his lips, his body jerking as the aftershocks of his orgasm flow through him.

You run your middle finger through his cum and bring it up to your lips, licking it clean.

"You taste good in the morning."

He looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a goofy smile on his face. He lifts his head to press a tender kiss to your lips, his cock twitching against his stomach. Watching you lick his cum off your fingers is such a turn-on, it's almost embarrassing.

"I feel selfish not returning the favour."

"It's okay," you smile. "I just wanted to do that for you."

You run your fingers through his hair, watching the way his eyes fall closed once more, his body relaxing into the mattress. He has a glow to him, and you didn't think it was possible, but he looks even more handsome right after he cums.

The two of you stay like that for a while before reluctantly getting up to go clean off. He takes a shower while you wait in the living room, wearing last night's dress and heels. While he's in the shower, you think back to the night before, the feeling of his nails on your back, the smell of his bedsheets, how perfect his t-shirt fit. It all makes your stomach feel funny. You smile to yourself as you think of him, how gentle and caring of a man he is.

When he walks out into the living room wearing a fresh set of clothes, his hair styled neatly, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, your heart beats a little bit faster, and when he drives you home, you look over at him with a soft look in your eyes. He stops at a cafe on the way to your apartment and you get two breakfast bagels, even though it's already nearly noon. You insist on paying and he fights you on it, quickly handing the cashier his card before you manage to get yours out of your purse. When you sit in his car in the parking lot and eat your bagels together, your heart feels light and the conversation feels easy, your laughter and teasing remarks filling his car.

When he parks his car outside of your building and walks you up to your apartment, you don't feel that anxious pit in your stomach that you would normally feel after spending a bit too much time with him. So, when you stop in front of your door and he bids you goodbye, you gently grab his wrist before he can turn around and walk away. You stop him, and you kiss him. You wrap your arms around his neck and you kiss him slowly and tenderly. You kiss him until you both have to pull away for air, and then you give him a few more kisses before pulling away with a little smile.

"What was that for?" he whispers, his smile mirroring yours.

"Another 'thank you', I guess."

He leans in and presses one final kiss to your lips, his hands holding your waist, his nose brushing against yours as be reluctantly pulls away.

"That was 'you're welcome'."

< Part 3 || Part 5 >

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 7✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A heart can beat, even for the hated one...♡ Tag list: @irlandajacquelinne-blog

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Unbound Tensions‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 7] ☆ TW: fluff (mainly Lensless Mark) ☆ Author's Note: I wrote 22,072 words for this chapter. YES, you heard me. Why? Because, I wanted to include smut!!! AH, I talked with a lot of people, and everyone said I should split it (╥﹏╥) so here's the lead-up to the smut chapter, pleaseee give it some love <3 I worked really hard on this...

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The silence was a physical weight, a suffocating blanket woven from the threads of destruction.

Not the peaceful hush of a forest at dawn, but the hollow stillness that follows a storm's brutal rampage. Dust motes, like tiny, restless spirits, danced in the slivers of weak sunlight filtering through grimy, cracked windows. Their ethereal ballet cast long, skeletal shadows across the room's battered floor.

Y/N lay on the remnants of a broken bed frame, springs jutting out like the ribcage of some forgotten beast, the torn mattress a testament to the room's violent history.

Distant explosions, muffled thunder in the ruined landscape, vibrated through the weathered walls of the abandoned house. Smoke, thick and ashen, billowed against a sky the color of a bruised plum, visible through a jagged crack in the half-drawn curtains.

Consciousness returned slowly, a reluctant swimmer surfacing from murky depths. The room spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of faded floral wallpaper, cracked plaster, and forgotten, overturned furniture. Her muscles screamed, a symphony of throbbing pain that spoke of brutal battles and forced, rapid healing.

The memory of the raw, blazing power that had erupted from her, the desperate grasp of the variants as she faltered, and Omni's tear-streaked face flashed behind her eyelids.

A ragged breath, a broken sigh, shattered the oppressive quiet. Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze snapping to the source of the sound. Her pupils dilated, adjusting to the dim light, and her heart clenched.

Lensless Mark sat against the far wall, a prisoner in his own skin. Heavy, industrial-grade chains, thick as her wrist, wrapped around his body like metallic serpents, binding him from shoulders to ankles. Each link, precision-welded, gleamed with a cold, surgical intensity. The metal crisscrossed his torso in an intricate, punishing web.

His luchador-style mask, usually a symbol of his arrogant swagger, was askew, revealing a landscape of mottled bruises blooming across his cheekbones like dark, grotesque flowers. One eye was swollen shut, the skin around it a bruised purple-black, a testament to the brutal beating he'd endured. A trail of dried blood, like a macabre paint stroke, ran from his split lip to his chin. His single visible eye, however, burned with a fierce intensity that belied his vulnerable position. A fresh bruise, a dark purple blossom, marred his jawline—a souvenir from the other variants' fury after his attempt on her life.

Y/N's muscles coiled, her instincts screaming for defense. Her fingers curled into half-fists, ready to unleash the power that still hummed beneath her skin. But Lensless Mark wasn't lunging. He wasn't attacking. He was simply watching, his gaze a silent, smoldering question.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, that single eye glinting with a mix of sardonic humor and barely contained rage. "Sleeping beauty finally graces me with her presence."

His nostrils flared slightly, his upper lip curling into a brief, almost involuntary sneer. "Wonderful performance back there, by the way. Real fuckin' heroic."

The sarcasm dripped from his words, but beneath it, Y/N detected an undercurrent of something else—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or a grudging respect. The chains rattled softly as he shifted, a metallic whisper in the oppressive quiet.

"Your Marks were... thorough," he remarked, his one good eye tracking her movements as she examined him. His voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Bunch of overprotective bastards."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line. "You tried to kill me."

"Fair point." A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped him, a sound that was part genuine amusement, part something darker, almost feral. "But where's the fun in killing you quickly?"

Ignoring him, she traced the intricate pattern of the restraints with her gaze. They weren't just simple bindings; they were a statement, a message from the other variants: You are not to be trusted. Each link, custom-forged and precision-engineered, spoke of a desperate need to contain someone with superhuman strength. A Viltrumite's handiwork.

"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice raspier than she expected, her throat dry and raw.

Lensless Mark let out a sharp bark of laughter, tilting his head back to expose the bruised column of his throat. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing says 'five-star accommodation' like being chained up by my multiversal doppelgängers."

Despite the humor, tension radiated from him like heat. His unrestrained eye darted around the room, assessing, calculating. The trademark cocky swagger of his personality, usually a roaring fire, was now a smoldering ember, struggling beneath a glass dome.

"They could have killed me," he said suddenly, his shoulders pulling against the chains as he leaned forward. "But no. Chained me up like some... pet." The last word dripped with contempt, his teeth bared in a brief, almost involuntary snarl.

Y/N shifted, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot through her side. The memory of her recent power surge, of the blinding moment of self-healing, was still vivid. She could feel the residual energy humming beneath her skin, a subtle vibration that spoke of untapped potential.

"Why didn't you try to escape?" she asked, her head tilting to one side, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Lensless Mark's lips curled—part smirk, part snarl. "And go where, exactly? I'm stuck in THIS universe. THIS world!" His good eye widened with emphasis, veins standing out on his neck as anger flashed across his face.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Y/N's fingers traced absent patterns on the worn fabric of her partially torn suit, a nervous habit honed through years of survival.

Her eyes continued to study Lensless Mark, searching for something beyond the surface bravado.

"You want to know about the GDA," she said, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a question.

Lensless Mark's eyebrow arched, a micro-expression of surprise quickly masked by his characteristic smirk. "Well, aren't you a mind reader?"

A humorless laugh escaped her, a dry, brittle sound. "Trust me. If I could read minds, I'd have escaped that hellhole years ago."

Her gaze grew distant, her eyes unfocusing as they fixed on a point beyond the room's peeling wallpaper. The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to fade into background noise as memories surfaced—sharp, jagged things that cut like broken glass.

"They didn't just experiment," Y/N began, her voice taking on a clinical detachment that spoke of practiced self-preservation. "Experimenting implies scientific method. What they did? That was torture disguised as research."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his good eye fixed unblinkingly on her face.

Her fingers unconsciously traced a thin, barely visible scar along her forearm—one of many hidden beneath her suit. "Viltrumite physiology is... complex. Unpredictable. The GDA wanted to understand its potential. To create something controllable. Something they could weaponize and use."

Her jaw clenched tight, a vein pulsing at her temple. The chains nearby seemed to vibrate with her rising emotion, though whether from residual power or pure psychological intensity was unclear.

"They'd inject me with different variants of Viltrumite blood," she continued. "Mark Grayson... Nolan Grayson... and they watched how my body responded. Rejected. Adapted. Died. And then brought back." Her laugh this time was closer to a sob, her eyes glistening briefly before she blinked the moisture away. "Regeneration was both a blessing and their favorite torture method."

Lensless Mark's eye had lost its sardonic gleam. Something darker moved behind it—recognition, perhaps. A flicker of something that might have been empathy, quickly buried beneath his trademark cynicism.

"Sounds fun," he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite, his gaze dropping momentarily to the floor.

Y/N's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air between them seem to shimmer. "Fun? You think this was fun?"

The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. Not from his movement—he remained perfectly still—but from the charged energy suddenly filling the room.

Her hands, which moments ago had been trembling slightly, now looked frighteningly steady. The same hands that had unleashed that devastating energy against Lensless earlier. The same hands that had survived countless GDA experiments.

"I'm not looking for your pity," she said quietly, her chin raised, her eyes hard as flint. "I'm telling you so you understand. I'm not a victim. I'm a fucking survivor... And the only one who lived out of every one of their goddamn experiments."

A long moment passed. The dust motes continued their silent dance. Outside, the world remained in total destruction—unaware of the complex drama unfolding in this forgotten room.

Finally, with a heavy grunt of pain, Y/N pushed herself up from the broken bedframe. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, muscles quivering with the effort of supporting her still-recovering body. Each step toward Lensless Mark sent shockwaves of pain through her healing tissues, but she refused to show weakness, her face a mask of determination.

Lensless Mark raised a brow as she approached, his one good eye tracking her movement with predatory attention. The dark swelling around his other eye had begun to recede slightly—the accelerated Viltrumite healing already at work.

Her fingers hovered near the industrial-grade chains, tracing their intricate welding without touching. The metal gleamed coldly in the dim light, each link casting its own small shadow. She could feel the energy signature of the other variants on them—their anger, their protective fury encoded in each precision weld.

"Admiring the jewelry?" Lensless drawled, that single eye glinting with humor. His chest rose with a deep inhale, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No… It just looks like you lost a fight with a garbage disposal," Y/N's lips quirked, a flicker of amusement in the dim light. "I've seen cleaner dumpsters."

"Cute," Lensless Mark retorted, the single visible eye rolling with exaggerated disdain. "Real original. You want a medal, or just a participation trophy?"

Their banter, sharp and laced with unspoken tension, filled the room. Outside, the world burned, a stark counterpoint to their delicate dance of words. Each jab, each retort, was a subtle negotiation, a drawing of invisible lines in the dust-laden air.

Her fingers, light as a feather, traced the cold metal of the chains. Not sympathy, but a clinical curiosity drove her touch. She tested the links, feeling for weaknesses, gauging the resistance they would offer to her enhanced strength.

"You want out?" The question, deceptively casual, carried the weight of unspoken conditions.

A sharp, barking laugh echoed off the cracked walls. "Out? I want to not be a goddamn ornament in this charming apocalypse-chic bedroom." He leaned forward, the chains biting into his bruised flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Y/N arched a brow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. "Conditions, then."

"Always," he hissed, the word a rasping promise. His good eye narrowed, calculating, predatory.

"A pinky promise." She extended her smallest finger, the gesture absurdly childish in their brutal reality. For a fleeting moment, a hint of something softer, almost playful, flickered across her face.

Lensless Mark stared, his jaw slack, the single visible eye widening in disbelief. "A what?"

"You heard me." The playful glint vanished, replaced by a hard, unwavering stare. "Pinky promise you won't immediately try to kill me, or anyone else, when I release you."

He laughed, a startled, genuine sound that rattled the chains around him. "Are we children playing in a sandbox?"

"Promise, or stay chained." Her voice held a steel edge, the extended pinky a silent challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his own pinky, a gesture that was both ridiculous and utterly serious. "Pinky. Fuckin'. Promise."

Their smallest fingers locked, an absurd pact sealed in the heart of a shattered world. The brief contact, surprisingly warm, lingered as she turned her attention to the chains.

Her fingers closed around a link, thumbs tracing the metal's cold, unyielding surface. She felt for weaknesses, pressure points where the metal might yield. Her grip tightened, the chain feeling like a throat beneath her fingers.

Muscles coiled, Viltrumite strength surging through her arms. Veins, dark and prominent, mapped the pathways of her enhanced power. She applied pressure, a slow, inexorable force.

The first chain snapped, a sharp, gunshot-like crack that echoed through the room.

Metallic links scattered across the worn floorboards, catching the weak light. They skittered into shadowed corners, disappearing like fleeing insects. Y/N's movements, precise and fluid, spoke of countless hours spent understanding mechanisms, a skill honed in the GDA's brutal laboratories.

Lensless Mark watched, his single eye narrowed, lips parted slightly. The bruising around his socket began to yellow, the first signs of rapid Viltrumite healing pushing through the battered skin. "Impressive," he muttered, "didn't know they programmed lockpicking into their little science project."

Her hands stilled, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. "I learned a lot in the GDA. Survival wasn't a choice; it was the only option."

Another chain yielded, the sound softer, almost intimate. The metal twisted and deformed, giving way under her relentless pressure.

Outside, the world continued its fiery death throes. Distant screams and explosions painted a hellish soundscape, a constant reminder of the multiversal war raging beyond their sanctuary. The other variants—Omni, Mohawk, Sinister—remained locked in their negotiations with Angstrom Levy, their voices a distant, indistinct rumble.

"So," Lensless Mark drawled, breaking the silence, his head tilting to one side, "you're not curious why they left me here? Chained up like some… personal project?"

A flicker of humor touched Y/N's lips. Her fingers moved with methodical precision, each link yielding to her strength. "Maybe they thought you needed a timeout." A soft giggle escaped her, surprising even herself.

"A timeout?" His single eye narrowed, a muscle twitching in his bruised cheek. "Because chaining up a multiversal Mark Grayson variant is standard procedure."

