#they called him ugly saying he just needed better shaped glasses ! that he looks better without them !

[killsaki]

ventured into kisaki’s x reader tag… why do people post the things that they do

[blindmagdalena]

I had a really fluffy homie thought; basically cuddling on the couch under a fluffy throw blanket and watching cartoons like Rick and Morty or Bob’s Burgers. It’s probably totally ooc for HL but the holidays are always a little rough for me and this made me feel all fluffy and warm 😂

Homelander really doesn't care what goes on the TV. That's not why he pushes you down onto the couch or why he's nuzzling into the crook of your neck, snaking his arms around your waist.

The TV being on is more incidental than anything else; maybe it's for you, something to keep you distracted and still while he indulges in being more vulnerable than he usually cares to show.

Either way, he never pays much attention to it.

He's far more focused on the slightly alien feel of his bare fingers brushing the nape of your neck. He normally keeps himself so removed from the world, sensation muffled by the soft leather of his gloves.

He doesn't need the suit here. He doesn't need the world to be deafened or muted. With you, he can be raw. Exposed. Content.

This way, he can clearly feel the beat of your heart against his chest without thick padding dampening it. He wonders if you can feel the steady, strong thump of his. He listens to your lungs fill and empty, the breath from your lips ghosting over his temple and rolling goosebumps down his spine.

He can feel your mortality in every bit of you. Your whole existence can be broken down into such simple, primitive mechanisms, and yet the sum of you is something magic.

There is no frailty in the way you hold him, no uncertainty. You don't hesitate. You love him. More than that, you make it seem so easy. He can't understand why so many have failed to give what you have in spades.

He's not cold, but it's sweet that you pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over your entangled bodies. Your fingertips brush his jaw as you tuck it in around his neck. He smiles against the skin just below your ear and kisses it appreciatively.

You card your fingers through his hair, gently separating any gelled pieces that might tug. You don't have to, but it's sweet that you do.

It's sweet that you touch him like you could break him.

It's a difficult pill to swallow that in reality, you could. You could break him apart with the wrong words, the wrong look, the wrong rush of adrenaline. He would fall apart and tear the world down with him if you ever turned on him.

His grip tightens just enough to hitch the flow of your breaths.

"You okay?" You ask, hand pausing to cup the back of his head.

There it is. Your frailty. It would take so little to break your spine, and yet the echoes of that crack would haunt him for the rest of his life. The circle of your arms is a glass house, a precarious invitation for tragedy.

Sickening that the thought of tragedy still frightens him when it's all he's ever known. That fear sits inside him like an ugly, festering wound. The rot of it spills into all aspects of him—paranoia, anger, possessiveness, he feels it all with such burning fervor.

It's easier to simply call it love.

"Yeah," he says eventually, lifting his head to meet your gaze. You look concerned, so he kisses you. "M'great," he insists, shaping the words against your lips. "You make everything... great." He feels you smile at that.

"If you're sure," you say, pushing both hands through his hair. He can only imagine the shape of it after all the toying you've done with it. "You're squeezing awfully tight."

"Sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry. He won't tell you that he was testing the give of your body, sensing with his arms exactly what it would take for you to break apart within them. Not when he's so devastatingly content.

You brush his cheek with your knuckles. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"I might squeeze too tight," he says, leaning into your touch.

"You won't," you assure him.

"I have before," he counters.

You pause a moment. "You know better now."

"Sometimes." He says it like a confession. A dirty little secret for your ears alone that sometimes—only sometimes—he's not entirely sure he's doing the right thing.

The two of you sit in a poignant silence, the television paused on one of those Are you still watching? prompts.

"I'll tell you when it's too tight," you say, tipping his head back to meet your gaze. "And you'll listen to me."

He stares at you for awhile, gaze flitting slightly as he takes in the somber look of you. You've never been afraid of speaking up. Not even against him. He believes you.

And you'll listen to me.

An assertion he would balk at from anyone else. Instead, in your voice, from your soft lips, the thought soothes him.

"Yeah," he says, flexing his grip slightly. "Okay."

"Good. You can squeeze a little tighter," you say, settling your head back down against the couch.

He does. He closes his grip ever so slightly and buries his face into the crook of your neck, taking in a deep breath. A little tighter, and you squeeze his shoulder in warning. He lets out a breath and relaxes his hold on you with it, practically melting against you.

The two of you stay like that for a while, each of you testing the feel of the other. The slow tap of warm fingertips and freely exploring hands mapping out a lifetime of potential in the others body. He's gentle out of necessity, and you're gentle out of understanding.

Homelander hits play on the remote before he settles back down. He still doesn't care for watching, but it's a means of telling you without telling you that he's not ready for this moment to end.

Blessedly, you slip your fingers back into his hair, accepting the gesture for what it is.

[229zmi]

JUMPSCARE

PAIRING: Bokuto Kōtarō/Reader

CONTENT: established relationship, kisses

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

BOKUTO: hey hey open ur window PRONTO i need to tell u something STAT

YOU: what

BOKUTO: love of my life what part of that do you not understand I’M. OUTSIDE

YOU: WHAT

Sure enough, there’s a knock on your window and, after you haphazardly kick off your blankets and crawl over to the window and yank open the curtains, you find yourself face-to-face with a hideous, glowing, white face that resembles something you might have seen in your nightmares once. Before you can scream, however, a hand reaches up and pulls the scary face off to reveal another face underneath it, one that you recognise all too well.

You scream anyway.

“Bokuto Kōtarō?!” you screech, loud enough for him to hear through the glass. Your boyfriend just beams and nods in a manner that is too relaxed for your liking considering the horrific sight you just witnessed, and then he motions with his finger for you to open the window.

You do so with shaky hands that contrast your sharp glare directed toward him. Once there’s no longer a glass barrier separating the two of you, Bokuto is swift to lean in for a chaste kiss. Not that you’re complaining, but you feel like there are some things you should unpack first before you start romancing and all.

First and foremost: whatever thing you just saw a couple of moments ago.

You glower at him as soon as he pulls away. “Kou—“

“Why do you look so surprised?” he asks, sounding mildly confused. “I texted you I was outside, didn’t I?”

“I know that,” you hiss. “I just wasn’t expecting you to wear whatever that— that thing was. Actually,” you pause and crane your neck out the window like a giraffe to stare at the offensive object in his hands, narrowing your eyes at it suspiciously, “what is that?”

“This?” He sets it down on the windowsill in the space between your hands, front facing up for you to see better. It looks like an ordinary ski mask, except a design has been embedded into the fabric beneath the hole where the eyes are supposed to be, neatly sewn in the shape of a wide toothy smile that reminds you of something out of a horror movie. “It’s a ski mask. You know, like a, uh— what’s it called. Bald cap. Ah, no… that doesn’t seem right. Bala…clad? Hm…”

You purse your lips as his monologue continues on for another moment or two before the realisation clicks and he snaps his fingers.

“Balaclava,” he declares proudly, like he’s just made a profound discovery. Even puffs his chest out and places his hands on his hips for the full effect. “Keeps my face warm from the cold.”

“Uh-huh,” you say eloquently, not bothering to comment on how ugly the design is, and then you peer over the edge of the windowsill and nearly evaporate at the sight of his attire: a t-shirt for some band you don’t recognise, regular old pajama pants, and flip-flops (and no socks either, dogs out and everything for everyone in the neighbourhood to witness!). Definitely not suitable for the dangerously low temperatures right now.

Hurriedly, you wrap your hands around his frigid ass arm and begin pulling him through the window… or at least try to. He laughs at your feeble attempts, placing his also very cold hand over both of yours fondly. Glaring at him, you aren’t sure what’s so funny about you trying to save your boyfriend from freezing to death.

“What’re you doing?”

“Get inside my room,” you command instead of answering, though you think it gets your point across just as well. You jab in the direction of your room with your thumb for emphasis.

“Wow, okay, uhm.” The corners of his lips curl up into a smirk, and in an overtly bashful manner, he gazes up at you through his eyelashes. “At least take me out to dinner first.”

Actually, on second thought, maybe he can freeze for all you care. You resist the urge to shut the window, close the curtains, and go back to sleep.

“Stop roleplaying like I’ve just asked for your hand in marriage or something. Just get in here.”

He visibly perks up at your words. You think that if he was a dog, his tail would be wagging right now. “Marriage?”

“Kōtarō,” you emphasise. “I’m serious, it is so cold outside.”

“Yeah, I know that. But I’ve got a bala-whatchamacallit to keep me warm, y’know.”

“It’s counterintuitive when you’re wearing flip-flops and short sleeves!”

“Alright, alright, fine,” he grumbles. Much to your relief, he swings a leg over the windowsill, making sure to push the curtain aside first so that his foot doesn’t somehow get caught in it like the last time  he snuck into your room this way (he shudders in embarrassment at the memory every now and then), before hoisting himself through and tumbling onto the floor of your bedroom with a grunt. Before he even has the chance to compose himself, you drop a weighted blanket onto him without warning for no other reason than for your own short-lived entertainment.

“[Y/N], what the hell,” you hear his muffled voice exclaim as he thrashes around for a few seconds, and then his head pokes out from under the blanket with a pouty expression, “I almost suffocated!”

“Ha-ha.”

“This is no laughing matter!”

You ignore his words, opting to shut the window before plopping down onto the floor right next to him. Wordlessly, Bokuto takes the opportunity to shift his head onto your lap, allowing you to card your fingers through his hair while his eyes flutter shut.