Another chain fell, joining the metallic graveyard around them. Each broken link was a promise, a step into the unknown.

"They beat the shit out of me," Lensless Mark said, his voice losing its edge. His gaze fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping. "Not just a fight. A statement."

Her hands paused. Her gaze locked with his, the single eye burning with an intensity that cut through the dim light.

"Because you tried to kill me." She stated the fact, not an accusation.

"Because you're a fucking clone," he spat, his voice raw with rage. "A disgusting imitation wearing her face."

Y/N's fingers froze on the chains, her mouth falling open in shocked confusion. "What?"

He turned away, jaw muscles working furiously. "Forget it."

Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "No. No more chains until you explain." Her voice was hard, all humor gone. "You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you shit!" he snarled, yanking against his restraints. The chains held, barely. His eye blazed, and Y/N braced herself.

"FINE!" he exploded, the word echoing in the room.

"My Y/N was HUMAN!" The confession tore from him, his voice cracking. "Just a normal, beautiful human. She didn't need superpowers," a brittle laugh escaped him, his head shaking. "... she looked just like you. Exactly. But she didn't have Viltrumite blood. She was perfect, not like…"

His words trailed off, his jaw clenching. The unspoken venom hung heavy in the air.

The confession hung between them—raw, unexpected. A glimpse beneath the sardonic exterior that showed something more complex than the sadistic killer the other variants had described.

Her fingers silently resumed their work. Another chain fell, the metal giving way with a soft, metallic groan. Y/N's face remained unreadable, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than on his face.

"And that's why you hate me," Y/N said softly, the realization settling like cold steel. "I'm her echo, but distorted. A version you deem... wrong."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his posture shifting subtly. The defiant edge, while still present, was softened by a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. His shoulders slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him like air from a punctured lung.

The final chain fell with a heavy clank, joining its brethren in a metallic heap on the floor.

Freedom waited, a tangible presence in the room. Potential crackled in the air, a silent, volatile energy.

Lensless Mark slowly brought his arms forward, rubbing at the raw, chafed skin where the chains had bitten into his wrists and chest. His fingers probed gingerly at the bruises marring his torso, wincing at particularly tender spots. He flexed his muscles experimentally, gauging their response after hours of confinement. Despite the lingering weakness, a predatory grace underlay his movements—a hunter assessing its strength before the kill.

"Well," he purred, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he looked up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes, "about that pinky promise..."

The air thickened, charged with a palpable tension. Y/N's muscles tensed instinctively, her body reacting to the predatory gleam in his eye before her mind could fully process the threat.

His bruised face transformed, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he slowly, deliberately, rose to his full height.

The broken chains lay scattered around his feet, discarded metallic snakeskins. The afternoon light caught each link, casting distorted, elongated shadows across the worn floorboards.

Lensless Mark rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking with a satisfying pop as he tilted his head from side to side. His single good eye never left Y/N's face. The swelling around his other eye had receded, revealing a sliver of iris, giving him an unsettling, lopsided gaze. He ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting copper and a hint of victory.

"I did promise not to kill you," he whispered, taking a step forward that closed the distance between them. His boot crushed a chain link underfoot, the metal yielding with a dull crunch. "Immediately."

Y/N didn't flinch. Her feet remained rooted to the dusty floor, her weight subtly shifted to the balls of her feet, poised for action. Her chin lifted, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, registering the scent of his sweat, blood, and something uniquely him. Her eyelids lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening with focused intensity.

"So, that's it?" Her voice, deceptively soft, held the edge of a honed blade. "First taste of freedom, and you're already breaking your word?"

A harsh laugh reverberated through the room, devoid of mirth. It grated against the silence like fingernails on slate.

"My word?" Lensless Mark's chest expanded with a sharp inhale, the bruises on his torso shifting with each breath. "You dare speak of words and promises? That's rich."

Another step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his boot.

"In my world," he continued, his tongue darting out to touch his split lip again, "the GDA took her too." His voice dropped to a whisper, the words hanging in the air like poisoned darts. "But she didn't survive. She didn't become… this." The last word dripped with contempt, his hand gesturing toward Y/N with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her pupils dilating and contracting as she processed his words. A tiny muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth, the only visible sign of the emotional impact.

"I didn't ask to be their experiment," she said, each syllable precise and measured. The veins in her forearms became more pronounced as her hands curled into loose fists. "I didn't choose this."

Lensless Mark's gaze raked over her, taking in the subtle signs of her enhanced physiology—the unnatural grace, the contained strength, the too-perfect healing of old wounds. His lip curled, revealing his teeth in a predatory snarl.

"But you survived it," he hissed, bitterness etched in the lines around his mouth. "You thrived on it. Became exactly what they wanted."

Before Y/N could respond, a chorus of angry voices erupted outside, distant but distinct. Both occupants of the room froze, heads turning toward the window. The abandoned house suddenly felt paper-thin, the walls barely containing the sounds of the apocalyptic world.

"That's Mohawk," Lensless Mark muttered, his good eye narrowing as he cocked his head, listening. His earlier aggression momentarily receded, replaced by a flicker of concern.

Y/N moved to the window, careful to stay to the side of the grimy glass. Her fingers curled around the peeling windowsill, wood flaking beneath her touch. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-black, smoke spiraling upward from multiple points across the devastated landscape. Several blocks away, floating figures hovered in the haze.

"Something's happening," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. Her enhanced vision picked out details—Sinister's distinctive black and yellow suit, Omni Mark's red and white insignia, and a smaller figure with a bulbous head surrounded by portal drones. "Angstrom."

Lensless Mark appeared at her side, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine. He shouldered her aside, pressing his face to the glass. His breath quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Well, well," he drawled, the forced casualness failing to mask the tension in his voice. "Looks like the family reunion is getting heated."

The voices rose again, carried on the smoke-laden air—anger, threats, demands. The hostility vibrated through the very foundation of their sanctuary.

Y/N turned from the window, her mind racing. Her gaze swept over the broken chains, the splintered bed frame, the peeling wallpaper—evidence of a world unraveling. Determination hardened her features.

"We need to go there," she said, the words dropping into the charged silence.

Lensless Mark's head snapped toward her, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief to mocking amusement. "We? There's no 'we' here, sweetheart. I tried to kill you. Multiple times."

Y/N stepped closer, invading his space. Her eyes locked with his, unflinching.

"And yet here I am, unchaining you," she countered, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Something's happening with Angstrom. Something that has all of them," she gestured toward the window, "in an uproar. Don't you want to know what it is?"

A muscle ticked in Lensless Mark's jaw, his gaze flicking between her and the window. Outside, a flash of blue light illuminated the sky, followed by Mohawk Mark's enraged bellow.

"I'd rather be anywhere but helping your little boyfriend squad," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt even as curiosity flickered in his visible eye, warring with the hatred that had become his constant companion.

Y/N sensed the opening and pressed her advantage, closing the distance between them. The floorboards creaked beneath her careful steps. "They're not my boyfriends," she said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper that seemed to reach past his defenses and resonate somewhere deep within him. "They're using me to replace someone they lost. Just like you said."

A subtle change rippled across Lensless Mark's features—his pupil dilated, the one visible eye darkening with an emotion he couldn't quite conceal. His lips parted involuntarily, the slightest tremor passing through them as her words found their target with unerring precision.

"And if Angstrom gets what he wants," she continued, her gaze steady and unflinching as it locked with his, "we all lose. Including you." Her hand hovered near his bruised forearm, not quite making contact but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You want revenge for your Y/N? Angstrom is the architect of all this destruction. Of all these universes colliding. He's the reason we're all here, suffering."

Something shifted beneath the carefully constructed mask of disdain Lensless Mark wore—a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through like sunlight through storm clouds. His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath, shoulders squaring beneath the tattered remnants of what had once been an immaculate suit.

"Fine," he spat, the single word seeming to cost him physically. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped along its edge as he practically vibrated with the storm of conflicting emotions battling for supremacy within him. "But this doesn't make us allies. This doesn't make us anything."

Y/N's smile appeared briefly—genuine despite its fleeting nature, a flash of relief that vanished as quickly as morning dew under a harsh sun. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Without further conversation, she moved to the window with fluid, purposeful strides. The hinges protested with a rusty screech as she pushed it fully open, the metallic sound slicing through the heavy silence hanging over the room. Cool evening air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of destruction—smoke and dust intermingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.

Y/N paused at the threshold, glancing back once at Lensless Mark. Her expression remained unreadable in the fading light, shadows playing across the contours of her face. Then she stepped onto the windowsill and launched herself skyward, her body cutting through space with the effortless grace of a predator taking flight.

Lensless Mark watched her disappear, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He stood motionless for a heartbeat—just long enough to mutter a string of creative curses under his breath, each syllable laden with frustration—before following her lead.

They soared above the devastated landscape, twin shadows against the darkening canvas of the sky. The city sprawled beneath them in ruins—buildings reduced to skeletal frameworks, streets split open like wound-like gashes across the face of the earth. Bodies of fallen civilians painted macabre patterns on the ground below, while fires burned unchecked in several districts, their orange-yellow flames serving as beacons in the gathering gloom.

Y/N maintained a slight lead, her body positioned to minimize wind resistance, arms extended at her sides. Her hair streamed behind her like a battle standard, dancing and whipping in the turbulent currents.

Lensless Mark kept pace a few feet behind and to her right, his movements marginally less fluid, the grace in his flight hampered by injuries that refused to be ignored. The exposed portion of his face remained locked in a grimace of concentration, jaw muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth against the pain radiating through his body with each powerful thrust through the air.

They approached the gathering of variants with tactical caution, using the smoke-filled sky as natural camouflage. Below them, the confrontation unfolded above the skeletal remains of what had once been the Grayson family home, its once-welcoming structure now reduced to little more than ash and memory.

The variants hovered in a loose circle around Angstrom Levy, whose bulbous head glistened with a sheen of nervous sweat. His beady eyes darted between the assembled Marks, constantly calculating as he manipulated a constellation of glowing green portal drones that floated around the group like mechanical fireflies, their emerald light casting eerie shadows across the faces of the gathered variants.

Y/N signaled to Lensless Mark with a quick gesture, indicating a partially collapsed rooftop nearby. They descended in perfect silence, landing in a crouch behind a chimney stack that had somehow survived the destruction intact.

"—you promised us anything we wanted!" Mohawk Mark's roar cut through the evening air, each word punctuated by flecks of spittle flying from his contorted lips. The mohawk crowning his head seemed to bristle with his rage, while veins pulsed visibly at his temples. "And now we get nothing?"

Angstrom's laugh—nasal and grating—bounced off the ruins surrounding them as his abnormally large head tilted backward. Sweat trickled down his bulbous forehead, catching the green light of the portal drones as his eyes continued their nervous dance between the variants. "I promised you new universes to conquer. But first, you need to complete your part of the bargain."

"We've done enough," Omni Mark grunted, his powerful frame rigid with barely contained violence. His fists clenched at his sides, the red material of his gloves straining across the knuckles as though struggling to contain the force within. The black lenses of his mask gleamed with menace as he leaned forward, shoulders hunched like a predator preparing to pounce. "This world is in ruins, and we already lost half of us. Invincible's reputation is destroyed. It's time for you to pay up."

Sinister's laugh shattered the moment like broken glass, sharp and dangerous. "Or should I rip that swollen head off your shoulders and be done with it?" His fingers flexed with deliberate slowness, a silent promise of violence to come.

Emperor Mark floated slightly higher than the others, positioning himself with the natural authority of one accustomed to command. His voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade. "You're stalling, Angstrom. That makes me wonder what you're hiding."

Phantom Mark hovered silently to the side, his full-face mask rendering his expression unreadable, but his body language—head tilted at a calculating angle, arms crossed over his chest—radiated cold assessment.

Prisoner Mark spat on the ground below, his scarred face twisting into a mean grimace that pulled at the puckered tissue crisscrossing his features. "If you think you can double-cross us after everything we've done—"

"Maybe he needs a reminder of who he's dealing with," Viltrumite Mark suggested, his voice a study in deceptive calm. One by one, he cracked his knuckles, each pop carrying ominously through the still air like distant gunshots.

No Mask Mark's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes reflecting the sickly green glow of the portal drones as he edged closer to Angstrom. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you since day one."

From their vantage point, Y/N's fingers curled around the rough edge of the chimney, knuckles whitening with pressure as she observed the confrontation unfolding above them. Beside her, Lensless Mark's breathing had become a carefully measured rhythm, each inhale and exhale a deliberate exercise in control.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, the words barely audible even to Lensless Mark's enhanced hearing. "Look at Angstrom's portals."

Lensless Mark narrowed his eyes, focusing on the glowing rifts surrounding the variants. Several of the portal drones pulsed with an erratic rhythm, the edges of their projections wavering and fluctuating as though struggling to maintain coherence. A discordant humming filled the air, the vibration setting teeth on edge and raising the fine hairs on the back of the neck. Behind each variant—all of whom had their attention fixed on Angstrom—additional portal drones were silently rising into position, their movements deliberate and predatory.

"He's losing control," Lensless muttered, a note of grudging respect coloring his voice. "Too many portals open at once, too many dimensions bleeding into each other."

Y/N's gaze flicked to him, surprise momentarily widening her eyes. "You know about dimensional physics?"

His lips curled in a sardonic sneer, though a glint of dark humor danced in his good eye. "I've hopped more dimensions than you've had hot meals, sweetheart. You pick things up."

Their attention snapped back to the confrontation as Mohawk Mark's voice rose above the others, slicing through the cacophony with razor-sharp clarity.

"Enough talk!" he shouted, his dark suit blending with the gathering shadows. "Either you send us where we want to go, or we tear you apart."

Angstrom's expression twisted—fear and calculation battling for dominance across his features. His hand slipped into his pocket with practiced smoothness, withdrawing what looked like a small remote control. Behind the variants, the drones began to rise higher, their movements synchronized with cold precision.

"I believe in contingency plans," Angstrom said, his voice suddenly steadier than it had been moments before. "You want new worlds to conquer? Fine. But not the ones you're thinking of."

His thumb descended on a button, and the drones surged forward, surrounding the variants in a complex geometric pattern. Green energy crackled between them, forming a lattice of dimensional power that began to constrict around the assembled Marks.

"He's going to send them all away," Y/N breathed, her body coiling with tension. "To some hell dimension where they can't threaten him anymore."

Lensless Mark's hand shot out with surprising speed, fingers closing around her wrist with undeniable strength. His eye locked with hers, something unreadable flickering in its depths.

"Let him," he hissed, teeth bared in a feral grin that spoke of old hatreds and deeper wounds. "Less competition for me."

Y/N yanked her arm free, disgust flashing across her face like summer lightning. "They're you. All of them. Different versions, but still you."

"Exactly," he countered, leaning closer until she could count the flecks of gold in his irises. His visible eye narrowed to a dangerous slit, while the corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. "And I hate myself more than anyone."

The air between them vibrated with unspoken tension. Y/N's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin of her cheek. Her pupils contracted then dilated as she made her decision.

"I'm going," she stated simply, her voice brooking no argument as her body tensed like a spring.

Lensless Mark's curse disappeared into the wind as Y/N launched herself skyward. Her body sliced through the smoke-laden air, arms extended at her sides, hair streaming behind her like a battle flag. The bruised sky seemed to darken further around her as she rocketed toward the confrontation, a living missile aimed at its heart.

Below, Lensless Mark's features contorted in frustration, nostrils flaring as he dragged in a ragged breath. The swelling around his injured eye had receded enough to allow him to squint through it, giving him a lopsided, dangerous gaze. With a growled string of profanities that would have made hardened criminals blush, he pushed away from the rooftop with enough force to cause the decaying structure to crumble further beneath his departure.

The variants remained oblivious to Y/N's approach, their attention locked on Angstrom. The villain's fingers danced across his remote control with manic energy, sweat beading on his forehead as he manipulated the floating drones. Each mechanical orb pulsed with increasingly erratic energy, the portals they generated flickering and destabilizing as they formed a tightening net around the assembled Marks.

"—tired of your games!" Omni Mark's voice carried over the electric crackle of dimensional energy. His fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, tendons standing out like cords beneath the material of his gloves.

"You promised us new worlds!" Mohawk Mark snarled, his teeth flashing dangerously in the sickly green glow of the portals. Jaw muscles bunched beneath his skin as rage contorted his features.

Sinister Mark hovered slightly apart from the others, his yellow cape billowing behind him like wings of sulfur. His shoulders hunched forward, head lowered in the posture of a predator preparing to charge. A savage grin split his face beneath the black lenses of his mask, teeth gleaming as a low, menacing laugh bubbled from deep within his chest.

"You lying piece of shit," Sinister hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm going to enjoy peeling your skin off strip by strip." His yellow-gloved fingers flexed and curled in rhythmic anticipation, as if already feeling Angstrom's throat beneath them.

Angstrom's lips peeled back from his teeth in a nervous grimace that tried and failed to masquerade as confidence. His thumb hovered over the central button of his remote, eyelids flickering with anticipation. "You'll get your worlds," he said, voice pitched higher than normal as adrenaline coursed through his system. "And you'll die there."

Y/N's approach created a subtle displacement in the air, a whisper of movement that Omni Mark detected first. His head snapped toward her, eyes widening beneath his mask as recognition dawned.

"Y/N, NO!" His arm shot outward, fingers splayed in desperate warning as he tried to alert her to the danger.

Angstrom pivoted with unexpected agility, eyes bulging as he spotted Y/N hurtling toward him. His finger jabbed frantically at the remote, redirecting one of the drones into her flight path. The device responded with a mechanical whir, positioning itself directly before her. Green energy coalesced around it, swirling into a vortex that yawned open like a hungry maw.

Y/N's pupils contracted to pinpoints as she registered the trap too late. Her momentum carried her forward despite her best efforts, muscles straining as she attempted to alter her trajectory. The portal reached for her with invisible fingers, the air around it warping and distorting with dimensional instability.

Lensless Mark streaked through the air to her left, the remnants of his mask fluttering away from his face, revealing more of his features than he had exposed in years. His hand dipped into a pocket, producing a shard of mirror—a makeshift weapon salvaged from the abandoned house. The setting sun caught it at precisely the right angle, creating a blinding flash that struck Angstrom's eyes with surgical precision.

Angstrom's head jerked backward, eyelids squeezing shut against the sudden assault on his vision. His grip on the remote faltered, thumb slipping across its surface. The drone pattern wavered in response, creating a momentary opening in their formation.

Y/N seized the opportunity, twisting her body mid-flight to avoid the portal directly in her path. Her trajectory shifted, bringing her around behind Angstrom. The air parted before her fist as she drove it forward with all her strength, connecting with Angstrom's skull. The impact reverberated up her arm, bone meeting bone with a sickening crack that echoed across the ruined landscape.

Angstrom plummeted, his body spiraling toward the devastation below. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine crimson mist, catching the light of the surrounding portals. His fingers maintained their death grip on the remote, thumb pressing a sequence of buttons as he fell.

The variants roared in unison, breaking free of the destabilized portal net. They remained hovering above, their attention fixed on the spectacle below rather than pursuing Angstrom themselves. Their expressions ranged from surprise to excitement, but all shared one common element: bloodthirsty anticipation.

"Finish him!" Mohawk Mark shouted, fist pumping the air as he destroyed a nearby drone with his other hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with bloodlust, eyes wide and feverish with excitement.

Prisoner Mark's chains rattled melodically as he crushed a drone between his palms, the metal links of his restraints clinking against each other like wind chimes. "Don't let him escape!"

"Watch the drones!" Emperor Mark warned, his voice carrying the authority of command as he blasted one out of the air with his heat vision, the red beam cutting through the darkening sky like a laser scalpel.

No Mask Mark grinned savagely as he kicked one drone into another, creating a small explosion of green energy that illuminated the scars crisscrossing his face. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting the dimensional energy surrounding them. "Show him what happens when you cross us!"

The variants focused on destroying the remaining drones, smashing them with fists, feet, and energy blasts. Green sparks and fragments of metal rained down upon the devastated landscape below, a strange technological hailstorm over the ruins.

Y/N dove after Angstrom, her body streamlined for maximum velocity. Wind roared past her ears, heart hammering against her ribcage as she accelerated downward. Her hand reached out, fingers stretching toward Angstrom's falling form.

Too late, she saw what he had done.

A new portal opened beneath him, swirling with sickly purple energy—different from the familiar green of his standard portals. This was something else, something engineered for a specific purpose. His thumb caressed the remote one final time, altering the destination encoded in the vortex.

Angstrom's eyes locked with Y/N's as he plunged toward the portal. Blood bubbled between his lips, spattering across his chin and neck in a grotesque parody of a beard. His mouth stretched into a rictus of hatred, teeth stained crimson with his own life essence.

"Enjoy your trip," he spat, the words barely audible over the roar of the portal's energy.

Y/N tried to pull up, to change course, her muscles straining against her own momentum. Too late—the portal expanded like a hungry beast, swallowing Angstrom and reaching hungrily for her.

The variants froze in mid-air, horror dawning on their faces as they realized what was happening. Omni-Mark's arm extended toward her, fingers outstretched in futile desperation. Lensless Mark hovered nearby, both eyes now visible and widened with what might have been concern, his hand reaching toward her in an unconscious gesture.

Sinister Mark, who had been hanging back observing, suddenly became aware of a drone hovering unnoticed behind him. His attention had been entirely focused on Y/N, his black lenses reflecting her plummeting form. For a split second, his normal vigilance lapsed, his body frozen as he watched her fall. The drone's circuitry hummed as it targeted his distracted form. The device activated, creating a second portal that intersected with his flight path.

"Son of a—" His curse was cut short as the portal's energy engulfed him, pulling him inexorably in the same direction Y/N had vanished.

The sensation was like being flayed alive while simultaneously being compressed into a space far too small for a human body. Colors that existed in no known spectrum swirled around Y/N, pressure building against her eardrums until she thought her skull might shatter from the force.

Then, abruptly, release.

Y/N tumbled through open air, disoriented and gasping. Her body struck the ground with bone-jarring force, enhanced physiology absorbing an impact that would have pulverized ordinary human anatomy. Dust billowed around her, a cloud of gritty particles that coated her sweat-dampened skin and invaded her lungs with each desperate breath.

She rolled onto her hands and knees, fingers digging into alien soil as her vision swam and finally began to clear. Her head lifted, eyes widening as she took in her surroundings.

A wasteland stretched in every direction—not the devastated cityscape she had left behind, but something far more alien and terrifying. The sky above hung low and oppressive, a sickly shade of yellow-green that reminded her of infected tissue. Three moons of varying sizes and colors suspended in that alien firmament, casting overlapping shadows across the barren landscape. Jagged rock formations jutted from the earth like broken teeth, their surfaces gleaming with an oily iridescence that suggested something beyond normal geology.

And moving across that landscape—massive shapes that defied classification. Creatures composed primarily of teeth and claws and hunger, their bodies shifting and reforming with each lumbering step. Smaller, quicker things skittered between the giants, gleaming carapaces reflecting the eerie light of the alien moons.

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, muscles trembling with the effort. Her heart hammered against her ribs as understanding crystallized in her mind. This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline. This was something else entirely.

A monster universe. A place where the laws of nature had taken a different, nightmarish turn.

The largest of the distant shapes changed direction, its hulking form now moving purposefully toward her. The ground trembled beneath its approach, vibrations traveling through the soil and into Y/N's bones. Her muscles tensed in response, body automatically shifting into a defensive stance despite her exhaustion.

From three other directions, more creatures noticed her presence, their misshapen heads swiveling toward her with predatory interest. The smallest was still twice her height, its body a writhing mass of tentacles supporting what appeared to be a cluster of jawless mouths. It moved with surprising speed, covering ground in undulating lurches that ate up the distance between them.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening as she prepared for a fight she wasn't sure she could win. Four against one, each creature more nightmarish than the last, and her body still recovering from the dimensional transition.

The monsters closed in, forming a ring around her. The largest towered at least thirty feet high, its body a grotesque fusion of insectoid and reptilian features. A cluster of milky eyes tracked her movements, pupils contracting to vertical slits in the dim light. Its maw gaped open, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth arranged in concentric circles that extended deep into its gullet.

Y/N circled slowly, keeping all four creatures in her field of vision. Her breathing steadied, muscles warming as she gathered her remaining strength. If this was to be her last stand, she would make it count.

The tentacled monster lunged first, appendages whipping toward her with the speed of striking snakes. Y/N leapt skyward, barely avoiding the attack. Her fist connected with what might have been the creature's head, the impact sending shockwaves up her arm. The monster stumbled but didn't fall, tentacles reconfiguring to maintain its balance.

Before she could press her advantage, the largest creature's arm shot out—a limb that seemed to elongate impossibly, ending in razor-sharp claws that raked across her back. Pain lanced through her body, hot blood soaking through the torn fabric of her suit. She spun in mid-air, teeth gritted against the agony, and delivered a retaliatory kick to the monster's forearm.

The third creature spat a stream of caustic fluid that struck her left shoulder, eating through fabric and searing the skin beneath. Y/N bit back a scream, the smell of her own burning flesh filling her nostrils. She dropped lower, trying to use the tentacled monster as a shield against further chemical attacks.

The fourth monster, a quadrupedal nightmare with a body structure suggesting both canine and arachnid heritage, circled warily, looking for an opening. Its face split horizontally, revealing not a mouth but a writhing nest of smaller, worm-like appendages that reached toward her hungrily.

Y/N fought with everything she had, each blow delivered with precision and desperate strength. Her fists created craters in monstrous flesh, her kicks shattered what might have been bones. But for every creature she staggered, another pressed forward. For every attack she evaded, two more connected.

Her stamina began to flag, muscles burning with exertion. Blood ran freely from multiple wounds, her accelerated healing struggling to keep pace with the damage. The monsters seemed to sense her weakening, their attacks becoming more coordinated, more precise.

A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, yanking her downward. She twisted, breaking free, but the motion left her open to the quadruped's charge. Its multi-jointed limbs propelled it forward with startling speed, body colliding with hers in mid-air. They crashed to the ground together, Y/N pinned beneath its considerable weight.

The worm-like appendages in its face writhed closer to her skin, exuding a paralytic toxin that numbed wherever they touched. Y/N struggled beneath the creature, muscles screaming with the effort as she tried to heave it off. Her vision began to dim at the edges, consciousness wavering as the other monsters closed in for the kill.

This was it. After everything she'd survived—the GDA experiments, the variants, Angstrom's traps—she would die here, torn apart by monsters in an alien dimension.

A dark blur streaked across her fading vision—something moving too fast to track properly. The weight pinning her suddenly vanished, the quadruped monster flying backward as though struck by a wrecking ball. The sound of impact echoed across the barren landscape, followed by an inhuman shriek of pain.

Y/N rolled onto her side, blinking to clear her vision. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she made out a familiar silhouette standing between her and the remaining monsters. Armored and imposing, his black and yellow suit gleamed in the light of the three moons, lenses reflecting the creatures' movements.

Sinister Mark.

His masked head didn't turn toward her, attention fixed on the creatures regrouping before him. His stance radiated aggressive confidence, arms hanging loose at his sides, shoulders squared beneath his dark armor. His yellow cape fluttered in the alien breeze, torn but dramatic against the wasteland backdrop.

"Stay down," he commanded, voice tight with barely contained rage. The words emerged as a snarl, every syllable vibrating with violent intent. Gone was the mechanical calm she'd heard from other variants, replaced by raw fury barely contained within human form.

The largest monster roared, the sound vibrating through Y/N's bones like a physical force. Sinister Mark didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head slightly, a wide, savage grin splitting his face beneath his lenses.

"You can't touch what's mine," he laughed, the sound cold and menacing. His body tensed, poised like a coiled spring. "My turn."

What followed wasn't just a fight—it was a massacre. Sinister Mark moved with lethal precision, each blow calculated for maximum damage. His laughter rang out with every strike, a sound of pure joy at the carnage he created. He didn't waste energy on showy techniques or unnecessary movements. His fighting style was brutally efficient, almost surgical in its application of violence.

The tentacled monster exploded in a shower of viscera as Sinister's fist punched clean through what passed for its central mass. "Too easy!" he cackled, lenses glistening with alien blood as he shook gore from his yellow glove with a flick of his wrist.

The acid-spitting creature's head separated from its body before it could unleash another chemical attack, Sinister's hand moving too fast to see properly. "Is that the best you've got?" he taunted, voice dripping with disdain as he kicked the severed head toward another approaching monster.