You spare a glance at his relaxed face, squinting your eyes as if it’ll magically improve your vision in the darkness of your room. His face is fully flushed from the cold with the tips of his ears practically vermillion, so much that it almost makes you want to scold him again for not dressing for the weather. An obnoxious shadow eclipses his profile, though you can distinguish the vague shapes illuminated by the moonlight that outline his cheekbones, his nose, and his lips.

He opens his eyes; you catch sight of a twinkle in them as he reaches up and places a hand against your cheek in an affectionate manner. (You think you could sit like this forever, just you and him, if the universe allowed it.)

“Hey,” you start softly, “what was so important that you had to come here and tell me to my face?”

“Huh.”

“When you texted me. You intelligently said, and I quote, ‘Open your window, pronto. I need to tell you something, stat.’”

“Oh. Yeah,” he says more to himself as an afterthought. You blink, a second of silence passes, and then he shrugs. “All I wanted was to spend some more time with you, that’s all. I didn’t really need to tell you anything.”

Before you can interject, he adds, “Except, I love you.”

You try to contain your smile, but Bokuto’s is contagious. “You’re so cheesy.”

Nevertheless, when he leans forward to capture you in yet another sweet kiss — and this time, you find it a little more romantic without the sight of his horror movie-esque ski mask preceding it — you can’t find it in yourself to be mad at him in the slightest.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

do-over

While everyone else watches ball drops and sings Auld Lang Syne and drinks cheap champagne and whatever else you’re supposed to do at New Year’s Eve parties, Dean is elbow-deep in monster guts, because the universe has decided that he never, ever gets to observe holidays the normal way. He misses the countdown to midnight, too, passed out on the thin motel mattress from exhaustion. 

(At least he didn’t have to spend half an hour trying to scrub the aforementioned monster guts off of himself under the shower’s weak stream. Cas is helpful like that.)

“It’s a new year,” Cas says at breakfast, looking at the newspaper that he grabbed when they walked into the diner. They’ve found another case, a haunting that they’ll have to take care of tonight, so they’re stuck in Random Podunk Town, USA, for the day. 

Dean nods and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Yep.”

“We missed New Year’s Eve.” Cas isn’t eating, just attempting to drink some of the world’s worst coffee. It’s alarming, even by Dean’s coffee standards.

“I didn’t know you cared about stuff like that.”

“Well, you do, don’t you?” Cas is doing the fucking head-tilt routine and the squinty eyes, and Dean is about to disappoint him with one of the many idiosyncrasies of human beings.

“I’m supposed to care,” Dean says. “Big difference. New Year’s Eve is supposed to be this awesome night, one last crazy party. That’s not how it’s ever happened to me, and it never will.”

“You sound like to you care.” Cas stops squinting, thank god, but now he’s giving Dean that I know you better than you think I do look, like he’s x-raying Dean’s brain. “You could have a do-over.”

“What, like celebrate tonight?”

Cas nods.

“Yeah, uh-huh.” Dean rolls his eyes, decides to focus his attention on buttering his triangle of toast. 

“Okay.” Cas picks his coffee mug back up, leaving Dean with the sinking feeling that Cas is definitely not going to drop this.

***********

Cas disappears around lunchtime with the promise of pizza. Dean waves good-bye, although most of his attention is on the clunky travel laptop, trying to figure  out the next case. They’re sort of between apocalypses right now, which is a relief but also means that the next big thing could strike at any moment. 

Dean has gotten used to things being upended. His life has always been chaos, and when it’s calm, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He never feels like he can just walk through a place, treats everyone else like civilians. And they are, aren’t they? They have no idea about the horrors that lurk, and the people that try to keep them lurking instead of out in the open. 

Also, most people haven’t died before, so that’s something.

Cas returns with the pizza about thirty minutes later, along with a suspicious number of grocery bags. 

“Apparently,” Cas says, setting the pizza box on the table next to the laptop and then turning his attention to the bed, with its ugly brown paisley comforter, emptying the bags onto it, “The New Year’s stuff goes on sale after New Year’s Eve.” Cas picks up a pair of glasses shaped like the new date that Dean’ll write wrong for at least a month. “These are odd.”

“Did the cashier think you were odd?” Dean shuts the laptop; he’s found a couple of leads, but if nothing materializes post-ghost he’ll just call Sam for next steps. 

“I told her we were celebrating late because we got caught up with work.” Cas is now examining a plastic champagne glass. “The grocery store didn’t have champagne, but I thought you’d like beer better anyways.”

Dean snorts. “Tell me she didn’t ask what our jobs were.”

“I said we work in wildlife control.”

“You’re dressed like an accountant. Or a beige Matrix character.”

“I don't know what that means. Wildlife always need to be controlled, Dean, even on a holiday.”

“Okay, fair.” Dean gets up and looks at what's on the bed: party hats, crowns, streamers, noisemakers, novelty napkins. “How many people are we supposed to be celebrating New Year’s with? Is the ghost coming?”

“I was thinking we could handle the ghost first, and then celebrate. We could watch a movie--I’m sure there’s a cowboy film you haven’t shown me yet.”

“Maybe we should watch Matrix. There’s trench coats.”

Cas glares at him. “I was also going to say that I know of a New Year’s Eve tradition.” 

“Oh.” 

Cas smirks, and Dean feels a slight dislike for ever trying to teach him how to play human on TV. This is also the closest they’ve gotten so far to talking about whatever is going on and has been going on, really, for years now. 

Well, it is a new year. Maybe some new things will happen.

At the very least, Dean will have to take a picture of Cas in a party hat. That will certainly be new.

[how-are-you-true]

Entry 9: Reflections on Homes (2)

I've been yearning to be home since I've moved away. And everyday I'm back, I forget another reason why I'd gone in the first place.

I've been yearning to be home since August. Sunday trips end and begin like the sun has a meeting on monday he just can't miss. Won't you stay a little more? I want to see you from the glass roof door. The one that broke last winter. No, no, it's alright now. The walls are painted too. Won't you stay to talk a little more? I open it and step outside in the bit of balcony that's not really a balcony. It's more like a railing stopping you from walking out the door onto the concrete down below. I push up on it and pray, like every time, that this is not the day it gives out on me. I swear I can still glimpse you, beyond the walnut. Won't you stay a little more, give me a proper goodbye?

How can I hate a place I love so much? It took the shape of its people, warm hearth and cold walls. Sharp corners. Careful, or the mother will mistake your weakness for kindling and you'll be thrown in the furnace when the flame is low. Do not be angry, her father tried throwing her into the fire too, but she looked too much like stone for him to justify it. But you look just right, she can almost call your name for dinner after she closes the latch.

Ugly, ugly girl, don't you see your tears are sickening? The house will welcome you into its walls, nobody needs to know. Cry, you can cry here, with the mice and their tunnels in the roof. Maybe you would be of more use here, what do you say about being a house?

I can feel the mouse crawling his way through my ear. Thank you little guy, this is a much better noise then the one from before. Now that I'm a home, I can begin wondering if mine was ever sad for the people that lived in her too. Oh, how much better does it feel to be a home. I'm doing my job. It is no longer to sooth you. You're hurt. It can no longer be me that needs to sooth you. I am a house, I am doing my job.

Ugly, ugly girl, don't you know your tears are sickening? How come I never saw them before I was a house? No matter, you can come into my walls. You can cry with the mice, maybe you'll be of more use here. Let the man be alone. He'll be too buisy to notice you've gone, for a while. And when he'll ask his questions to the air, let it answer him with the silence he deserves.

You do not come into the walls, of course. You cannot. The man calls to the house ugly, ugly names. The woman leaves. The man calls to the woman ugly, ugly names. The woman tells him to leave. I am doing my job. I step out. I am doing my job. The father does not listen. He does not stop. I am doing my job. The mother cannot accept to be soothed. I am doing my job, I do it way more poorly when I am not a house.

I've never felt this safe. I've never felt this unsafe. I've never felt this home.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary98

12/18-19/2023

monday - tuesday

8:32 a.m. and i am... idk.

i don't even feel tired really.

today my gf spent a lot of time with her family from jersey. it seemed like they weren't all going to go out, and then they all actually did. she and i woke up so late, but she went out. i didn't have to because i'm so sick. her mom brought me some medicine which is really kind of her. unfortunately, today was horrible for her mother. they all went to bars and stuff, my gf's brother made them do karaoke, it was basically a good night until my gf's mom dropped her off here. my gf was way drunk and we were busy with something when her mom started calling. the stuff ended, and then my gf called her mom, that was maybe 10 mins after. my gf was like, what's up, and i heard her mom on the other end of the line, weeping, totally a mess emotionally, talking about my gf's brother. he probably got pretty wasted too and got in some kind of argument w/ their mom. when he realizes his mom was just driving to her place, expecting him to either stay the night or uber home, he got even more livid. the argument was re: how unhappy he is with his current gf, how out of shape he is, she was probably sort of mean about it, i know she can get nasty w/ my gf, even me. i wrote here about the time she just drove off leaving us in the laundromat, and then coming back. she can be very bad, however, how my gf's brother reacted, is beyond sympathy. when he got out of the car, my gf's mom said something like "do you think you're better than me," to which my gf's brother decided to grab his mom by the collar, spit in her face, and say "yes i am and i'm only the way i am because you're a piece of shit". he then threw her drink in the face and wandered off. he also i guess cursed her out. my gf called him, and he admitted to the above, while simultaneously saying he didn't do anything his mom said, she texted the other family members he hit her, she didn't say that to my gf i think. i don't really know what he did, what he admitted to is bad enough, and the fact he doesn't think that's doing anything is insane. he probably did get more violent than he is willing to admit, he tried to play off what he did as something totally rational, and when he grabbed her by the collar he probably was really forceful with that. he is a piece of shit and he doesn't seem to understand how bad a person he is.