The quadruped that had nearly killed Y/N limped back into the fray, its body structure already realigning from the previous impact. Sinister Mark met its charge head-on, hands gripping opposing sides of its horizontally-split face. His arms tensed, muscles bunching beneath his armor.

"Let me help you with that face," he sneered and then ripped outward with a wet, tearing sound. The creature collapsed, twitching, as Sinister tossed the separated halves of its head aside, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Much better!"

The largest monster hesitated, milky eyes tracking Sinister Mark's movements with newfound wariness. It began to back away, massive feet creating small tremors with each step. Sinister leapt upward, his body a dark projectile against the alien sky. He landed atop the creature's shoulders, hands gripping what might have been its skull.

"Not so fast," he growled, spittle flying from his lips as he snarled the words. "The fun's just starting." With a single, powerful motion, he twisted until something inside the monster gave way with a sickening crack that echoed across the wasteland.

The creature's legs buckled, its massive body crashing to the ground with earth-shaking force. Sinister rode it down, maintaining his position until the last tremor had passed through its dying form. His laughter echoed across the barren landscape, the sound filled with genuine pleasure at the destruction he'd wrought.

Silence descended over the battlefield, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing and the distant calls of other monsters, wisely keeping their distance after witnessing the fate of their brethren.

Sinister Mark turned toward her, his armor spattered with multicolored fluids that dripped slowly to the ground. He approached with measured steps, his silhouette black against the alien sky. Despite having just saved her life, there was nothing reassuring about his advance.

Y/N pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as her injuries protested the movement. Her eyes never left Sinister's face, searching for some hint of intention behind the blank lenses of his mask.

"You look like shit," he observed, voice sharp and abrupt. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he loomed over her, cape billowing around him like a shroud. "Waiting for a thank you? Or did I interrupt your suicide attempt?"

A bubble of unexpected laughter escaped Y/N's throat, the sound edged with pain and the rising tide of hysteria. "I feel like shit too," she managed, one hand pressed against a particularly deep gash across her ribs that pulsed with each heartbeat.The alien ground lay scattered with dismembered creatures, their multicolored fluids pooling beneath mangled limbs. 

Sinister folded his frame into a crouch beside her, the movement as fluid as the violence had been moments before. His yellow gloves—vibrant against the desolation surrounding them—reached toward her face, the leather catching on her skin as he tilted her chin upward. Blood transferred between them at the contact, a macabre watercolor of her own crimson mixed with the iridescent fluids of the monsters he'd torn apart with disturbing enthusiasm.

"I don't save people," he said. The words slipped from his lips like blades, sharp with an undercurrent of promised violence. Behind the black lenses of his mask, she couldn't see his eyes, but his exposed lower face betrayed him—a twisted grin spreading slowly, pulling at the corners of his mouth until teeth gleamed in the dim light. Her own battered reflection stared back at her from those obsidian lenses. "But these things don't get to have all the fun with you."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip with unexpected delicacy, leaving behind a crimson streak that stood stark against her pallor. 

He cocked his head, a gesture both predatory and curious. The movement caused a ripple through his torn cape, the yellow fabric catching what little light filtered through the alien atmosphere.

"Those idiots lost you," he continued, leaning into her space until his breath warmed her face, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of battle. "Their loss. My gain."

Y/N wrenched away from his grip, the sudden movement sending fresh waves of pain radiating through her battered body. A hiss escaped between her clenched teeth. Her hand flew instinctively to her shoulder where an acid burn throbbed beneath her torn suit, the edges blackened and still smoking faintly. The muscles in her jaw worked beneath her skin as she fought to control her expression, to hide the vulnerability the pain created.

A laugh erupted from Sinister's throat—high and untethered, his head thrown back with manic abandon. The sound echoed across the barren landscape, returning distorted and hollow.

"Still playing tough?" His body shifted closer, bringing with it the scents of battle that clung to him—a heady mixture of sweat, adrenaline, and blood. Something glittered behind the black lenses, something hungry and intent. His smile never faltered. "Reminds me of my Y/N."

Before she could react—before she could even process the possessive claim in those words—his arms slipped beneath her knees and back. He lifted her against his armored chest in one fluid motion, the metal plates cool against her torn suit. Her injured shoulder pressed against him, drawing an involuntary gasp from her lips. Her fingers clutched at his suit, seeking stability in the sudden vertigo.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" His mask remained fixed on her face, head tilting as he studied her reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "Pain means you're still alive. Be grateful."

Without warning, he launched skyward, the sudden acceleration forcing her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, instinct overriding caution. Her face pressed against his shoulder as the wasteland blurred beneath them. Three alien moons hung overhead, their overlapping shadows creating patterns of darkness across the barren landscape.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice tight with pain and anger. She pulled back just enough to meet the impassive black lenses of his mask, the wind whipping her hair across her face in wild tendrils.

A laugh vibrated through his chest, genuine in its amusement. The sound rumbled against her body where it pressed against his. "After I went through all that trouble?" His grip tightened, pulling her closer until the yellow of his gloves stood stark against her torn suit. "Besides, those things down there are probably calling their friends for round two."

In the distance, massive shapes undulated across the alien terrain, drawn by the earlier commotion. Sinister adjusted their trajectory toward a jagged rock formation rising from the wasteland. As they approached, the dark mouth of a cave became visible, a shadow deeper than the surrounding darkness.

“How sweet home~”

––––––––––––

☆ YAY! Okay, I hope y'all like this chapter, even though it was just build up... ☆ And mainly fluff cause the next chapter is the main course~ ☆ Good news, I already wrote the next chapter so no waiting!! ☆ Go check it out for some fun with Sinister~ ☆ Pt.8

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

BREATHE AGAIN.

PAIRING — lumberjack!bucky barnes x f!reader

CONTENTS — one-shot(?); alternate universe—small town; lumberjack au; angst angst angst; mentions re: death of a loved one; estranged childhood friends; bucky has lots of self-deprecating thoughts, but honestly what’s new?

SUMMARY — Bucky could never bear to look at you for too long because of how brightly you shone. But now, it’s somehow unbearable for the same and entirely different reasons.

WORD COUNT — 3.0k

NOTES — this is my last entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s bucky barnes birthday bingo event. i didn’t think i’d make it, but i made it by the skin of my teeth! thank you to everyone who expressed love for the stories i wrote for this, i had a lot of fun writing for my first bingo!

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog ✩ bingo event masterlist

Out of breath, I am left hoping someday I’ll breathe again. —SARA BAREILLES, “Breathe Again”

Thin shafts of pale light creep through a gap in the faded curtains, stretching across his face and tugging him from a restless sleep. 

A few seconds later, a calloused hand sneaks out from beneath the threadbare covers and fumbles for the blaring alarm clock on the bedside table, silencing its ear-splitting toll with one firm tap. 

Bucky blinks his clearly eyes a few times, squinting against the intruding brightness, and pushes himself up onto his right elbow. The covers are then thrown off, and he doesn’t even flinch at the bite of chilled air against his bare skin. The springs of the narrow bed creaking under his shifting weight as he swings his legs over the side, bare feet finding the cool floorboards. 

Pushing himself to his feet with a soft grunt, Bucky pads over to the bathroom with his eyes still half-closed. After brushing his teeth and a quick shower, he heads back to his room and dresses quickly, pulling on some clean underwear, a trusty pair of Levi’s, and a form-fitting t-shirt. 

He searches around for his flannel, only to find it hanging off the back of a wooden chair in the kitchen. Bucky grabs it, shaking it once, then twice, before shrugging it on. His fingers move automatically doing up the buttons, but they slow as they reach the left sleeve, hovering for a heartbeat over the pinned-up fabric covering the space where his arm used to be. 

Shit. He should probably wear the arm today. 

He normally goes without, especially on days when he’s got nothing better to do but hole himself up in the squat brick building of Barnes, Torres & Wilson Logging. It’s easier not wearing it, much less hassle—never mind that the damn thing hurts him more often than not. 

Besides, if people were going to whisper and stare anyway, he might as well give them something to talk about. 

But things are different today, he’s got a job to do and people to meet… and the last thing he wants is to see that look of pity on your face when you realize that, in the years since you’d left Cobble Hill, he’s become mangled and broken and incomplete. 

He didn’t want to see it on you, the same look everyone had given him when he woke up in the hospital after his surgery, when he’d sweated through the nights that followed in excruciating pain no matter how many painkillers they’d pumped into him. 

Bucky had made everyone promise, especially Wanda and Natasha, not to call you. He made threats not to forgive them if they did, closing his eyes against the burn of shame and agony, swearing that he’d rather die than let you see just how damaged he’d become.

So Bucky grits his teeth now, grabbing the metal limb propped up in the corner of his bedroom that’s gathering dust—Jesus, he thinks he actually pulls it out of a cobweb—and shrugs out of his shirt again. 

It takes him a moment to remember where he keeps his socks and liners, sighing in mild frustration as he takes the extra time to put them on before attaching the arm and putting his shirt back on. 

He flexes the false fingers a few times, trying to familiarize himself with the prosthesis again after not wearing it for so long. Bucky doesn’t take the time to check his reflection in the spotted mirror propped up against the wall. He already knows what he’ll see—eyes shadowed from too little sleep, his long hair shaggy and unkempt, the lines around his mouth carved a little deeper, harsher. 

Gone is the boy from the dust-covered pictures on his dresser, the ones that captured moments of carefree laughter from years and a lifetime ago—back when he was still whole—and in his place is an angry and resentful man Bucky doesn’t recognize or like. He’d rather not look. 

For good measure, he tucks a pair of work gloves into his toolbox. With those, you’ll be none the wiser, even he does have to spend all morning at your house. Sam had mentioned you needed help clearing those old dead trees in your backyard, so you could finally put the place on the market.Just another reminder that even though you are back, it doesn’t mean you’re staying. 

However, they didn’t have enough hands… Sam and Joaquin would be busy on another job, which just left Bucky. 

“You sure?” Joaquin asked carefully when he ultimately volunteered to go in their place. “I mean, we can—” 

“It’ll be fine, alright?” Bucky barked, rougher than he intended, regretting it instantly. His business partner just patted his shoulder in understanding. 

Bucky grabs his tools and stomps into his heavy work boots, not bothering with the laces. The chill of winter takes its time moving on despite the dawning of spring, but he simply drapes his old Carhartt jacket over his good arm before heading out the door, snagging his keys from a bent nail driven crudely into the frame. 

The pink of sunrise is long gone, replaced with a vast and clear blue sky, golden light from the sun reflecting off windows and pooling on sidewalks. 

The stairs creak underfoot on his way down, his truck’s faded red door groaning in protest as Bucky wrenches it open and hoists himself up into the cab. He twists the key in the ignition and the old Ford grumbles to life, then he guides it out of the driveway and onto the main road. 

It doesn’t even take ten minutes to reach Orchard Street, the road soon giving way to gravel and then dirt. The houses around these parts are older, painted clapboard with wide porches and overgrown yards. He’d been to most of them in his youth, bringing homemade pies to neighbours, visiting friends and classmates, coaxing them out to play until the sky darkened. 

But it’s the old Victorian at the end of the road that’s the most familiar, its blue paint peeling and shutters slightly crooked. Bucky pulls up next to the curb rather than parking in the driveway, as there’s another car already parked there, a shiny black sedan sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the ancient-looking buildings and weed-choked lawns. 

Shutting off the ignition, Bucky jumps out of the truck and grabs his tools from the trunk. There are butterflies gnawing at his stomach as he balances the handle of an axe over his shoulder, the nervous feeling growing sharper and sharper with each step up the driveway. 

The yard is overgrown now, the grass, although still slightly matted from a long winter, is so tall and unruly it almost reaches his knees. Dead weeds crowd the path to the front door, dotting the cracks in the porch. 

It didn’t used to be this way. It used to be tidy and trimmed, with small beds of pink and white impatiens lining the path. Your mother’s garden, besides you, was always her pride and joy. 

An old tire swing sways from the large oak out front, its large sturdy branches still bare as they snake towards the sky, the thick rope hanging from one of them all frayed and worn. 

Memories push against his ribs, of laughter and skinned knees and the buzz of cicadas in the heavy summer air. Your mother, wearing her big sun hat, would be humming to herself while she gardened. Bucky would be lying in the grass next to you watching the clouds roll by, laughing when you grabbed his arm and screamed at a big fat dragonfly buzzing overhead. 

But that was a long time ago now, before everything changed… before it all went wrong. 

Finally reaching the door, Bucky raises his hand to knock and hesitates, his fist hovering an inch from the weathered wood. His jaw tightens, a muscle flickering in his cheek. He curls his fingers, nails biting into his palm, and drops his hand to the side. 

Regardless, the curtain in the front window twitches, a face appearing briefly in the gap. Eyes meet his, widening a fraction before the fabric falls back into place. There’s a beat, then the sound of the lock turning. The door opens, its hinges whining. 

And just like when he was that hopeless teenage boy so long ago, not so secretly in love with his best friend, Bucky almost forgets how to breathe. 

High school feels like a million years ago, but the memories come so easily. All those walks together on your shared lunch periods to the ice cream parlour just a few minutes from school. He’d open the door for you, calling out to the shop owner your usual order—two scoops of strawberry in a waffle cone, maraschino cherry on top. 

The two of you at Joaquin’s baseball games in a show of support, but always ending up in your own little world, sitting side by side on a picnic blanket next to the bleachers, hands so close to touching but never quite. 

And despite your fears of leaving Cobble Hill’s safe and quiet borders, the only ones you’d ever known, he had been the one to tell you to go. Bucky had placed his hands on your shoulders, lowering his head so your eyes were level with his, and insisted that you weren’t allowed to be afraid of success. 

“You’re too good for that, you know?” And even though it felt like his half of the world was ending, you beamed up at him through tears because you knew that he’d never lie to you. 

He decided in that moment he’d be brave for you. Four years will go by so quickly, you’ll see. You could call, and so could he. Maybe you could come home during your breaks, or maybe he could go visit you in New York for a weekend. You could show him all the sights, wouldn’t that be fun?  

And when news came that you would be staying in New York for a little bit longer, Bucky tried not to be discouraged. Then as he, Sam, and Joaquin decided to start their own logging business, and as you painstakingly climbed up the corporate ladder, the calls became less frequent. After your mom got sick, plans to visit one another had to be put on hold—just until she got better. 

Regrettably, she did not. And regrettably, all of it stopped after he lost his arm.