when i got sick, my friend in saudi arabia got sick at the same time almost, or it feels that way now. he got some kind of stomach virus. mine is comparatively less bad. now his little brother is bleeding from his ear. everything seems to be getting worse. it feels like this month began with a shooting, it feels like that obliterated everything before kind of, in terms of events or, like, anything. the memories are there but they seem so far away now. this month marks something in my life. a great expanse of the future opens, malady and terror for the living.

anyway, i really need to shower. guhhhh.

my mouth feels like hell too. too much salty food, there are sores in my mouth. everything is gross and painful right now.

i have showered. it's almost 12 pm tuesday. i've been up since like 4:30 pm yesterday.

i feel like i look pretty right now so i took a pic. ignore the blot on my upper lip . . . please .

i did not read tonight so maybe that's why my vanity is going unchecked (it's actually because i'm insane and feel the need to document whenever i feel pretty so i can look back on it and try to know that i'm not totally ugly (which feeds into the reading in another way (vanity is an impulse borne of the need to test that what you are is 'real' maybe))).

anyway in order to stop thinking about awful things happening in my life here's a picture i found while looking for photos of glass eyes;

it's so scary and twisted right? there's something so wrong with this image, i don't even think it's an insane photoshop, a girl did this to memorialize her mother i think. why??

it's a really powerful image, it feels like, dangerous, which makes me want to use it in something, but that seems maybe irresponsible. i might fuck around though. i just don't want to make something that seems like, to be interested in advancing any kind pro pig message.

anyways looking at glass eyes on flickr i found this super cute doll:

i love her outfit, it's the perfect kind of bright/grating. i'm hoping to do stuff like that this summer maybe. we'll see.

anyway, i am like, sooooo tired. it's almost 1 pm too. fucked up. i need to take more medicine too i think.

i am going to go take some pillzzz now.

i took my pillz and my stomach hurts now. that's cool. i took 2 acetaminophen pills (they were like horse pills too but the box said take 2) and then another decongestant. i wonder if i am gonna puke now. i keep thinking about puking today.

anyway to keep my mind off the pain in my stomach, uhh, i did fix one of the songs i keep trying to get right, now it needs brightening again but the vocals sound right i think, they don't sound fried and w/o any mids. the guitar in the left channel is a bit less squishy i think, all the really needs changing is i think the snare needs to be a touch brighter, and then the right channel guitars, and then lower the bass again i think.

i am really tireddd now so:

byebye!!!!!!

[dienamights]

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s):  Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date. 

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.” 

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to- 

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?” 

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now. 

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her. 

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week. 

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No!  He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.” 

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario. 

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,” 

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-” 

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.” 

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight. 

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it. 

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?” 

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high. 

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a  shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly. 

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you. 

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed. 

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts)   (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

/

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

/

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

/

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

/

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

/

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

/

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.  

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

/

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?  

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

/

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

/

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

/

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

/

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on.  And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break. 

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

/

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

/

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t  but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :( 

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell ​@partypoison00 ​ @90ssantiago

[lightblueterracota]

Tenderness, Undescribed

hermitcraft grian x mumbo jumbo. i don’t have a fully established and intricate universe for this storyline, but basically it’s their hermitcraft characters and grian also has wings :^)

another note is this is in no way shipping the irl people, this is absolutely only for their fictional characters! please don’t ship real people and/or harass the actual people behind these characters :)

/

There’s a certain tenderness to Mumbo that Grian finds fascinating.

For his long legs, clumsy mobility, and dark eyes above a bold mustache, Mumbo is not often associated with the word tender. More often than not, other Hermits know him for being the friendly neighborhood Redstoner that often finds himself in disasterous, life-threatening situations, often needing to call for other Hermits to dive in and save him last second. His general obtuse nature and lack of direction make him seem like a friendly yet out of control aircraft helicoper with styrofoam blades. 

But there’s no denying that Mumbo is a genius as well. Almost on par with Doc, Grian would say that Mumbo is one of the brightest people he knows, despite his daftness. Even if he gets his Redstone wiring mixed up terribly sometimes, there’s a brilliance beneath that mustache that shines through everytime Mumbo eagerly invites Grian to his base to show him another massive and impressive machine. 

And when he talks about his Redstone -- he’s all over the place. Big gestures and waving arms, loud exclamations of excitement as he eaglerly jumps around and points out each piece of Redstone and its wiring, it’s hard for Grian to keep up sometimes. But there’s something oddly fond whenever Mumbo gets insanely proud of a build, and even if Grian doesn’t understand it 100%, he listens attentively anyway as Mumbo explains it to him.

It’s hilarious, sometimes. Mumbo’s fingers are big and clumsy sometimes, and he struggles with piecing together intricate Redstone wiring that require small pieces. When he’s impatient, sometimes he has to ask Grian’s sharp eagle-eyes to help him piece together a particularly tricky part of a machine, and Grian is more than happy to help.

All in all, while Grian is very fond of Mumbo, he’s not someone Grian would consider gentle and tender.

There was a moment though, when that changed.

It happened on one of Grian’s worst nights. Upon visiting a nearby village, he hadn’t realized that he had accidentally triggered a raid, and at that time he had no combat gear on him. As the mobs swarmed from the hillsides and Grian desperately tried to protect the villagers and herd them indoors, arrows and slashes of melee weapons cut across Grian’s body. Even when he decided to draw back, trying to make his escape by flying away, several arrows were shot into his wings, and he almost didn’t make it.

He was on low health and bleeding when he crash-landed into Mumbo’s base -- the only other person that was also active at that time of night. He had scared the crap out of the man, Mumbo jumping out of his focus on his Redstone as the winged individual crashed through his window, heavily injured and weak.

He was too faint to respond to Mumbo’s frightened, “Jesus, Grian, what happened?!” as he collapsed onto the floor, wings spread across the floorboards of Mumbo’s base. He blearily watched as the man jumped up, immediately rummaging through some storage for healing supplies.

“Your wings,” Mumbo had said, and there was some saddening awe in his voice. “Oh Grian, your wings. They must hurt so bad. Hold on a second.”

Grian didn’t want to think about it. He could feel blood dripping from his wings and could see a few scattered feathers that had fallen off in his crash-landing. His beautiful wings, ruined.

“Can you stand?” Mumbo asked, and Grian was about to protest, when Mumbo continued, saying, “Wait no, you probably can’t. Hold still. I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

Grian cringed, expecting to be hauled like a sack of potatoes and bracing for impact, but was shocked when he felt Mumbo’s gentle hold as the taller hoisted the winged man up, moving him to a nearby bed. Mumbo seemed to be very careful of not brushing his damaged and bleeding wings, gently shouldering Grian so that his limbs were comfortable and his wings had room. 

The closeness of Mumbo’s body caught Grian off guard and he silently let Mumbo gently place him down onto the bed. Then Mumbo got to work, grabbing some healing supplies and bandages.

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo warned in advance as he disinfected his own hands, “but there’s a couple of arrowheads still in your wings. I need to take them out before I bandage you. This is going to hurt.”

Before Grian could react, a sharp, excruitating pain blossomed from his left wing as Mumbo carefully removed the sharp object, the scalding pain shooting up his spine. A pained yelp came escaped from Grian, only to be sizzled away by Mumbo’s gentle shushing as he immediately started applying pressure to the wound.

“Shh,” Mumbo said softly, disposing of the arrowhead and cleaning the area. “Shh, I know it hurts a lot. It’s okay. You’re alright, I got you.”

It wasn’t often Grian heard Mumbo speak in such a soft manner. Oddly enough, his words were comforting, settling over Grian’s tired bones like a blanket, and Grian forced himself to relax as Mumbo continued to softly speak some encouragements.

Whimpers of pain continued to come from Grian as Mumbo continued to clean him up, his normally clumsy and large hands now extremely gentle and intricate as he delicately plucked the damage out of Grian’s wings and applied healing salves to his wounds. As Mumbo gently worked through patching up Grian’s wings, he made sure to inspect the rest of Grian’s body carefully, checking for other signs of bleeding and wounds.

Once he was doing bandaging him, Mumbo told him, “Lean back, please.”

Grian obeyed, settling back carefully into the bed and watched as picked up a bottle of healing potion. Grian groaned in protest, not in any mood to digest anything, but Mumbo simply leaned forward to place two fingers underneath Grian’s chin and lifted, making Grian’s mouth aim upwards.

“I know you probably don’t want to drink anything right now, but this will make you feel much better, I promise,” Mumbo said gently as he held Grian’s face up firmly and lifted the cool glass edge of the bottle to his lips. “Please drink.”

A feeling of tenderness, undescribed, washed over Grian as he became acutely aware of Mumbo’s fingers underneath his chin, and the way his thumb barely brushed against his bottom lip.

Too weak to fight against the gentle push of Mumbo’s hands, Grian let Mumbo slowly feed the potion into his mouth, obediently swallowing the restorative liquid. Mumbo let out a pleased hum as he watched Grian consume the potion.

Once Mumbo made sure Grian drank every last drop, he softly released Grian’s chin, letting his face fell back softly.

There was a belated, blurry moment where Grian realized he enjoyed Mumbo’s warm touch on his face.

Falling back into the bed pillows, exhausted, Grian felt his eyes go heavy. It seemed that the healing potion Mumbo fed him had a drowsy side-effect, likely to encourage overnight healing. As sleepiness slowly ebbed over his brain, Grian watched as Mumbo cleaned up, the warm light from the nearby lantern seeming to frame Mumbo in an entirely new perspective.