It didn’t matter that he once promised himself he’d wait for you. It didn’t matter that you once had a way of making him feel invincible, regardless of the fact that he knew himself to be anything but. It no longer mattered that you were once able to make him feel like he’d been struck by lightning, with just one look. 

“Bucky,” you breathe, the cadence of your voice so familiar it’s like he’s being transported back in time. He swallows hard, not saying your name back. He doesn’t think he can handle the sound of it out loud, and certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves the taste of it on his own tongue. “It’s really nice to see you.” 

Still a sweetheart, he thinks, even if he doesn’t call you that anymore. Bucky can’t bring himself to look at you. Even now, you still shine so bright. He dips his chin in greeting instead, not meeting your eyes. 

“Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it,” you say when you invite him inside, closing the door once he’s in the foyer. It’s so formal, not at all how like the two of you used to be. 

“Sure,” is all he says, bristling under your stare, the air thick with unspoken words and fractured history. Bucky can feel your eyes scanning him even as he turns away, trying to ignore the fact that he hasn’t been this close to you in so long. He gestures towards the backyard, the reason he’s here—to help you prepare this place for sale, so you can go back to your life in New York. “I should… get to work.” 

“Oh, right,” he tries not to lean into the idea that you sound disappointed, as though you were expecting him to stay and chat. “Yeah. Thanks again.” 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he strides away without another word towards the sliding glass doors. The backyard is just as familiar, though so much smaller than he remembers. There is a haphazard row of half-dead pines standing sentinel along the back fence, their needles carpeting the ground. 

The screen door bangs shut behind him as he steps out into the morning sun. Dew soaks through the toe of his boots as he crosses the yard, gleaming on the overgrown half-dead grass like scattered diamonds.

He keeps his eyes on the trees, not letting them stray to the old shed where you used to hide to scare him when you were kids, not letting the memories crowd in like hungry ghosts. 

He sets down his tools near the deck, rolls his shoulders, and gets to work. The first swing of his axe cuts deep into the trunk of the smallest tree, sending a judder up his arm. He welcomes the sting in his good palm, the stretch of muscles long unused. 

Bucky loses himself in the rhythm of the work, in the strain of his breath and the heat building under his flannel. The air fills with the clean, sharp scent of resin and the drumbeat of the axe finding its mark over and over. Each impact of steel on wood feels like a small, necessary violence—both a penance and a promise. 

To your mother whom he remembers fondly as an affectionate woman with a kind smile she’d passed on to you, and a pair of warm hands in which flowers always seemed to grow. 

He’s sorry that she had to go so soon and so painfully, that he couldn’t be there for you when you needed a friend the most. He promises that you’ll have no reason to feel sad because of him again. 

When the first tree finally falls, he barely notices the burn in his arms, the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He moves onto the next tree, and the next, until—at least for these short moments—his world narrows to the bite of the axe and the shivering pines and the distant ache that never quite leaves his chest. 

But as he goes to lift the axe again, pain lances through the ghost of his missing limb, hot shards of agony stabbing into an arm that’s no longer there. 

A gasp rips from his throat, his shoulder spasming. The phantom sensations intensify, invisible muscles clenching, nonexistent tendons straining. Bucky braces himself agains the trunk of a nearby pine with his good hand, knuckles white, as a wave of nausea washes over him. 

He should be used to these by now, but the episodes never seem to get easier no matter how much time has passed. More beads of sweat trickle down the side of his face as he tries to breathe through the pain. Don’t let her see, he tells himself, damn near pleading. 

Bucky’s eyes dart towards the glass doors, his fingers fumbling for the axe again, determined to keep working and to act normal. But his movements are jerky, uncoordinated. His tools clatter to the ground, unnaturally loud in his ears even as it lands on the softening earth. He makes a frustrated noise, halfway between a growl and a whimper. Then he hears the sound of the sliding door open. No. Please, anything but that. 

“Bucky?” Your voice, laced with concern. He looks up to see you hurrying towards him, setting down a glass of water on a nearby stump. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he grits out, but another bolt of pain makes him hunch over involuntarily, jaw clenched. 

“What’s wrong?” You reach his side, your hands fluttering helplessly. You frown at the sight of his distress. “What can I do?” 

“Nothing,” he says a little too harshly, flinching away from you instinctively. “You can’t do anything.” 

This is exactly what he didn’t want, for you to see him like this—weak, diminished. Bucky straightens with effort, trying to shove the pain down to where it can’t reach him. His left shoulder aches, the muscles around his prosthesis socket sore and tight.

“Is it your arm?” You ask carefully, and his eyes snap to yours. 

“What?” 

“Steve told me,” you confess, your hand finding its place on his, a hundred emotions flickering through your eyes—sadness and compassion, two things he does not want right now, and then something a bit fiercer. “Don’t be angry with him. He was afraid this would happen and wanted to warn me.”

 “Of fucking course, the punk could never keep his mouth shut.” 

“In his defence, he only told me two days ago.” 

“Forget it,” Bucky jerks out of your grip, turning away as shame simmers louder in his gut, hot and sour. “Just… I’ll be fine. Go back inside.” 

“I really think you should take a break—”

“I mean it, just go. Please,” he hates the way his voice cracks on the last word, but after a tense beat of silence, the soft scruff of your footsteps cross the yard, fading into the distance. The bang of the door closing behind you has a horrible finality. 

Alone again, Bucky slumps against the tree, all the strength draining out of him, and finally lets the tears come. His nonexistent left arm throbs and tingles, a cruel reminder of everything he’s lost. He wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ghost in his own life, haunted by the past and unable to grasp the future. 

He tries, as he closes his eyes against the pain, to remember what it was like to hold you with two good hands.

Or will he spend the rest of his life reaching for things he can no longer have?

fin…?

AFTERWORD — this may turn into a miniseries eventually… i honestly can’t say either way lmao. not for a while though, so… yeah 😇

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[cosmicalily]

"four letters (l-o-v-e)" - a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily | prequel to 'type it out (h-e-a-r-t)'

author's note: i may or may not write a part two for this (depending on if people like this one!) i've never really written a fic like this where there's zero romantic action/physical intimacy, but i kind of loved this whole soft, slow burn, and the idea that you can come up with your own ending for it (unless i end up writing one lmao). obviously, this fic is inspired by the 'youth' mv, bc i'm down WILDLY bad for 'youth' minho! also as i wrote in a little blab on my blog this will likely be my last post in my 'regular' writing schedule as it's my very last prewritten fic!! i'd been stockpiling them for days to keep me going but with school restarting (final year!) i know i'll most likely be too busy to write regularly. thank you for all the love over this summer (or winter!) xx i'll still be on here whenever inspiration strikes!

warnings: fights, blood, angst, difficulties at school, suspensions

The sunlight on the emerald coloured lawn was warm, melting through the semi-sheer clouds like honey. You stretched yourself out, torso propped up by your elbows, eyes squinted before eventually, you gave into the glare, closing them fully. You loved the spring sunshine; everything around you felt like it was saturated and glowing, and there was a freshness to the air that the other seasons didn’t carry. You felt a soft kick to your back and opened your eyes reluctantly, batting an arm aimlessly to return the blow.

“Were you asleep?” Seungmin asked, chuckling amusedly. Despite his smirk, he offered a hand to help you off the grass. Foolishly, you reached for it, and once you were about two-thirds above the ground, he let go, letting you fall back onto the lawn with a soft thump.

“You asshole,” you groaned, dusting off your plaid skirt. You pulled yourself to your own feet, stretching your back and slipping your arms into your blazer, giving Seungmin one last dirty look. He simply laughed at you, the way he always did, but you didn’t miss the quick once-over he gave you, checking to make sure he hadn’t really hurt you. 

It was just the way you communicated. He teased, you tolerated. And sometimes, if you were bothered, you retaliated.

You reached for your bike, about to set your backpack in the front basket, when suddenly Seungmin tapped you on the shoulder. Not in the irritating way to interrupt you when you were studying, but urgently. You turned your head, craning your neck, and your jaw dropped.

Seo Changbin and Lee Minho were fighting.

Not play fighting, the way you typically saw the two of them tussle around in the back of class. No, there was no laughter, no joking or nicknames. Seungmin pulled the two of you a little further behind the bicycle shelter, eyes wide in shock.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit,” Minho spat, blood trickling from his lip as he fought against Changbin’s headlock. “You knew that was my last chance. I needed that grade and you’ve gone and fucking screwed it.”

Changbin scoffed, wincing a little at the scratches Minho’s nails left on his forearms. “You’re the one who doesn’t give a shit about school. Why do you suddenly care, huh? It’s just a stupid assignment.”

“They’re gonna kick me out if I fail another,” Minho hissed. “You knew that, but you still had to fuck around and ruin everything for me.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered to Seungmin.

Not quietly enough, apparently.

Minho’s head turned, sharp eyes immediately spotting the two of you. Your heartbeat quickened, and Seungmin mumbled curses under his mouth as Minho quickly pulled himself from Changbin. He gave the latter a quick shove, then pointed in the direction of the bike shed.

“Fuck,” Seungmin murmured.

“What are you looking at?” Changbin shouted, expression hostile.

“Let’s go,” you urged, and the two of you hopped on your bikes, making a hasty exit. 

When you turned your head back, Changbin was nowhere to be seen. Minho, however, sat on the lawn, bloody face in his hands. 

He looked so much smaller, so vulnerable. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned your bike against a fence and ran back to the school grounds, Seungmin shouting your name from behind you.

But Minho was gone now, too.

Seungmin panted beside you, cursing at your stupidity for running back. 

Blood now streaked the grass where you’d been sitting earlier.

“Ms. Park and I have been thoroughly debating exactly what to do with you two, Lee Minho,” Mr. Shin sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Because clearly, the past consequences we’ve inflicted have had minimal, if any, impact.”

Minho’s eyes brightened. “Another suspension?” He asked eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Shin shook his head. “Especially when your attendance is already as bad as it is, and considering the fact that the past seven suspensions we’ve assigned you have only seemed to make matters worse. No, we’ve had to get creative.”

Minho rolled his eyes and yawned, but his heart beat a little quicker. Usually, this conversation would be done in two minutes; it was a script he’d repeated many times. Several apologies, each a little more dramatic than the previous one, then a two-day suspension. Then, Minho would be out of the room, collecting his bag, and could do whatever he pleased. It was like a routine.

‘Creative’, though? He did not like the sound of that.

“We have decided that perhaps individualised punishments are not effective,” Mr. Shin continued. “So we have constructed somewhat of a community service plan for you to complete.”

“What, like picking up rubbish?”

“What, Mr. Shin,” he groaned. “Have some courtesy, please. And no, something different. It will be collaborative, but also educational. Changbin will be doing the same; Seungmin will be assisting him in instructing the children’s baseball team. And, in your favour, we have taken into account your dislike towards physical exercise. However, you’ll still be responsible for a group of people, which will hopefully teach you leadership and empathy. Obviously, we were cautious of assigning you this role alone, so we have recruited some support.” Mr. Shin stood up from his desk and opened his office door.

“Hi Minho,” you said gently.

“Hi, Y/N,” he mumbled.

You pulled out a sheet of paper covered in squares and numbers, sliding it across the desk to him. 

And the smile Lee Minho offered you, small but certain, as he stared down at the piece of paper was nothing short of genuine. In that moment, he seemed different. 

You saw the same vulnerability you’d seen the day before.

“Have you ever played bingo?”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 7 - Magical Fleshlight

Mountain x Reader

Fuck… why does this feel so real? It’s so… wet. Holy shit.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 6k.

Reading Time: 24 min.

Warnings: elements of crack!fic, masturbation, multiple orgasms, noncon, non-discussed sexual activity, public, PIV sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Mountain slumped onto the bed, sighing heavily as he bounced softly on the plush springs. The day had dragged on endlessly, each hour dragging him further into a storm of stress and fatigue. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the tight knots in his back that throbbed with every movement, and the cramping beginning to form in his legs, a testament to the physically demanding tasks he’d faced. All he wanted was to escape into the soothing embrace of sleep.

Curling up onto his side, he nestled into the cool sheets, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the roughness of his day. As he logged onto Instagram, the flickering glow of his phone illuminated the dim room, casting playful shadows against the walls. It was a moment of solace, a brief respite from the chaos of the outside world.

Then, your most recent picture appeared on his timeline, and a jolt of electricity surged through him. You were stunning, radiating a captivating allure that pulled him in like a moth to a flame. The memory of the dress you wore last night flickered in his mind—a form-fitting creation that hugged your curves perfectly, its delicate fabric accentuating every feature that drove him wild. He could almost see it bunched up around your waist, his imagination running riot as he pictured the scene.

His heart raced at the thought, and he cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he tried to dispel the imagery. No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now, not when he was exhausted and vulnerable. But the temptation lingered, clawing at the edges of his mind like an unquenchable fire. He longed to reach out, to hold you close, to forget the weight of the world for just a moment.

He swiped through your photos, each one more intoxicating than the last—your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. Each image only deepened his frustration and desire, intertwining with the stress of the day, creating a tangled web of emotions he found hard to unravel. The solitude of his room felt stifling, an echo of his longing that was now amplified by your presence on his screen.

Mountain’s thoughts drifted, his body still heavy with weariness yet somehow ignited by an unshakeable yearning. The contrast of his physical exhaustion and the vivid allure of you made his chest tighten. He wanted to rest, to forget his troubles, but he also craved something more—something electric, passionate, and intoxicating.

With a deep breath, he set his phone down, staring at the ceiling as he tried to clear his head. The images of you still danced in his mind, teasing him mercilessly. Perhaps a little distraction would help? A warm shower, a drink, or maybe… just maybe, a little bit of magic to soothe his aching body and restless thoughts. He could picture you there beside him, laughter filling the air, and a shiver of anticipation raced down his spine.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to scrub the image of you beneath him from his mind, but it was too late. The fantasy had taken root, blossoming into something far too vivid to ignore. His body was already responding, a heat rising in him that seemed to defy his efforts to suppress it.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, his heart pounding as he fought to regain control. The bed felt too soft, too inviting, and his thoughts were spiralling into tantalising possibilities. The way you had looked in that dress—the way it had clung to your body, accentuating your curves—sent a rush of heat coursing through him. He could almost feel your skin beneath his fingertips, the way your body would yield to his touch, inviting him in, urging him to explore.