Who knew Mumbo would have such good bedside manners as a doctor, Grian thought lazily.

“You can sleep here for tonight,” Mumbo said. “I wouldn’t want you flying around in the dark now anyway. Your wings will be okay, they just need some time to heal a bit.”

Oh. Yeah. 

“My wings,” Grian whined softly. “They look so damaged...”

“No,” Mumbo cut in gently. “Your wings will be back to beautiful once you rest up for a bit. I promise. You’ll be back to flying in no time, don’t worry.”

“They’re so ugly now,” Grian lamented miserably.

“They don’t,” Mumbo insisted. “You look beautiful right now, Grian, I promise. Now go to sleep.”

Grian knew damn well he was in no good-looking shape. He could still feel the dirt on his face and the way his hair was still curled and messy from crashing. But he was too tired to open his mouth and argue against Mumbo, so Grian let his eyes shut, the last thought drfiting in his mind being:

He thinks I’m beautiful.

/

After that, Grian could only ever see the tender side to Mumbo.

After nursing him back to health, Grian had thanked him countless times, with Mumbo simply giving him a kind smile and insisting it was no problem. From then on, Grian could only ever see that gentleness in Mumbo, and remember the way he tended to his wounds and cleaned his wings and held his face that night. The kindness and way he had jumped up immediately to take care of Grian. The gentleness and how he soothed his pain.

So maybe to other Hermits, they know Mumbo as a clumsy, bumbling human being.

But to Grian, he knows him as someone tender, undescribed.

/

[darkorderaf]

Hello there! May I request an accidental kiss between two exes with dialogue from the “slow burn” prompt of “I don’t love you” “good” (but it’s clear they still do) with Eddie Kingston ?

Yes, of course. <3 I love this trope. ;_; I'm not super confident in my ability to write angst SO I hope this is alright! Please enjoy.

Pairing: Eddie Kingston x OFC. Prompt: Accidental kiss + “I don’t love you.” “Good.” Rating: T. Warnings/Content: Angst. Word Count: 1451.

Tag List (ask to be added/removed): @alyhull @boutmachines @simoneinside @sillynilly27 @vtriggerbucks

(I don’t own gif; all credit to orange-catsidy!)

It’s better this way. That’s what she had told him, heart and gut twisted up. Tears in her eyes like dewdrops on leaves as she looked at him and he looked at her, those pretty eyes of his just as broken and angry but mostly confused. Eddie didn’t mince words but all he could do as she undid the stitches of their brokenness, why they had fallen together so damn well in the first place, was nod. Head bowed. Jaw tight. There wasn’t enough to say or maybe there was too much and all he could do was go in silence.

It hadn’t felt real but she had done it and there wasn’t any going back. As the days went by and the space beside her lost the shape of him, she felt numb. It didn’t go unnoticed. Red brought her one of her favorite cakes. Kris offered comfort in the form of nose boops and long hugs. Orange offered her a Capri-Sun.

Brandi was more forthright. Given that she was the first person that knew that her and Eddie were together, she had that right to be. An invitation into the other woman’s office set her on edge but she went and Brandi was all smiles. She offered her a glass of wine then sat back in her chair, her calm eyes on the melancholic woman across from her.

“Are you okay?” Just as she was about to answer, Brandi raised her hand. “And don’t bullshit me. Please. Are you alright?”

Her half-assed answer of yes, of course, died on her tongue and she stared at the ground.

“No,” she said. “I’m not, Brandi. But I will be, okay? You don’t need to be worried about me. It’s just a breakup.”

Brandi took a long sip and crossed her legs.

“It’s not though, is it?” Her voice softened and she sat up to sit beside her friend. “I obviously don’t know what all happened but the way you and Eddie looked at each other…Listen, Cody and I have been together for a long time and he doesn’t even look at me the way you two look at each other. It’s disgusting.”

Brandi playfully squeezed her shoulder and she forced a smile. Took a sip from her own wine glass.

“I can’t be in love with him, Brandi,” she forced out. “I fell for him too hard and too fast and I can see the ground getting closer to me every time I…think about him and I just can’t go through that. I can’t. It hurts, I hurt, but it had to be done. I got scared and I didn’t want it to eat me up so I just…I let him go. I thought it was the right call.”

“Let me get this right,” Brandi said after a long moment. “You broke it off with Eddie because you…love him too much?”

“Yes.”

The single word broke something in her and clogged her throat, tears running down her face in rivers she had tried to hold back but the dams were gone. He was a good thing, impossibly good, and that ugly fear in her was afraid of ruining the good things. Brandi set her wine glass down and brought her friend to her chest. Stroked her hair and whispered comforts to her.

“I get it,” Brandi said. “It’s scary being in love. Especially that in love. If you…If you feel that you made the right decision, then I support you. Just promise you’ll take care of yourself, alright?”

“I will. It’s just…It’s going to take time.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

—

Time went, months of it, but she still got that flutter in her chest when she saw him. Heard his laugh, his energy a shockwave that her body responded to. Her heart. With time, she walked more confidently. Didn’t carry the bad nights as long as she used to. She still hurt but it was a bruise instead of a cut. An ache that she was grateful for and prodded with warm memories when she wanted. The echo of his laugh just beyond the guerrilla pulled a smile from her. He seemed to be doing well now that Moxley was back.

“Earth to mothership, we got a smile.”

“Very funny,” she huffed at Kris, who simply grinned back at her. “I’m not sure if I’ll be smiling after this one, Stat.”

She rotated her wrists and glanced at the stairs that led to the tunnels. It was arguably one of the most important matches of her career. A tag-team match with Kris against the champion herself and Jamie Hayter. Every nervous spike in her heart was quieted by the unmissable sound of Eddie just beyond the black curtains. Kris took her hand and squeezed it just as their music hit.

“Let’s kick earthling ass.”

“You know I’m an earthling, right?”

“Yes but you’re a special earthling.”

The rush of the curtain being pulled startled her and then there was Eddie, bright eyes on her. His sad smile ricocheted off the soft parts of her heart and she stumbled. Moxley lifted his brows, surprised at the sudden motion, and tried his best to busy himself doing anything else.

“She is,” Eddie said as he held her gaze. Then he shifted to look at Kris. “Take care of her out there, huh?”

Kris gave an enthusiastic nod before she dragged her up the stairs and to their match. It was hard to focus on anything. It was the first time Eddie had spoken to her since she called things off and her heart raced before the bell even rang. She just had to get through the match.

Britt’s stomps rattled her already muddled brain and when the Lockjaw was applied, there wasn’t a thing she could do. The rest of the night was spent with Doc Sampson checking her over and once he was satisfied that she was clear to leave, she limped towards her dressing room. She turned the handle and barely had time to react when it swung open, a shape heading fast in her direction.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Eddie?”

To keep her from falling, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her near. But it wasn’t enough to keep her on balance. With his head ducked and hers back in surprise, their lips connected in a kiss of shock as she stumbled forward. Their lips, unsure of what to do, shifted against one another as though trying to repeat a song from memory and both nearly fell under the siren song. Until he stepped back from her. He rubbed at his head before he set his hands on top of it. She stared at him, breath ragged and her head throbbing.

“Eddie, what are you doing here?”

“Your match,” he started. “I saw the shit that went down with the good doctor and I wanted to check on you. I wanted to check on you and I wanted to be here when you got back because that shit looked real bad and I was worried. I was worried about you.”

Too choked with emotion to respond, she tried to move by him but his hand was around her wrist and she was caught in that gaze of his. That feeling, that draw of him and his hands so gentle on her, made her want to settle against him. Rest her head on his chest and let the night slip away. But she couldn’t.

“Eddie, I appreciate you…You checking on me but I’m okay. Really.”

“Really? You’re alright?”

His thumb traced the inside of her palm. He wasn’t asking about the match.

“I…”

She hesitated.

“When you said it’s better this way, did you mean for me or for you?”

His brow raised with his question, his rough voice low and soft in a way that made her want to cry.

“I c–don’t love you, Eddie. And I'm o-okay.”

Something in her broke at the lie and Eddie must have felt it in her trembling arm. His soothing touch dropped away from her and she suddenly felt cold. Then he kissed her forehead and lingered like a goodbye in reprise.

“Good. That’s, uh, good. All I needed to hear. I'll get out of your hair.”

The confusion-addled acceptance didn’t feel how she thought it would and she wanted to take his face in her hands, feel the burn of his beard across her skin like a safe-haven bonfire. He smoothed her hair back before he stepped away and through the door, hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie. Already distant just a couple feet away.

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“...You too, Eddie.”

[thimbil]

Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

[nanayoungishere]

Play It Cool (Part Nine)

He decided to cook you breakfast.

Though not before staring at your sleeping face for a while.

You looked so peaceful, so content as you nuzzled into his chest. You fit so perfectly in his arms, felt so warm and soft. The little noises you made and the way you clutched him closer, murmuring his new name in your sleep, made him feel as though his heart would burst out of his chest.

He didn’t want to let you go.

But he had to, because your stomach was grumbling in your sleep. He knew you hadn’t eaten much that day, aside from the milkshake at the diner. Too busy completing course work, too busy working, too busy trying to survive another day. You weren’t afforded any time to take care of yourself.

It made him ache, thinking of how much you’ve been suffering. It made him want to cry, thinking about how unhealthy you were.

It made him hate.

Hate your boss, your teachers, your landlord, your whore of a roommate for making you push yourself like this. All those people surrounded you, all those people who supposingly cared for you and none of them even tried to help you? To relieve some of your burdens? None of them cared, despite how utterly perfect you were?

It made his blood boil. It made his hands itch with the need to grab a knife and --

You let out a pained whimper. He snapped out of his thoughts to find that he had clutched you a bit too tight to his chest.

He immediately relaxed, whispering apologies to your unconscious form, rubbing soothing circles on your back. Your face smoothed out, becoming peaceful once more, entangling your legs with his.

“Honey…”

God. He really didn’t want to get up.

But he forced himself to, gently and slowly untangling himself from your arms. You didn’t like that at all, your hands subconsciously grasping out towards him, chasing his warmth, your face set in a heartbreaking expression that made him want to get down on his knees and apologize.

He settled for kissing you. On your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, your neck. His teeth grazing your tender flesh, causing you to shiver and blush. You slumped back into the sheets, overstimulated even in your sleep.

So adorable.

Maybe you made another mess? You got so excited, so quickly. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge.

He licked his lips, his fingers trailing down your clothed body. The sheets, your clothes were still stained. Maybe before he cooked you breakfast, he should clean it up for you? He didn’t want you to wake up feeling uncomfortable after all.

He leaned over you, his eyes darting to your face every now and then to see if you’d wake up.

His tongue unfurled. Just a little taste…

Afterwards he lovingly tucked you in, running his hands through your hair one more time before heading to the kitchen.

Hopefully he had something in his fridge…

---------------------------------------------------

The moment you woke up, you felt a deep ache in your chest.

And when you sat up, and looked around at the empty room, you realized why.

He wasn’t here.

Maybe he was in the living room? Maybe he went to the bathroom? Maybe he was just outside, in the hallway?

You checked everywhere, looking through closets, checking under beds, underneath the couch. You left no stone unturned and he wasn’t there.

Did he leave me?

No, he couldn’t have. He would’ve kicked you out of the apartment if he didn’t want you here.

He could be with someone else.

No way. He was so interest in you --

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s humoring you because he’s sorry your such a desperate freak.

He wouldn’t do that. Honey’s too sweet, too kind and nice to do something like that to you. He wouldn’t hurt you like that.

Right?

Maybe he didn’t leave by himself.

What if someone took him?

No.

No, there’s no way someone could’ve taken him, because if they did --

What if he’s hurt?

What if he’s dying right now?

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no --

Then you saw something out of the corner of your eye. A note taped to the door.

Went out to buy breakfast! I’ll be back in thirty minutes!

Love you darling,

Honey~

The surge of pure relief you felt put you on the floor. You cradled that note to yourself like it was a teddy bear, like it was a lifeline, like it was a priceless, one-of-a-kind jewel that you lucked out into having.

He was just getting breakfast.

He didn’t leave you.

He was fine.

You freaked the fuck out over nothing. Again. Just like you did last night (or was it early morning?) when you tried to fucking tie him up in his sleep.

You carefully set the note aside before cradling your head in your hands and screaming.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell were you thinking?! What the fuck possessed you to do something so stupid and illegal and wrong and -- and --

He would’ve hated you. Absolutely, one hundred percent, would have wanted nothing to do with you after that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

But if you kept him to yourself --

How? How the fuck would you have kept him to yourself? There’s no way you would’ve gotten away with it. It was totally a spur of the moment, dumbass, let’s-risk-everything-on-this-poorly-thought-out-decision fuckup! All it would take was him screaming to his neighbors and it would’ve all been over.

But if you planned it out…

If you found a better place…

If you took your time…

You hesitated.

...no. No, no, no, you were not thinking about it. It was wrong and fucked up.

The things you were feeling, the things you were doing, were already bad enough. It was insanity, it was obsessive, it was wrong. And if you crossed this line, if you went this far, then you’d be a monster.

Would that be such a bad thing?

You picked up the note, tracing the words with your finger.

Love you darling

He said he loved you. He said he loved you.

That -- that had to mean something, right? You had to be in a good spot with him, right? The relationship must’ve been going good.

So far.

So you didn’t need to kidnap him. You didn’t need to do something monstrous just to keep him.

Yet.

You rubbed the note against your palms. You could almost feel his fingers trailing across the page, his mind mapping out the words even as his pen wrote across the paper.

Fuck, maybe you should frame it? Keep it hanging up in your room so you could stare at it, forever.

Or maybe you can get it laminated. That way you could lick the page without worrying about the paper getting torn up or the ink running.

You pressed the note to your nose and sniffed. God, you could just about smell him and --

You carefully folded it and put it in your pocket. Then you slapped yourself.

God, get your shit together! Stop being such a fucking freak!

KNOCK KNOCK

You jumped, panic filling you at the thought of Honey seeing you act like such a freak. You immediately started making excuses. “I-I-I wasn’t sniffing your note Honey, I swear!”

KNOCK KNOCK

It was coming from the front door. You breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t see you.

KNOCK KNOCK

You smoothed out your clothes and tried to fix your hair. Shit, you should’ve straightened yourself out earlier! What if he was disgusted because of how much of a fucking mess you were right now?

KNOCK KNOCK

“C-coming!”

You opened the door. “H-hey! Thanks for --”

You stopped. It wasn’t Honey.

“Oh I… didn’t know Peter had guests.”

It was a woman. Young, in her twenties, just about your age. With bright red hair, freckles, red glasses, a heart shaped face, and a fairly curvy figure that all together, would’ve made you think she was cute.

If not for the huge, slashing scar across her face.

From the upper corner of her face, crossing diagonally towards her chin, going through her eye, nose, and lips. Like someone had taken a knife and tried to cut her face up, but settled for simply slashing right through. Who knows, someone might have.

“Um…”

You blinked. Oh shit, did she catch you staring? “Sorry, I --”

Then what she said registered.

Peter? Was that Honey’s real name?

Holy shit. You knew his real name!

Peter.

Peter.

Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter

Fuck, that’s such a good name. Way fucking better than Honey. Would it be weird if you started calling him that?

But he really seemed to like it when you called him Honey…

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Oh, she was still talking. Shit, you shouldn’t be ruder than you already were --

“I just wanted to give him these.” She said, holding out a bag. “I left them by his door, but I don’t think he noticed.”

It was a bag of cookies.

In the shape of hearts.

And it wasn’t fucking Valentines Day. Wasn’t even close to February.

So that meant --

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes laser focused on the cookies. On the ugly bitch that was holding them.

She was saying something but you couldn’t find it in yourself to give two fucks because it was taking everything you had not to strangle her right then and there because look at her.

Look at her.

Look at this freckled fuck.

Giving him cookies, knowing his real name, showing up at his door like a fucking hooker.

You should've known from the moment you laid eyes on her. Shouldn’t have answered that fucking door.

Fuck, what if Honey (Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter) had been here? Would she have batted her ugly, filthy eyelashes at him, pressed her flabby breasts against him, and tried to take him away?

Had she done that before?

For all you knew… she could be his ex. She could have --

touched him kissed him hugged him talked to him cradled him fucked him

The surge of rage and hatred you felt filled you so quickly and so suddenly that you had to hold the door to keep yourself steady. You could feel your vision blacking out at the edges, could feel your entire body shaking, trembling with the need to --

rip tear crush stab bash slice break hit kill kill kill kill

Because she wanted to take him from you.

Take Honey, your Peter, the love of your life, the one who made you feel, truly feel for the first time in forever. The one you feel in love with, the one who made you feel so happy, so content, the one that filled your dreams, filled your every waking moment with joy and ecstasy.

This woman -- no.

This fucking ingrate wanted to take what was --

mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

“...seen him? I just wanted to give these to him before I got back to work.”

You snapped back to reality.

The bitch was staring at you, her ugly, scarred face showing an uncertain expression.

Your fingers flexed. You took a step forward.

I want to kill her.

You heard a door slam. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone step out of their apartment. A man, fiddling with their phone.

He glanced towards the two of you.

Fuck.

It was like you got splashed with cold water. The rage and hatred was still there, but controlled. Contained.

You had to hold it together. You had to keep your cool. Because if you hurt this woman -- if you got caught, which you absolutely would -- then he would know.

And he’d never, ever want anything to do with you again.

You tried to smile. “He’s… not here right now. Just -- just give them to me. I’ll make sure he gets them.”

Her expression fell. “Um --”

You snatched the bag from her hands. “Who are you? What was your name again?”

“Uh, I’m Lizzie Bee,” she said, pointing to herself. “I’m Peter’s landlord.”

Landlord?

Fuck, then you really couldn’t kill her. You’d be putting Honey/Peter out of a home.

“Right. I’m Y/N.” Your smile might’ve turned into a snarl, but who the fuck cared? Not you. “Peter’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” She didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. The whore. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

You resisted the urge to slam the door on her face. “Likewise.”

You watched her walk away, disappearing around the hall. You made sure to take note of where she went before slamming the door.

Without her in front of you, taunting you with her presence, you could feel your rage and hatred subsiding. The urge to kill was fading with every second you got to breathe and collect yourself.

You couldn’t kill her.

You couldn’t kill her.

It was too risky wrong. It was wrong and you knew it was wrong, because you were a normal person.

What normal person falls in love at first sight?

What normal person becomes murderously possessive over someone they’ve only met for a couple of days?

What normal person considers kidnapping the one they love?

Shut the fuck up.

Your hands trembled as you ran them through your hair. You had to make a plan. Had to figure out what to do to deal with that bitch.

You couldn’t lose him to someone else. Just the thought of it was --

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

please

please God don’t let anyone take him away from me please

You felt tears pricking your eyes. You swallowed back a sob, trying to ignore the ache in your chest.