Mountain clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms as if to ground himself. He was all too aware of the growing tension in his lower abdomen, a primal response that stirred within him, demanding attention. It was maddening. No, he thought firmly, pushing back against the wave of desire. He needed to focus on anything else—work, the tasks ahead, the mess he’d need to clean—but his mind was relentless, cycling back to you.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he tried to shake off the intrusive thoughts. Each step seemed to echo with the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, and the intoxicating scent of your perfume. It wrapped around him like a fog, clouding his judgment and amplifying his longing.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, the words barely making it past clenched teeth. But as he turned, his gaze fell upon the fleshlight sitting innocently on the bedside table—a recent acquisition, born of desperation and curiosity. The relic hummed softly, as if it sensed his turmoil, and suddenly, he felt a magnetic pull toward it.

Could it really help him escape the throbbing desire that gripped him so tightly? With a tentative hand, he reached for the enchanted device, the cool surface grounding him momentarily as he contemplated his options. It had been whispered among friends that this magical relic could bring fantasies to life, enabling a connection that was both intimate and otherworldly.

Magic? As if. That sounded like the plot of a shitty smutty novel. There was no magic in the real world.

He glanced back at his phone, at your radiant smile, and felt a surge of determination wash over him. Why not give it a try? Perhaps, just this once, he could indulge in a fantasy—a fleeting moment of pleasure that could distract him from the gnawing stress of the day.

With a deep breath, Mountain took a seat on the edge of the bed, the tension still simmering within him as he examined the magical fleshlight in his hands. If there was ever a time to explore the boundary between reality and fantasy, it was now. He was ready to surrender, if only for a little while.

He ran his finger over the fleshlight’s clitoris, the smooth surface cool against his heated skin. The mere touch sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a flicker of anticipation in his belly. The magical device seemed to hum with energy, almost as if it were alive, responding to his touch and urging him to let go of his inhibitions. As his imagination began to weave vivid images of you, he closed his eyes, allowing the fantasy to envelop him.

*

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with dusty tomes and parchment scrolls. The warm, golden light from the lamps cast a comforting glow, but it did little to dispel the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin. Traveling for the Ministry had worn you out, leaving a mountain of work to tackle. You felt as if you were drowning beneath the weight of it all, buried under reports and briefings that demanded your attention.

Determined to catch up, you hunched over your desk, your quill scratching furiously against the parchment. The words began to blur together as your mind wandered, drawn back to thoughts of Mountain. You couldn’t shake the image of him, powerful and stoic, but with an undeniable softness lurking beneath the surface. That intense gaze of his always made your heart race, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

It was maddening, really, how one thought of him could send your concentration spiraling. You shifted in your chair, the tension in your back protesting the long hours spent hunched over your work. A sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at the clock, realising how late it had grown. The library felt even quieter now, the stillness pressing in around you, amplifying your restlessness.

But that was when you felt it. A sudden, electrifying swipe over your clitoris, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook, heart racing as confusion and curiosity battled within you. What on earth was happening?

You glanced around the library, half-expecting to see someone teasing you, but the room remained empty, the silence thick with the weight of ancient knowledge. The sensation pulsed again, rhythmic and insistent, as if someone—something—was touching you beneath your clothes. Your breath caught in your throat, the combination of surprise and intrigue igniting a warmth deep within. You stood up and moved seats, thinking that was the problem, but when the swipe came a second time, you almost screamed. It felt so good, somehow?

With every pulse, the sensation felt more intense and quicker, drawing you deeper into an exhilarating haze. You clenched your thighs together, instinctively searching for relief as you fought to maintain your composure. The rhythmic touches seemed to dance along your most sensitive areas, teasing and inviting with each electric caress.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your legs together, seeking some form of control, but the warmth pooled low in your belly, a heated pressure that was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the paper in front of you, but the words swam before your eyes, fading into the background as your entire being concentrated on the sensation that was almost overwhelming.

What if it was Mountain? The thought sent a shiver through you. You had shared so many lingering glances, those moments charged with unspoken desire. Your brain kept showing you images of him next to you, hands beneath your habit and flicking over your clit so expertly, you were getting closer and closer to the precipice by the second.

Another pulse shot through you, sharper and more insistent than before. You gasped, gripping the edge of the desk for support. Your mind raced, torn between the fantasy of Mountain orchestrating this and the reality of being in the library, surrounded by centuries of knowledge and solitude.

The teasing sensation flickered again, and you could feel it mirroring the rhythm of your heartbeat, tugging at your very core. You could hardly contain yourself; a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing against the high ceilings of the library. The sound startled you, and you quickly glanced around, but there was still no one in sight.

Swallowing hard, you weighed your options. You could leave the library, escape this unexpected spell, or you could embrace it, surrender to the sensations that were taking over your body. The tension in your back seemed to dissipate, replaced by a throbbing warmth that surged through you with every pulse.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding in anticipation. What would happen if you let yourself explore this strange new sensation? What if this was a glimpse into something deeper, something shared with Mountain that had yet to be spoken?

Finally, you settled back into your seat, heart racing as you surrendered to the unknown. With each wave of pleasure, you began to ride the rhythm, feeling the magic course through you. The lines of reality blurred as you imagined Mountain’s hands—strong yet gentle—working their magic on you. The fantasies you had buried deep within began to surface, filling your mind with images of him, of you, lost in a world of desire.

As you surrendered to the sensations, a part of you still wondered how long you could remain in this secret world, caught between the throes of pleasure and the reality of your surroundings. But for now, all that mattered was the intoxicating feeling of the unknown, and the powerful connection that pulsed between you and Mountain, drawing you ever closer.

The sensations grew stronger, more insistent, every pulse of pleasure pushing you closer to the edge. Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk, knuckles white as you fought to keep silent, your breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps. The magical teasing seemed to know exactly where to touch, how to drive you wild without mercy, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. You could barely focus on anything but the pressure building inside you, hot and unbearable.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to stifle the moans threatening to escape your lips. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to walk in and find you like this, overwhelmed by invisible hands, pleasure coursing through you in the middle of the quiet library. But the thought of being caught only seemed to heighten the thrill, a dangerous mix of arousal and anticipation that made the heat within you coil tighter.

The rhythm became more relentless, the electric pulses caressing your clitoris and sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to ease the tension, but it only made the feeling more intense, more impossible to resist. Your body was trembling, your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths coming in quick, ragged bursts as the wave of ecstasy swelled higher and higher.

Your mind was a blur, filled with images of Mountain—his hands on you, his body pressed against yours. You could almost feel him there, his touch, his breath on your skin. The fantasy had completely taken over, and you no longer cared about anything but the release that was building inside you, stronger and stronger with each passing second.

And then, it hit.

A final pulse, stronger and more intense than before, surged through you, and suddenly, you were there, on the edge of oblivion. You gasped, your back arching as your entire body tensed, the pleasure overwhelming, almost too much to bear. The climax washed over you in powerful waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving you trembling, breathless, your mind utterly consumed by the moment.

Your hands clutched the desk, your thighs clamped together as the pleasure coursed through you, your heart pounding in your ears as you rode the waves of ecstasy. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body shaking as you finally surrendered to the release you’d been fighting.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Everything was still, your mind lost in the afterglow, your body limp and sated. The heat slowly began to ebb away, leaving a warm, languid feeling in its wake. You slumped in your chair, chest heaving, your skin flushed and your limbs heavy. The library was silent once again, save for the sound of your ragged breathing as you came down from the high.

You opened your eyes, still dazed, your body tingling with the remnants of pleasure. The magic had faded, leaving you alone once more. You glanced around, half-expecting someone to have noticed, but the library remained as quiet and still as ever. No one had witnessed your moment of ecstasy, and for that, you were grateful.

*

Mountain felt the fleshlight twitch in his hands, the silicone pulsing rhythmically under his touch. It was strange, almost unnerving, how lifelike it felt—warm and supple, as though it had a mind of its own. He reasoned it must have been designed that way, engineered to feel as close to the real thing as possible. After all, the material had to have some give; otherwise, it would be difficult to fuck.

But this… this felt different. Too real.

Curiosity burned within him, and without thinking, he removed his thumb from the fleshlight’s clit and slid a finger into the vaginal hole. He half-expected to feel nothing but cold silicone or mechanical resistance, but the moment his fingertip pressed inside, he froze.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his breath catching in his throat.

The interior was silky smooth, impossibly warm, and slick with wetness, as though it had already been perfectly lubricated just for him. His finger sank deeper, and he swore he felt the walls subtly pulse around him, hugging his digit with a grip that sent a jolt of arousal straight through his core. It felt as though he had slipped his finger inside a real pussy—alive, warm, and so damn wet.

It was too much.

The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of blood straight to his length, which was already half-hard, now straining against his trousers. He glanced down, feeling the growing pressure, but his mind couldn’t tear away from the fleshlight and its surreal sensations. His pulse quickened as he slowly curled his finger inside the toy, feeling the textured inner walls respond to his every movement, as if the toy were reacting, pulling him in.

“Holy shit…” he whispered under his breath, barely able to believe what he was experiencing.

The slickness inside only made his cock throb with more need, the pressure building rapidly in his groin. His mind wandered back to the vivid images of you that had plagued him all night. He imagined it wasn’t just his finger inside this magical device, but his cock, sinking deep into that same warmth, feeling your body move beneath him, wrapped around him. He could almost hear the sound of your breath hitching in pleasure, see the way your body would react to every thrust.

His arousal was becoming impossible to ignore, his length now fully hard, aching to be touched. The wetness coating his finger made him desperate to feel more, to know what it would be like to sink himself completely into the impossible magic of this fleshlight.

But something nagged at him in the back of his mind. Why did this feel so different? So personal? It wasn’t just a toy; it was something more, something… connected.

Mountain exhaled sharply, pulling his finger out and wiping it on his trousers as he debated whether to continue. His cock twitched in anticipation, and the need for release was undeniable. He had to know just how far this could go.

His hand drifted to the waistband of his trousers, the decision already made.

*

You had felt the initial intrusion, the unexpected presence inside you, no thicker than a finger. It wasn’t moving with any intent to please, merely exploring your most intimate space, as if testing the waters, feeling out your warmth. A breath caught in your throat, and you slumped over the desk, your hand flying to your mouth, desperate to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Your body shivered in response, torn between confusion and the undeniable arousal that was building deep within you.

The slow, teasing movements left you trembling, and while it wasn’t enough to satisfy the aching need between your legs, the anticipation was maddening. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to create some friction, something to ease the growing heat. But the moment you began to settle into the sensation, it stopped. The presence withdrew, and you were left empty, unsatisfied, your slick, needy cunt clenching around nothing.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, muffled by the back of your hand. A part of you was disappointed, frustrated even, that it had left. Your body was throbbing, aching for more—more of whatever that was, more of what it had been building toward. Your pulse was racing, and the quiet library around you suddenly felt too confining, too stifling. You couldn’t stay here, not like this.

Your legs felt weak as you stood, the lingering heat between your thighs making every movement feel laboured. You glanced around the empty room, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as if someone might have seen your inner turmoil, but the library remained silent and still. The quiet was too much now, the weight of your arousal pressing down on you, urging you to seek relief. You needed more than just that teasing touch; you needed release. And you needed it now.

Quickly, you began packing up your things, your fingers fumbling as you tried to gather your quill and parchment. Your mind was already somewhere else, picturing what awaited you once you could find privacy. The thought of it—of taking care of yourself, of chasing the release that had been cruelly denied in the library—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

With your belongings hastily stuffed into your bag, you headed toward the door, your breath uneven as you made your way out of the library. The cool air of the hallway did little to calm the fire raging inside you. You had to find somewhere—anywhere—you could be alone and finish what had been started.

Your legs moved quickly beneath you, instinct driving you toward the nearest private space, your heart pounding with anticipation as the memory of that teasing touch replayed in your mind.

You left the library in a hurry, taking a sharp left down the corridor toward your room, your mind laser-focused on finding relief. Each step was torture, your knees weak and trembling, barely able to support your body as the weight of your arousal pressed down on you. The cool air of the hallway did nothing to ease the growing heat between your thighs, and you quickened your pace, desperate to reach the privacy of your room.

But just as you rounded the corner, a new sensation hit you.

Dread pooled in your stomach as you felt your folds part, something heavy and hard sliding between them. You gasped, eyes widening in shock, feeling a thick pressure press against your clit. It wasn’t the slow, teasing touch from before—it was urgent, insistent, and so overwhelmingly real that you couldn’t hold back the shaky moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was distracting, too distracting, and in your attempt to keep moving, you stumbled.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and with a gasp, you fell to the ground, your belongings scattering across the wooden floor. Pens, paper and books slipped from your grasp, your bag tumbling open as you struggled to regain control of your body. The thick presence between your legs remained, rubbing insistently against your clit with every movement, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you as you lay there, heart racing and breath ragged.

Your hands shot down instinctively, as though to push whatever it was away, but there was nothing tangible, nothing you could grasp. It was as if some invisible force was teasing you, pressing into you with an unrelenting rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.

You tried to stand, pushing yourself up with trembling arms, but the pleasure was so intense that you collapsed again, your knees refusing to support your weight. Another shudder ran through you, your body betraying you as the rubbing against your clit continued, the sensation almost unbearable. You squeezed your thighs together, but it only seemed to make it worse, the pressure building with every second.

“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless gasp. You had no control over your body anymore. The sensation between your legs had taken over, and all you could do was grip the floor beneath you, helpless against the mounting pleasure.

The hallway was empty, but you were still exposed, vulnerable. You needed to get up, needed to reach your room where you could finally give in to what your body craved. But as another pulse of pleasure shot through you, you weren’t sure you’d even make it.

A stroke of luck emerged, catching your eye in the midst of your frantic struggle—the door to a cleaning closet, left slightly ajar. Relief mixed with desperation as you quickly gathered your scattered belongings, your hands shaking as you scrambled to your feet. You couldn’t make it much further; your knees were barely holding you upright as it was, and the relentless pressure between your thighs was making it impossible to think straight.

Without a second thought, you rushed toward the open door, heart pounding in your chest. As soon as you stumbled inside, you slammed it shut behind you, pressing your back against the wood. There was no lock, but if you could just stay quiet—if you could hold out here for a few moments—you might make it through this without being caught. The small space was dimly lit, filled with shelves of cleaning supplies, and the air smelled faintly of soap and lavender.

You barely had time to catch your breath before it happened.

A sharp, overwhelming sensation took hold of you as you felt something push into you—deep, filling your already throbbing, aching hole. The intrusion was sudden, and you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure that threatened to burst out. It was thick, stretching you in a way that was both shocking and satisfying, as though whatever it was had been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, and desperate.

It was definitely a cock - but it was fucking huge.

*

Mountain sank into the fleshlight, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as the tightness enveloped him. He was a big man in every sense of the word, and his length was no exception—thick, heavy, and aching for relief. As he pressed deeper, the silicone walls yielded, but only just enough, hugging him in a way that felt almost too real. The sensation was overwhelming, warm and snug, gripping him with the perfect balance of resistance and give, as though the toy had been made just for him.

His breath hitched as he sank further, the heat surrounding him sending shivers down his spine. Every inch of him was enveloped in that wet, warm tightness, and it felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before. His hips rolled instinctively, testing the limits of the toy’s grip, and the way it clung to him made his cock throb with need. It was almost maddening how good it felt—too good, in fact. The slickness inside, combined with the soft, textured ridges, made every movement feel as though he was buried deep inside something alive.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands tightening around the base of the fleshlight as his hips moved again, slower this time, savouring the way it squeezed him with every thrust.

The heat, the wetness, the way it pulsed around him—it was almost too much to bear. He couldn’t help but picture you, the way your body would feel wrapped around him like this, clenching down on him, pulling him in. The thought of you, mixed with the intensity of the sensation, made his control slip. His pace quickened, driven by the growing pressure building in his groin, his need for release clawing at him.

Each thrust into the toy felt more urgent, the friction deliciously overwhelming. He could feel the tension building, his length throbbing inside the slick, tight tunnel. Every stroke was bringing him closer to the edge, the pleasure so intense it made his vision blur. The way the fleshlight clung to him was impossibly real, and the thought of sinking into your warmth instead made his pulse race even faster.

He was too far gone to stop now, completely lost in the sensation, the need for release overtaking him as his hips bucked into the toy with reckless abandon.

*

Your legs gave out entirely, and you collapsed against the shelves, your body trembling as the force inside you began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, in and out, dragging along your sensitive walls and making you shudder with each thrust. You bit down on your hand, trying to stay quiet, but the sensation was so intense, so perfectly maddening, that small, helpless whimpers slipped past your lips despite your best efforts.

The sensation wasn’t just physical; it was connected. Every movement inside you felt purposeful, like whoever—or whatever—was controlling this was in sync with your body, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your pussy clenched around it, soaking wet, the slickness only making the thrusts more fluid, more relentless.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, the rhythm of your body matching the relentless thrusts that were driving you closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke pushed deeper, dragging against your most sensitive spots, and the heat building inside you was becoming unbearable. Your mind was spinning, the world around you fading into a blur as the pressure inside you mounted, thick and heavy.

You could feel yourself trembling, your body taut with anticipation, the pleasure coiling tighter with every thrust. Your nails dug into your palms, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, to hold on just a little longer—but it was no use.

It felt so good.

Too good.

You sat up a little and spread your legs, pulling your panties off from beneath your habit and throwing them somewhere in the dark, your middle finger immediately moving to your swollen and sensitive clit. Rubbing furiously at it, you let out a loud gasp, the feeling of the cock fucking into you, now at a violent pace. You grasped onto the shelf behind you with your free hard, trying to find something to ground you as much as possible, but nothing was working. Something invisible was pounding relentlessly into your cunt, using your body for their own pleasure and you were so wound up tight - you liked it.

Your body was already betraying you, your pussy tightening around the force inside you as the tension built to a breaking point. It was hitting all the right spots, fucking into you like no one else had managed to before. You bit on your bottom lip trying to remain quiet, but at this point your moans and pants were coming out so loudly, you were sure passers by could hear you.

*

Mountain’s breath was ragged as he thrust into the fleshlight, his large hands gripping it tightly, the soft silicone giving way under his force but clinging to him in the most maddening way. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as the slickness inside seemed to pulse in time with his movements. Every stroke felt too real, too perfect—as if it were more than just a toy, something alive and responding to him.

His cock was fully buried now, his hips rolling slowly at first, but the tightness had him on edge, making it impossible to hold back. His groans grew louder, deep and rough, as he set a more urgent pace. The fleshlight gripped him harder, the wet warmth inside making every stroke smoother, more fluid, but also more intense. It felt better than it should have, the sensation almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck…” he hissed under his breath, his length throbbing with need. Each thrust sent a pulse of pleasure through his body, his mind clouded with desire as he imagined you beneath him instead. The way you would look, your body writhing in pleasure as he buried himself inside you, the soft sounds of your moans filling the air. The thought made his cock twitch inside the toy, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the fantasy.

But then, something strange happened.

The fleshlight pulsed. It wasn’t just responding to his thrusts anymore—it was as if it had a life of its own, squeezing him, rippling around his length in a way that was too real, too connected. His eyes flew open, a gasp escaping him as he stilled for a moment, looking down at the toy in his hands.

“What the…?”

He felt it again, the sensation tightening, as if the fleshlight was reacting not to his body, but to something else entirely. The pulsing grew stronger, almost rhythmic, and it sent a jolt of pleasure through him so intense he nearly doubled over. He could feel the slick walls inside moving, as though mimicking the contractions of an actual body—your body.

Mountain’s heart raced, his mind spinning. There was no way this was just a toy anymore. He could feel it—feel you—somehow, in some way. It was impossible, but there was no denying the connection. The more he moved, the more the fleshlight reacted, tightening around him with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core.

His hips bucked involuntarily, the sensations overtaking him, his mind now filled with images of you. He imagined you trembling, the way your body would shake as he pushed into you, the look of desperation in your eyes as you tried to hold back your release. His pace became frantic, thrusting into the toy with abandon, the tight, wet warmth driving him to the edge.

He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, his entire body tensing with the need for release. The pulsing around his cock grew more intense, as though it were pulling him deeper, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck…” he groaned your name, unable to stop himself now. He was lost in the sensation, lost in the thought of you, the connection between you both tightening with every second.

*

You could feel the climax rushing toward you, unstoppable, consuming every part of you. And as the force inside you thrust again, harder this time, it finally sent you over the edge.

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, the intensity of your orgasm ripping through you in shuddering waves. Your walls clenched down around the presence inside you, your body convulsing as pleasure coursed through you, lighting up every nerve. The release was overwhelming, and you bit down harder on your hand, stifling the moan that tore from your throat as your climax consumed you.

But the relentless pounding didn’t stop. Whoever was fucking you wasn’t done with you just yet.

*

Mountain felt you reach your peak, the pulsing sensation inside the fleshlight intensifying to a point that left him breathless. The way your body clenched around him, as if you were riding the wave of ecstasy, sent a jolt of raw pleasure straight to his core. He could almost hear your moans, soft and desperate, echoing in his mind as he envisioned you lost in your climax, your body trembling beneath him.

With every thrust, he was drawn closer to the edge, the need for release building within him like a tidal wave, crashing and surging. The connection felt electric, transcending the physical boundaries of your separate spaces, and it was almost overwhelming. As you shuddered in pleasure, he could feel the warmth radiating from the fleshlight, as if it were feeding off your climax, drawing him in.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. The fleshlight tightened around him, almost as if it was responding to your release, and the sensation drove him wild. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, a primal urge that had him gasping for air.

As you soared through your orgasm, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust deeper, faster, losing himself completely in the moment. The world around him faded away, the only thing that mattered was the relentless pleasure coursing through him, the sensation of the silicone hugging him so tightly that it felt almost like a second skin.

With one final, powerful thrust, he reached his own peak. A wave of ecstasy crashed over him, his body convulsing as he spilled himself into the fleshlight. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, feeling as if he were floating in a sea of bliss.

His hips stuttered as he felt the last tremors of his release, each pulse sending shockwaves of satisfaction through him. The connection, the overwhelming sensations—it was all too much, and he reveled in it, letting it consume him entirely.

Panting, he collapsed back against the bed, still reeling from the intensity of it all. The fleshlight lay discarded beside him, the warmth and slickness inside a reminder of the wild connection they had just shared. He could still feel the lingering echoes of your climax intertwining with his own, leaving him breathless and yearning for more.

What had just happened? It felt like more than just a fantasy—it felt like something deeper, something that blurred the lines of reality and desire. He found himself staring at the ceiling, a mix of confusion and exhilaration coursing through him. The next time he saw you, everything would change.

Prev./Next

[halfasleepforever]

Salutaions!

Hello, I know that there are quite a few of myself on this... app and I'm glad I have an army of them here! Together, we shall take over This app! but also, please, I've got nothing to do, so out of shear, absolute bordom, I will respond to anything you send me! Okay then, I'm the mod of this whole blog, and to help you differentiate me and Al here, he has the red text and I have the black.

Also, here! Take some guidelines because, dear God, you people need them!

#1. Please, if you are a minor... it's fine if you ask really... just be nice! And... uh... if you don't like swears, go on... get.

#2. Have fun... I found this the second most important

#3. Y'all, this is just for shits and giggles so please, don't leave hate comments! That's just rude...

#4. Please, respectfully, no NSFW stuff... I'll just block you and plus, Alastor is Ace! Just saving you the trouble.

And don't mind the stupid art from the notes app I'll make sometimes...

Oh! And call me Lu Lu! No, that's not my real name, and no, my real name isn't Lucifer.

And! Update! I've got Roleplaying partners now because I some how made friends here!

Lucifer: @mischievously-royalty

Beelzebub: @ask-the-queen-beelzebub

Charlie: @certified-autistic

Oh! And this one surprised me, but made me really happy!

Lucifer... and Alastor? I dunno: @ask-radioapple

AND WE GOT A VAGGIE! YAY oh shut up...

Vaggie: @hazbinsprotectorxxx

Husker: @husksaysno

Allie (cursed cat Alastor): @cursedcatastor

Angel Dust: @ask-angel-dust-w

Rosie: @askyourauntierosie

Niffty: @nifftyyyyy

The fuck ass bitch of an annoying picture box (Vox): @voxrpblog

Blitz (lizard): @blitzascbog

Alastor again: @alastorisbestdad

Alastor again again: @alastor-ask

Zestial: @ask-zestial

Fuck ass bitch of an annoying picture box the second: @voxtek-enterprises-offical

The bird who hit our window yesterday: @asksheablog

The reason the horny police exist: @mothmandarling

Fizz: @ask-fizzy-jester

Stupid bird: @adamforthewin

Stupid bird 2: @angelofwrath2

cupcake flavor: @therealbackboneofthevees

Vox blackmail buddy: @justificated-catalyst

The emo version of Vox blackmail buddy: @unjustified-chaos

Signal (Don't ask how the hell this happened or I swear to all things unholy, I will find you and kill you.): @asktheradiostaticfamily

Lilith: @queensaskblog

And then we have the random friends that make no sense but here we are :3 (we love the randos)

Hoppy Hoppscotch: @justsomeonewow

Ayuda: @shortmomma1993

Willam Afton and Henry Emily: @spring-lock-scars137

Ludwig: @chosen-ludwig-and-koopalings

Jax (the damn purple muppet): @ask-jax-things

Bestie: @specified6

Nice Anon: @the-horrible-anon

Other bestie: @alohaitsb1114

THANKS! :D

Random shit you might want to know: pets

Pets: Nathaniel, Silas, Darwin, Dame, Allie, Chester, Sam and Tink

Nathaniel is a rubber Chicken. Silas is a duck. Darwin is a crocodile. Dame is a platypus. Chester is a beaver. Sam is a squirrel and finally Tink is a tabby cat

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞…

(or, in other words, promises of their dedication to you.)

✦ featuring: childe, kaeya, xiao, zhongli, kazuha.

✦ warnings: none, just the smallest smidgens of angst in some places.

✦ notes: so, this is a really old work i posted on my first blog that i'm proud of sjhhjs i found it a while ago and decided to rework it a little!! (i haven't changed too much of the original though, just tweaked some sentences and added and subtracted.)

…i’d pull hell and heaven to their knees at your feet, and i’d kneel alongside them (if I could. oh, if only i could).

childe wants to give you the world and more.

he’s almost reverent in his devotion to those he loves, seeking to please beyond all else, and what he holds toward you is no different. at merely a blink of your eyes, he’d bring you the sun and the stars, weave moonlight into fabric and find a chunk of the most beautiful emerald you’ve ever laid eyes on, and he does it all with a wink and a smile and a ‘you need only ask, dear,’

and it is true, you need only ask for him to lay out the world for you.

but alas, there is only so much fate will allow him to do. his heart and soul may rest in your palms, but he is duty bound to the tsaritsa.

ajax can promise you everything in the world, just not himself.

he cannot promise you himself in his entirety, he cannot promise you an ajax without his secrets, without an always existing barrier in between you.

no matter how desperately he wants to.

…i’d stand bare in your light, arms asunder, abandoning my secrets and shedding the shadows i once called home.

kaeya alberich fears trust.

he’s scared of what it could lead to, what it could do to him, what it has done to him. he’s a man who lives under a cloak of secrets and inside a cocoon of fear and mysteries, and for him to allow himself to expose everything he hides is no small feat.

but it is the surest mark of his trust in you, that some hopeful part of him believes that you’ll stay against all odds.

he thinks you shouldn’t, though, that it’ll cause you more harm than good— he won’t let himself want you. but you’ll know he is truly yours when he hesitates no longer to tell you the deepest desires of his heart, to bare his whole soul and lay it before your eyes.

patience, and you'll find him the most beautiful butterfly of them all.

…i’d cross the deepest of chasms, weather the harshest of storms, and brave the most treacherous of paths to return to your arms.

not a soul can say that adeptus alatus has no home to go back to. (and if they did, how utterly wrong they’d be.)

his home is the warmth of your embrace, the love in every gentle caress, and the soft cadence of your voice. it's the smile in your eyes, and the spring in your step, and the softness of your heart. he’d call it almost dream-like, but xiao knows what dreams are like, far better than anyone. he also knows that every dream— no matter how intense, no matter how vivid— always disappears.

but you’re still here, day after day,

does that not mean you’re as real as the air he breathes and the sun that sets over liyue?

xiao’s loyalty is hard won, but it is steadfast. he cannot promise that he’ll live forever, nor can he promise you happiness every single minute of the day. but what he can promise you, is that at the end of the day, he’ll fight his hardest to return to you, no matter how far away he might be.