You would figure something out. You had to.

But first, you needed to flush every single one of these cookies down the fucking toilet.

(Previous)

(Next)

[honey-boyyoongi]

Pairing ➪ Y/n x Yoongi | Y/n x Jungkook

Word count ➪ 3.1k

Warning ➪ not beta read; angst; I am sorry in advance

Previous Fic Masterlist

-

Jungkook has been laying on your lap for what seems, hours. You haven’t spoken to him in a year, maybe a little more. A ‘hi’ here and there when Mrs. Jeon invites you, and Yoongi to events. You can never say no to her. Slowly, you start noticing Sooyoung showed up less, and less. Jungkook always gave the excuses, ‘She’s not feeling well’, ‘Sooyoung has a work project she has to get done’, ‘Her friend is having a baby, and she’s the birthing partner’, ‘She’s housesitting for her brother’. They never seemed to stop. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon were understanding, but visibly disappointed. As far as everyone knew, everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t. Your mother told you it was about children. Jungkook wanted children, but Sooyoung was not sure if she ever wanted to be a mother. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting children, and not wanting the commitment of it. But they wanted different things.

What Jungkook never told his parents was how messy it was. The harsh words, the long nights, large amounts of tears shed on both ends, and the feelings of failure. Jungkook wanted to make it work. He wants to believe Sooyoung wanted to make it work. Within the week Sooyoung had moved into her co-worker’s place, at the end of the month the papers were signed, by four months the divorce was final, and Sooyoung had accepted a transfer to a sister location across the country. It was fine for a while, at least Jungkook tried to convince himself it was fine. The days felt long, dreary.

He tried to get back into painting, boxing, and other hobbies he had pre-Sooyoung. He started hanging out with friends more, Namjoon was more than happy to catch up over some beers from his favorite brewery. He even started talking to Yoongi more. They were work partners, regardless of that, their chatter never went past the needed communication to complete the necessary work. Jungkook started slowly, asking Yoongi if he wanted a coffee while he got his own. Inviting him to lunch with Namjoon. Even making jokes here, and there. It’s not what it was before, but they’re getting there.

He moved out of the apartment that him, and Sooyoung shared. It was difficult, but he’ll make this new space home. It’s definitely smaller than his previous apartment. Cozier, he wants to say. Jungkook fills it up with art that had been put in storage, his salvaged knick knacks, pictures with his friends and family. His parents gift him new kitchenware. His older brother helps paint. Namjoon gives him some new plants to care for, and Yoongi comes over to assemble some furniture because ‘you need the help kid’. A few weeks post-divorce, he feels good, normal. He’s out with his mom at the mall when he finally sees her.

He wants to say she’s more beautiful than he remembers, but all he can focus on is the bump she has. His mom catches his line of sight, “Oh, look at my Yn-ie. She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” He nods in response. “She’s eight months now, Mrs. Min says it’s a girl. They’re so excited, Hyeri says Yoonie has been talking non-stop about the baby,” his mother chatters. She talks his ear off about the Min baby. The name, the nursery, heck even the baby shower the moms threw as a surprise. He’s happy for her, for them. He ignores the ache in his chest the rest of the outing.

His mother, bless her heart, goes up to Y/n. Asks how she’s doing, how baby min is doing. “Surprisingly energetic,” she jokes, “Yoongi says she gets it from him, but this is the same man that knocks out if he gets comfortable enough on anything.”

While his mom is chatting Y/n up, he takes her in. She cut her hair to a lob, waves a little more defined. Her smile lines are a little more prevalent. Eyes sparkling, a bit tired looking, the baby must be giving her a hard time if it’s kicking up a storm in there. She rubs her belly in comforting motions, as she talks with his mom. He can’t help admiring her features.

“What do you think, kookie?”

Jungkook stared at his mother, and Y/n, “I’m sorry what?”

His mother sighed, “He’s been like this for a bit, sweetie. Nothing sweetheart.”

They keep chatting about the baby. He tells his mom he has to finish his errands. She waves him away with a ‘be careful’ and ‘love you’. Y/n waves goodbye with a shy look. They walk slowly to the nearest bench, his mother’s hands waving around as she speaks.

He doesn’t know how he gets to Y/n’s house. One drink turned into three then six and a half. All doubles, of course. The bartender could tell he was drowning his sorrows, and promptly cut him off as he was ordering his seventh drink, but instead of a double a triple. His angel of a bartender helped him order an Uber to the nearest place he could remember. Once he arrived at the apartment complex, he made the very unsteady way to Yoongi’s and Y/n’s apartment. He knocked on the door heavily. It felt like a long time until Y/n answered.

She looked so pretty. In her cute little pj’s, belly accentuated by the soft material. Her cheeks a little rosy from the effort of walking at this point in her pregnancy.

Surprise filled her face, “Jungkook, what are you doing here?”

He pouts, swaying a bit as he tries to find his footing, “I.. I miss you. It’s been hard these last few months without you.”

“Are you drunk,” Y/n asks worried.

Jungkook hiccups in response, “In my defense, the nice bartender lady cut me off.” Y/n sighs, she could call Mrs. Jeon to come get Jungkook. But she doesn’t want her to see him this inebriated. The feelings of the divorce probably caught up with him and were too overwhelming. Y/n doesn’t know what to do, but decides to take care of Jungkook like she used to.

Y/n takes his hand, and gently guides him to the large side of the L-shape couch. She avoids putting any of Jungkook’s weight on herself while gently, as gently as she can place a drunk man, sitting him. She coaxes Jungkook to slowly drink a full glass of water to sober up, with little difficulty thank goodness. After a moment or two of adjustment on the couch that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable, Y/n settles next to Jungkook. It would be better to be closer to him, as to avoid the unavoidable struggle that movement seems to have these days.

Jungkook must be finding it difficult to sit upright, as he ends up laying down. Feet dangling on the edge, head on the available part of your lap, his face looking away from your belly. He starts to hum quietly, nothing specific really, it’s calming.

“Can you pet my hair, please,” Jungkook mumbles. Y/n nods, “Sure. Your hair has gotten long, I like it. It suits you.”

Jungkook slurs, “Thanks, Sooyoung hated it long. Said it made me look messy.” She hummed in distaste, “She also hated anything that wasn’t to her liking. I’ve missed you too Kook. It’s been weird not having you around.”

He snuggles deeper into her lap finding comfort in her warmth, “I know. You don't know how much I’ve been wanting to call you, and just tell you all the things that happened.”

Y/n nudges Jungkook up, she settles more comfortably into her spot and nudges Jungkook back down. He decides he’s no longer satisfied with looking at the wall in front of him, and with the most grace he can muster he turns to face Y/n’s belly. If he was sober enough he could’ve seen the pink rising in her ears. He grabs her hand and places it back on his head to keep receiving his favorite head scratches. Maybe it’s the whiskey, but he feels like he’s having a staring contest with Y/n’s belly. He’s strangely okay with that, until he feels the (surprisingly) hard kick of baby min on his cheek.

Jungkook lets out a groan, and follows it up with an antagonistic soft poke at the spot the kick came from. “Your kid isn’t even here yet and it’s already bullying me,” he sighs. “You’re supposed to be nice to your elders,” he tells her. Y/n giggles, “She’s a kicker. Sometimes she’ll wake me up in the middle of the night. I don’t know where she got this energy from. My mother in law says her boys weren’t too rowdy, and mom says I wasn't a kicker, but more of a crier. So that’s something to look forward to.”

Jungkook laughs, he wants to say she still is. He looks up at her, “Is it okay if I touch your belly?” Y/n is a little shocked. The few times he’s seen her, he’s never mentioned anything about her pregnancy. She wants to question him, but decides against it. She gives him a soft nod, and guides his hand to her belly. “Be gentle,” Y/n tells him.

Jungkook moves his hand in small, soft circles. Making quiet noises of contentment. A few minutes of silence pass by with no words exchanged. It feels comfortable, even a little nostalgic to how things were pre-marriages. “Kids,” Jungkook says.

“What?” Y/n asks.

“We divorced over kids,” he says more firmly, “Sooyoung wasn’t sure if she wanted kids. You already know I wanted them. We couldn’t come to an agreement of when we would start trying. She wanted to wait because she was up for a promotion at work, and she didn’t want to pass it up by staying home with the kids. I told her I was okay being at home with them, the good thing about my job is that I can work from home, if needed. I could be the stay at home dad, be part time until we were comfortable enough to put them in daycare and go back to full time. She said she’d think about it.”

He sniffles, and buries his face into Y/n’s belly. She starts to caress his hair to comfort him, “It’s okay, take your time.”

Jungkook sniffled a bit more, rubbing little circles on her belly with his thumb, “She said we would talk more about it. A little before you got married we talked about it again, but she kept saying she can’t do her job and be pregnant. I told her she wouldn’t do it herself, I would help her. We were a unit. She refused to talk about it after that. Any time I wanted to have a talk about it, it turned into something bigger and ugly. A few months ago I mentioned that mom had told me you were pregnant.” He paused for a moment, wondering if it was appropriate to go on. Y/n kept playing with his hair, encouraging him to speak when he’s comfortable.

“I made a comment..,” Jungkook mumbles, “I made a comment about how I couldn’t wait for our kids to be running around together. Sooyoung got angry. She said that would never happen. I asked her why, you were still my friend, so is Yoongi. Why wouldn’t I want our kids to be friends too?”

Y/n hummed, not sure how to react to Sooyoung’s statement. “Is that what started the argument?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I got upset, I told her that she can’t keep avoiding my friends, I missed you guys and wanted to be how we were. I wanted you to, at least, be amicable. I didn’t expect her to be best friends with you guys.” Jungkook got quiet once again. He could feel baby Min moving. He wanted to feel what he’s missing these past several months.

“So, clearly she didn’t like us,” Y/n jokes.

Jungkook chuckled dryly, “Clearly. She said how do I expect her to be friends with the person she’ll always be second best to. As well as the people that blamed her for us not being together.”

“I told her Joon and Yoongi don’t blame her for anything,” he said, “She wasn’t second best to anyone, and you’ve been my friend for years. Sooyoung didn’t believe it. I asked her if we all somehow got along, why wouldn’t our kids be friends. She said there wasn’t going to be any kids for yours to be friends with. I asked her what she meant.” Jungkook choked up at the memory, “Sooyoung said after some thinking, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted kids. She doesn’t know if she can commit herself to that role. She says she has her career ahead of her and I can’t make her be a mom.”

Jungkook started to tear up, “I told her I’m not expecting her to be a stay at home mom. I repeated that I would be a stay at home parent… She… She said she’s not sure if she wants to have kids at all. Sooyoung said it’s too much responsibility.”

He started to sob, his body shaking from the increased intensity. “I couldn’t believe it. When we were dating she said she wanted kids. I’m not upset that she doesn’t want any, it’s her choice. I’m upset that she lied to me about it.”

Y/n’s heart aches for her friend, she knows how much Jungkook wanted kids. Namjoon might be the one buying baby shoes because he finds them cute, but Jungkook has always talked about being a dad. Always talked about how he wanted to be the type of parent his were, that encouraged him to thrive in his likes and talents. He was passionate about it.

“We talked all night. We couldn’t come to any type of resolution. So we decided to separate. This was something that was non-negotiable.”

“Is that what led to the divorce,” Y/n asked.

Jungkook nodded, “She stayed at a coworker’s place that she’s friends with. We didn’t talk for a couple weeks. Sooyoung reached out first. She said this is something she won’t change her mind on. She’s sorry for not being truthful about her stance on kids. We decided to divorce. We settled pretty quickly. It’s signed and official as of last month.”

“I’m sorry kook,” Y/n whispered.

You were sorry, he knew you were. He keeps rubbing your belly, feeling baby Min follow around. Wanting to feel the comfort of having you around.

Jungkook ends up falling in and out of sleep. He doesn’t know how long he lays there for.

“No, I’m fine.”

“He’s asleep right now.”

Who were you talking to?

“No, Yoonie, it's fine. He’s sleeping and he didn’t do anything. I think the divorce finally got to him.”

He heard you pause, but didn’t hear anyone else in the apartment. You must be speaking with Yoongi on the phone.

“No, we just talked about it. He was pretty upset, obviously.”

You continued to play with his hair, brushing out the knots with your fingers. He hummed lowly, snuggling closer to your belly. Baby Min must’ve had the same idea because she was still squirming around. Yoongi assured you he would be home soon with Namjoon to get Jungkook home.

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Kook,” You answered.

He sits up, eyes puffy, and cheeks stained with tears. “Do you ever think about us?”

“Like? Our friendship? Of course, all the time,” you answer.

He scoots closer facing you, and reaches out to hold your hand. “No, I’m talking about us. What we could’ve been.”

“I did, but not anymore,” you answered honestly, “You chose Sooyoung, kook. I wasn’t going to wait forever. I deserved, and still deserve to be happy. And I am happy. You shouldn’t think about the what if’s.”

Jungkook sniffled. “I do,” he whispered, “All the time. I think about what if, I had worked up the courage to confess to you on one of our last movie nights? Things would’ve been different. We would’ve been happy. We would’ve gotten married, and had the wedding you always talked about.” He paused, he’s trying so hard not to cry about it. “We would’ve had those cats you wanted, and we would’ve finally adopted the dog that hangs around the convenience store. We would’ve had a baby. We would’ve been a family. I should’ve said something, shown you how much I loved you. How much I still love you.”

You pulled your hand away from him, “But you didn’t, you chose Sooyoung kook. I loved you, I still love you, but not how you want me to. Maybe things would’ve been different, but it’s too late.”

Jungkook starts to sob, he knows it’s too late. It felt bittersweet to hear that she still loves him.

-

Namjoon takes Jungkook home. He feels everything, yet nothing. Maybe he can start fresh with no what if’s to cling on to.

Joon helps him get cleaned up, and lays him down in his cold bed. He lets himself dream of what could’ve been.

“How are my girls doing?” Jungkook asked, while caressing your growing tummy. “SHE,” you pointed, “is giving mommy a hard time. S’been kicking all morning. She’s definitely YOUR daughter.” Jungkook lets out a sympathetic giggle. Your baby has been a pain in your butt, more like your bladder, since she could move. Mrs. Jeon says her youngest was the exact same, and to expect an energetic baby once she’s out. She’ll be all smiles, and sweet giggles, as well as a pain to put to sleep. Maybe she’ll take after her father and sleep like a log your mother in law jokes. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of doctors appointments, birthing classes, nesting, nesting, and more nesting. The nursery has changed colors three times, Jungkook was insistent on doing art on the walls to give it a personal touch. Took a whole weekend, but now your baby girl will be slumbering under the stars.

Both of you have gone through the recommended parenting books, gotten advice from the grandmothers and aunties, Jungkook might’ve panicked a little at the repeated visual of you giving birth. But, it’s all part of the process. He’s been enjoying giving little facts he’s been learning from the shared pregnancy tracker.

“Babe, did you know our baby is the size of a cherry today?”

“Hey, by now they grew all their toes.”

“Did you know our baby can pee? In the womb?”

“Jungkook, what the fuck dude?”

Other than the obvious pregnancy issues, things have been smooth sailing. His favorite thing to do these days has been laying his head on your lap caressing your belly. If it was up to him he’d stay there for hours drawing patterns with his fingers, singing to his baby, feeling her movements.

A/N: Heyyyyyyyy~~~ originally I wasn’t gonna do an epilogue, but I got the idea after talking about a headcanon I had with my sister. Happy (super) late birthday to Jungkookie ❤️ hopefully in my next fic involving you, you get to be happy lol. Feedback is appreciated ❤️

Masterlist

[mayans-sauce]

Can I request Valentines prompt #15 with Bishop, pretty please! 🖤😘

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female Reader

Word Count: 540

Warnings: none

Prompts: 15. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

A/N: I hope you enjoy!

Sign up HERE to join my taglist!

GROUP CHAT for updates!

•• Main Masterlist •• Bishop Masterlist ••

Bishop had promised you that on Valentine’s Day, you and he would go out on the town. A fancy dinner and a pleasant stroll around town with no care in the world about the club or anything else, just you two enjoying each other.

The day had come, and of course, your period decided to come early. You were in excruciating pain, and you would most likely not be able to go out tonight. You were supposed to call Bishop and cancel on him, but you just needed to lay down for a bit after taking some painkillers, and hopefully, a quick nap would ease the pain a little.

A quick nap turned into several hours of sleep, and you were woken up to banging on your door. It was Bishop; he had come to pick you up for the date. “Shit,” you said out loud. You slept in and were in no shape to go out.

Opening the door for him, you were met with his face dropping from excitement to worry. The state of you was horrible, and he could see that you were barely holding yourself together. “Bishop I,” you lost your balance, but his quick reflexes caught you. “Sweetheart, you don’t look good.” He brought you over to the sofa so he could sit you down.

“I’m so sorry, Bishop. I don’t think I’m in any shape to go out tonight.” He kissed your forehead, and then his eyes met yours. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Let’s have our evening here on the sofa.”

He went to get snacks and drinks while you picked out a romantic movie to watch. “Here, pick whatever you want.” He handed you the various take-out menus, and you picked your choice. After he ordered the food, you pressed play on the movie and snuggled as close to him as humanly possible. His warm hand on your abdomen, loving and caressing it, making the pain a little more bearable.

After about 15 minutes, Bishop spoke up with something that caught you completely off guard. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” How could he say that? You looked the most horrible you ever had. Your period makes you feel ugly and disgusting. There was no way in hell that he thought that.

“Bishop, I look like a disgusting troll! I think you need glasses, you old man.” He roared out in laughter at your comment. “I mean it, querida, you are the most beautiful, even when you think you look like a troll. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

You can’t deny that his words made you feel ten times better, and you knew that he meant it with his whole heart. “Thank you, Bishop. I’m lucky I have you in my life for all the highs and all the lows.” He kissed you on the lips, and you swore it was the most beautiful kiss you both had shared.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your eyes returning to the movie playing in front of you.

Even though this was one of the most painful Valentine’s Day for you physically, it was still your favorite, and you would look back on this day with nothing but happy memories.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Let me know what you think❤️

GENERAL TAGLIST: @everyhowlmarksthedead @-im-fantastic- @idorkish @bishopslosawife @witching-hour @rosieposie0624 @jessprins13 @skyofficialxx @glamourglambert @jasminee97 @starrynite7114 @gemini0410 @rocketqueen @mack-jay @megapeacelovemusic-blog @weasleytwins-41

MAYANS MC TAGLIST: @blessedboo @60shannon @bellisperennis0 @capnsaveahoe @diaryofkali @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @xvvalx @missswritings @theocatkov @pinguinstudiert @chibsytelford @encounterthepast @rawrlittlepanda-95

[huihuiheart]

Spiked - Minho

Part of @clandestine-lixie ‘s Smutmas Collab and a great excuse to get some more Minho on my page! 