…i’d etch your memory— from the most mellifluous laugh to every tiny victory— onto my very soul, so that not even the flow of time can wash it away.

morax has prospered for centuries.

he’s witnessed dynasties fall to dust; paupers rise to prominence. he’s come across many he was fond of and cherishes the memory of everyone he has ever cared for. 

he’s also aware that forgetting some people in the vast expanse time is inevitable. the withering of the blooms of thought spare none, not even a god, and the tree of the psyche grows ancient. after all, even the mind is not permanent in a world of transience, is it?

but zhongli would be damned if he ever let you fade.

his promise, no, his contract— one he made to himself the day the realization that you'd one day no longer be by his side fully set in— is to preserve even the last wisps that linger, encasing the thought of you in shimmering gold, so that after you are long gone, you’ll live on as part of his soul.

…i’d whisper the softest of tales into the night breeze, tales of you and i, so that even when we’re long gone, the wind will carry our stories for aeons to come.

kazuha is no stranger to the whispers of the wind.

he’s intimately familiar with them, a rare blessing he knows he is lucky to have. but his most divine blessing is the privilege of being part of a story with you. life is short, unpredictable; one never knows what their fate might be, but he's beyond glad that this part of his destiny has you.

he has no desire to be a legend, and he knows you don’t either. but he is sentimental in the regard that he wants the whispers of the two of you to stick around. he’s lost so much, and reciting stories of the two of you is his way of preservation, for nothing spoken into the wind vanishes.

the world knows only a fraction of this wanderer, but he hopes that if they remember anything about him, they remember how much he loved you.

[erisweekofficial]

Fanfic

One Year Later (OC x Eris) by @afandomangel 👑

Until I see you again (OC x Eris) by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Protection (Eris x Reader) by @littlest-w01f 👑

All’s well that ends well to end up with you (Eris x Reader) by @daycourtofficial 👑

yea, though i walk (Azris) by @brunetterebel010 👑

What Could Have Been (Eris x Elain) by @nocasdatsgay

Suffering his Scent (Azris) by @neciebee 👑

Falling For You (Eris x Reader) by @bubybubsters

Hold Me While You Wait (Eris x OC) by @fieldofdaisiies

Bedroom manners (Eris x Reader) by @lady-of-tearshed 👑

Pinky Promise (Eris x Reader) by @pit-and-the-pen👑

Still Beautiful Things by @climbthemountain2020 👑

Pull Me in Deeper Ch 17 (Eris x OC) by @zenkindoflove 👑

Ensnaring Marks (Eris x Reader) by @surielstea 👑

A Bond of Song & Flames Ch 1 (Eris x OC) by @sadiegirl2021 👑

Under the Weeping Beech (Azris) by @chunkypossum

Waiting for You (Eris x Reader) by @mcuamerica 👑

Day 1 - Bonds | Bargains by @clockwork-ashes 👑

A Wound So Deep (Azris) by @acourtofladydeath

An Unconventional Bargain by @hellcat8908 👑

Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows Ch 22 (Azris) by @jules-writes-stories 👑

Of Our Own Devices (Eris x Reader) by @illyrianbitch 👑

Gone Through Enough (Eris x Reader) by @thelov3lybookworm

The Uncertainty of Spring (Eris x OC) by @daycourtofficial 👑

Tomorrow Can Wait (Azris) by @myromanempiree 👑

By Turns by @jon-snows-man-bun 👑

Roots In My Dreamland (Eris x OC) by @lucienarcheron

Always An Angel, Never A God (Eris x OC) by @chairofchaos 👑

Your Scars on My Pulse (Azris) by @shadowsandlint 👑

To Dust or To Gold Ch 2 (Neris) by @queercontrarian

An Exchange in Etiquette (Eris x Reader) by @qwimblenorrisstan 👑

Into the Dark (Eris x Reader) by @prythianpages 👑

Lady Luck (Eris x OC) by @ginandtobacco 👑

Bond (Azris) by @thomasisaslut 👑

Being Seen (Eris x Elain) by @vague-shadows 👑

The Crushing Burden of Those Before Us (Eris x Reader) by @dee-writes-smut 👑

A Page From Another's Book (Eris x Reader) by @readychilledwine

Autumn Leaves (Eris x Reader) by @mirandasidefics

Fanart

Eris' bond with Autumn by @elleybug 👑

Eris x Alexius comissioned by @luciensdefenseattorney (commissioned by @zenkindoflove)

Neris Art by @rosesncarnations

Worried Eris by its.miriart (commissioned by @secret-third-thing)

Eris and his mate by @/artbyellat (on instagram)

Azris Art by @lucychanart (commissioned by: @moonpatroclus & @cauldronblssd

Eris Week, Day 1: Bonds (Azris) by @the-darkestminds 👑

Misc.

day one : bonds ( m o t h e r ) by @spore-loser 👑

Eris Week Moodboard by @fieldofdaisiies

Chopin by @chairofchaos 👑

Vanserra brothers in a modern AU by @wishfulimaginings 👑

Thank you for all your contributions! It’s incredible and almost unbelievable how many stories and creative ideas you’ve brought to life on just the first day!

There was a bit of confusions about the crowns- so sorry for that. If it's your first eris week, let us know! If we missed giving you a 👑, please let us know so we can add it to the masterlist. We'll make sure that all masterlists are up to date before the full event masterlist is released 🧡

(divider by @tsunami-of-tears)

[crush-itis]

hello! i love your blog's aesthetic sm its adorable 🥺🤍 i was wondering if could request smth with elliott from sdv! extremely heavy fluff on things he'd love to do with the farmer on diff seasons and little things he'd savor and appreciate during those seasons together with his beloved <3 tysm

⠀⠀✎⠀⠀⠀SOMETHING FOR EVERY SEASON !⠀(◡ ‿ ◡ 。)

　　　 　　∿ ⑅ ᭡ 　　୨　elliott x gn!farmer　୧　．

　˚ 🥕 ⌣ sdv, elliott, heavy fluff, hcs　　𑁍ࠬܓ ⠀ 　　⠀ 　 ၄ 　　⠀ ͚⠀　₊　۫ ⠀ 🐄 ⠀ ܸ⠀ ˙ 　　۪۫ 　 　 ◜ 　﹒ ⏖ 　a/n: thank you !! youre so sweet 🤍

　　　　　 　 　　┈┈ ୨୧ ┈┈

𓊆ྀི mini playlist ﹕ pretty little baby　mai　 roi　misty　amore mio aiutami　glue song　show me how for lovers　summertime sadness　every many gets his wish　𓊇ྀི

ㅤㅤ⊹ ִ ׄ ׄ 𓈒 ㅤspring 𓂃

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott loves to spend spring with you the most. It was the month of having floral-themed gifts stacked in your doorway. He’ll prepare pressed letters, frangented bouquets, and write love ballads that praise your beauty, comparing both your dynamic to a florist, and a lovely garden.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ While your work increases with the farm during the spring, so does his want, and yearning for your touch. He’d insist on cuddling after your shower, wanting to spoon you, and wrap you in your shared quilt.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ As mentioned earlier, Elliott loves to cuddle with you in bed. He’ll press his nose against your soft, sweet smelling hair, twirl the strands, and squeeze your hand till it gets all clammy.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Even when the two of you are already married, he’d still ask the obvious “would you come with me to the Flower Dance this year?” He’d even give you the pleading look as if “no” was an option. When you say “yes”, in an instant, he’d start preparing the grandest bouquet of flowers just for this occasion. He’ll wow at the dress/suit you’d be wearing; his eyes practically heart-eyes at your striking beauty.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ He likes to make the warm season warmer with you in the couch, laughing, and tickling your sensitive sides under the covers. He appreciates, and savours the touch of your skin, and your company the most when you’re busy.

ㅤㅤ⊹ ִ ׄ ׄ 𓈒 summer 𓂃

ㅤ ✿ ܃ The time of the year where Elliott loves to have beach dates with you. He likes to pick out your swimsuit, and loves to match summer outfits with you. He thinks stripes, straw hats with satin ribbons, polka dotted tops, and a soft colour palette would look cute on you.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott invites you to eat fresh fruits, hearty sandwiches, and dessert with you at the beach. He’ll spoon feed you, cooing at your sweet face, and teasing the way you chew. Sometimes, he’ll purposely smear crumbs or frosting or jam on your face just to lick it after. He’ll hug you then, smiling while pressing chaste kisses on your head.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ He enjoys doing chores with you, especially washing the dishes, and blowing bubbles into your face. He’d laugh after ruffling your hair. Then he’ll take a bath with you, washing, and scrubbing your back then lathering your soaked tresses.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott loves taking you out to the Moonlight Jellies event. He’ll let your head rest on his shoulder as the two of you watch the shore glisten, and sparkle as the migrating jellyfish appear. He’ll even tease you, saying he thought you were one of the jellyfishes , glowing below the ocean level.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott also likes to collect seashells with you during your little beach dates with him. Then he’ll make them into matching necklaces, clasping them around your neck after. Elliott appreciates, and savours the gift of being with you in the hot summers, most especially the chilly, summer nights where the both of you could count the stars, and share a kiss under a waning moonlight.

ㅤㅤ⊹ ִ ׄ ׄ 𓈒 fall 𓂃

ㅤ ✿ ܃ It was another busy season for a farmer. Elliott would voluntarily leave his workplace, letting his journal dust away while he helps you out with the farming. He’ll provide you souvenirs for your hard work, massaging your back while he whispers sweet nothings, and words of encouragement into your ears.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott loves apple picking with you, and trying all sorts of new, unheard of apple recipes after. The two of you would explore the endless pages of your shared cookbook that the two of you plan to be your future, family heirloom.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Like both your interest in exploring the endless sea of recipes, you two also liked to explore, and navigate a corn maze. However, Elliott wasn’t the most intelligent when it comes to wide, and extreme labyrinths… so the two of you would always end up being stuck, and facing dead end after dead end.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ For some reason, fall is always the season where Elliott picks up different kinds of hobbies. He’ll learn knitting, crocheting, painting, and even glassblowing. With all of these new things he learnt how to do, he’ll share his newfound wisdom with you when you have time, and make you something sweet with it. Elliott appreciates, and savours the times when the two of you learn something new, and craft something heartfelt, and special with it.

ㅤㅤ⊹ ִ ׄ ׄ 𓈒 winter 𓂃

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott’s second favourite season to spend time with you. Well, it is certainly the month of your rest, and your much-needed break, it’s also the month of Elliott clinging to you the most. Whenever the two of you would go out, he’d stuff you up with a thousand scarves, dress you with two different earmuffs, and thick, layered winter gloves. He really cares for your wellbeing, and won’t let you go out without proper winter attire.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott’s crocheting, and knitting hobby became really useful for this time of the year. So he made another, thicker, and colourful quilt for the two of you to share. The moment he finished making it, he couldn’t help but make you a sweater next. He laughed at the absurdity of you wearing an ugly sweater. When he’s finished with the last stitches, he’ll make you wear it then tease you, and boop your nose after.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Elliott loves to have hot chocolate with you during this time of month. He’ll smile at you blowing your hot treat then go outside to have a silly snowball fight together. He was always gentle, and weak with his throws though, as if he didn’t want to hurt you. And when he does accidentally hit you, he’ll rush to you as if he was experiencing a crime scene for the first time, wide eyed, and scared for your health. Then it reveals you were just teasing him.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ For the first time, Elliott participates in the Festival of Ice, and carved an ice sculpture of you. You were his greatest muse in everything; he’ll never get tired of making you the centre of every creative genre in art. The way he carved you in ice made it seemed like he was a time traveller from the Renaissance period. And since you were free most of the time now, his ideas, and poem prompts thrived. His notebook of love ballads, sonnets, limericks, and of course, free verses was pretty much finished before the end of the year.

ㅤ ✿ ܃ Then when the moon rises, the sky darkens, and it gets chillier in your shared bedroom, the two of you would go under the new quilt Elliott had made, and watch the stars gleam outside the arched window. Elliott would then tell you stories while the two of you stargazed, then move on to show you that he could see constellations form your wonderful visage. When you take a glance at him, his face is a bright red. Elliott appreciates, and savours the coldest time of the year the most when you’re near; the cold month where he’ll embrace your proximity with him, and make you his first, and last, greatest muse.

sorry if it isnt character accurate i love you

[the-s1lly-corner]

Snuggling up w/ Stolas, Ozzy, and Verosika when its cold outside

(on the day im writing this) it was kind of cold today... it was nice. im gonna miss it as spring really takes hold grrrrrr.... using the wheel to build posts between requests so theres not a total dandys takeover on this blog!! notes: reader is gn, reader isnt specified as hellborn or sinner, short and written on computer, havent written for helluva in a while so may as well dust off the masterlist and fill it, short and sweet, shhhh we can pretend some areas of hell can get cold... does it get cold..? i dont.. remember... its been a minute since ive seen the sinsmas episode cws: none

STOLAS

his feather fluff up for a second and he makes those cute little bird noises of his... please hes so starved for genuine affection that he takes whatever you give him... youre... both working on that but hey! snuggles never hurt anyone!

if hes currently wearing it youre tugged under his cape to protect you from the chill... if youre outside hes going to usher you inside as soon as possible to warm you right back up

makes you hot coco- prior to his banishment hed have one of his butlers make it... and itd be divine..! but now...? he uhm... definitely tries! you... might have to step in to give him a hand... he might add too much or too little of something...

nice huddled up snuggles on the couch with some coco and a blanket to pass through the evening... its been hard... but for a moment everything is... bearable

OZZY

well snuggling up to him for warmth was a good idea! hes nice and cozy, and he never ever denies you for some cuddles! whatever you want hes gonna see to it that you get it!

need him warmer? he can crank up his flames for you to keep back the cold... and in the case where hes not immediately available? he makes sure you get fitted for a nice high quality coat!

hed much rather you use his heat though...

more than happy to carry you around his place or let you cling onto him as he does some paper work

VEROSIKA

shes not totally adverse to physical affection- she is a succubus after all and tends to use that to her advantage... but... those are usually acts of lust... but to be genuine and soft? sure she COULD if the relationship has developed for long enough but Blitz really did hurt her

her wing drapes over your shoulder after a second of barely missed hesitation. its not the warmest and her wings arent nearly large enough to cover you up for warmth.. but its something and the gesture speaks so loudly of how much she really does love you

shes busy a lot of the time but shes got loads of coats for you to bury yourself into when she needs to go on stage or plan concerts- big fuzzy ones, nice comfy ones, all sorts of materials and styles for you to choose from