Summary: It’s pretty much tradition at this point that Changbin spikes the eggnog at the annual Christmas party. What happens though when secrets slip through drunk lips and aren’t forgotten the next morning? At least not forgotten by the very person you confessed to. 

Pairing: Minho x F! Reader

Warnings: Drinking (not drunk when having sex), drunken confessions?, cursing, some angst in the beginning, smut, lovemaking, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), oral (f! receiving), lots of petnames, moments where Minho is kinda smug, lots of praise, it’s sugary sweet, mild sir kink for a moment, fingering, some playful teasing.

I sincerely apologize but I haven’t had time to edit this yet, so...please excuse any errors and stuff I’ll be getting to those when I have some time. I wrote over half of this today with a migraine so we’re working on fumes here. Also if something seems off I apologize, I’ve never celebrated the holidays before so I honestly don’t know what Christmas is like....sorry.

Word Count: 4,992

“Awe don’t tell me you’re already finished taking bets? I haven’t even got mine in on how long before Changbin tries to get us all drunk.” You tease the rambunctious group in the living room as you remove your shoes by the door. Christopher joining you a moment later to help you with your coat, hanging it up for you as he often did. 

“Hey, don’t look so glum. Felix was just getting to the interesting wagers now anyways. Bets of any kind are in Minho’s care this evening. Gifts for tomorrow morning under the tree as always.”  Chris caught you up with where the ever excitable boys had already impatiently gotten up to, before stepping away with your coat so you could join the others.

“So what did I just miss then? You know the topic that had you all in a giggle fit?” You raise a brow as you claim a spot in their circle, between Minho and Hyunjin.

“Oh we were just discussing the last bet. Not that you’d be able to participate anyways seeing how it was about you.” Jisung smirks wickedly until you match his gaze with your own that was just as devious, making him fold in an instant, or so you think, “Just betting on whether we thought you’d stay the night or not this year.”

“That’s not interesting though, I stay practically every year cause I’m too drunk to go home alone and none of you will take me.” You chuckle shaking you head, “ A better bet would be who will get drunk the fastest, my money’s on Hyunjin.” 

Minho took your bet money counting it out before the other boys made their wagers too, writing them all down as more and more bets danced through your group. Both those typical for the Christmas party and those unique to this year for whatever reason. Debates starting up over a few of them as they always did.

“No I’m telling you Y/N will be the first one to admit it. She always gets loose lipped when she drinks.” Jisung teases despite the validity of his statement, something you’ve proven true to them at more than just the previous Christmas parties. 

“Still who she likes is the secret she guards more than anything else, she’d have to be so shitfaced for that to come out it would be ridiculous!” Changbin counters, “ My money is on Felix, he was practically giving it away unprompted last year. It wouldn’t be too hard to get it out of him if we really tried.” 

“Maybe that’s just cause Y/N doesn’t trust some of you to keep your mouths shut.” Christopher shrugs as he takes a seat, though all eyes are on him not because of the motion, but because of his words. Giving away that you had already confessed your crush to at least one person in the room. 

“Wait. So you told him, but you didn’t tell me? What do we even gossip for? Let I’m lowkey offended right now.” Hyunjin whines used to being your partner in crime when it came to exchanging secrets about your group, even the things you’d never tell anyone else. Trusting the other to lock it down tighter than even their own secrets, even if you exploited that information at times. Like when Hyunjin conveniently ended up paired with his crush for every game of the spring break party.

“In my defense I was distraught and looking for you when it slipped. Chris was just the only one around, so he’s the one who got that information.” You counter knowing there wasn’t any taking it back at this point anyways, Hyunjin barely accepting your answer with a grumble. You were somewhat glad that it was the case though, he’d surely exploit the information tonight if he had it. In this case you should be safe, or so you thought before you noticed the subtle smirk on Christopher’s face before he glanced between you and the very crush you’d revealed to him....Minho.

“Hey, the boys sent me to see if you needed any help.” Minho steps into the kitchen watching as you moved to pull something out of the oven. Most of the food had already been prepped before you arrived so you offered to be the one to actually cook it. This being the fourth time in an hour and a half that Minho had been sent to check on you, each time he showed up besides you though he announced himself with those same words....the boys sent me. Them digging a little deeper into your heart whenever you’d hear them again. It implying that that he never actually chose to come to you of his own will, only coming to you since the boys told him to.

“I’m fine Minho. You can go back to the others.” Your words were sharper than you intended and it nearly made you wince, even if he didn’t return your feelings he was still your friend and you shouldn’t be so harsh to him. Sometimes your feelings managed to rear their ugly head before you could stop them though, something you’d feel regret for later

“Rose....your thorns are showing again.” Minho’s gentle voice says the familiar phrase as he moves to stand at your side. His nickname for you with a subtle announcement of the fact that your emotions were slipping out quicker than you often registered, something he always managed to stay calm through no matter how snappy you sometimes got, “I don’t know what riled you up, and I don’t have to. You should go take a minute to calm down though. I’ll watch the food.”

The way he spoke to you was enough to calm you down enough to regain your composure, but not wanting to be so close to him and unintentionally get worked up again you conceded. Slipping outside into the frigid air for a few moments to collect yourself before finding the others in the living room again, sitting besides Christopher now.

“The eggnog spiked yet?” You question with a soft sigh as you lean against his shoulder, causing him to chuckle and nod, “Good, cause I’m going to need a drink to make it through the night.”

“You drunk yet Y/N?” Changbin teases as he pours you another glass. Internally cursing him out, he knew damn well he put something stronger in the eggnog this year without any warning. Knowing that you and Felix at least would try to keep up with everyone else despite being two of the light weights of the group. The others in that category smart enough to stop before they could make a fool out of themselves, even accidentally.

“Not drunk enough to lose to Felix or spill any secrets yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” You call him out, brow quirking as if to challenge him to tease you again. The alcohol buzzing through your system making you more confident in challenging them, even if it slowed your wit slightly. 

“Nah just wondering if you’re drunk enough to at least confess you’re spending the night? Well officially anyways. We thought of a way to determine who you’re going to stay with tonight.” Changbin brings his own glass to his lips, hiding his smirk knowing that Christopher had come to him and Hyunjin with a plan to rig it so that you’d end up with Minho. 

“Fine, I’ll confess to that.” You chuckle not catching onto their schemes, “So how are we figuring it out then? What’s your big, genius plan?” 

The sarcastic way you’re carrying yourself makes Hyunjin snicker, leaning towards Christopher, “Oh if only she knew...” He shakes his head slightly before shaping up, to hide any suspicious acts from you, “Simple, you’re just drawing the name out of a hat. You know the deal though, you only get to pick once and that’s who you’re stuck with.”

“Yeah, I know the deal.” You sit up further waiting for them to bring the hat over, the liquid courage running through you making you feel really good about your odds. It was only a 1 in 8 chance that you’d end up picking Minho, you were most likely safe from your crush. Well the possibility of embarrassing yourself while alone with him anyways. Or so you thought until you managed to pull his name out of the hat.

“Well.....I guess I’m rooming with Minho tonight....”

"Alright I think that's enough for one night." Minho takes the glass from you before you can get it refilled yet again. You'd lost count three drinks ago, hoping you'd get passed out drunk instead of having to face him. Luck wasn't on your side this evening though as Minho still had his wits about him and he refused to let you do something dangerous to your health.

"But Minho, if I'm not drinking what am I going to do?" Your whine is only added to by the small subconscious pout adorning your drunk face.

"We've both had enough and are going to bed now. It's 4 fucking 37 in the morning and you know someone's gonna be waking is up too goddamn early hangover or not. So if you wanna drink something it'll be water on the way to bed." Minho insists moving to help your inebriated form up from your seat on the floor and towards his upstairs bedroom.

"You can use the bathroom, I put some clothes in their for you so you can sleep comfortably." Minho sits on th edge of his bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through seeming almost entirely disinterested as you wobble off to the bathroom. Not getting far though before you have to pull the door open with a blush, your shirt wedged half on with only one arm successfully out.

"M-Minho I got stuck, c-can you help me?" Your words held no room for any hidden implications, especially not when panicked tears started to well in your eyes.

"Hey, it'll be okay. I'm gonna help you and you'll be just fine." Minho coos trying to reassure you, not knowing your panic was partly due to having to face him like this. His warm hands gently in the way they helped untangle you from the shirt you'd somehow managed to get trapped in.

"There you go, all better. Now go get those warm clothes on and get in bed before the cold settles in too much." He insists gently wiping away the last of your tears before you returned to the bathroom.

Silence filled the space when you returned, saying nothing as you switched places with Minho. Sliding into the bed while he was in the bathroom. It wasn't like you'd never slept there before, staying with the boys frequently meant that you'd slept in all their beds at some point but never since your feelings for Minho had developed so much had you stayed in his. Never after you'd felt like you'd embarrassed yourself beyond repair in one evening either. Not realizing you were sniffling with a fresh batch of tears until Minho returned.

"Hey what's wrong rose? You've been upset all day. Please talk to me, we don't like when you're upset." Minho's brow furrows as he uses the paw of his sweater to gently wipe away the tears again.

"I-It's just so hard Minho. I don't know if I keep doing this." You feel exhausted from the alcohol, the excitement throughout the evening, and now an emotional breakdown too and yet you needed to get this off your chest or even that might not be enough to let you get rest tonight.

"What is? What's hard? What can't you do?" Minho asks feeling his heart bleed at your distress even if he was able to stay as calm as he was.

"L-Loving you...."

You had passed out nearly the moment those words had left your lips, but Minho couldn’t, not after your confession. It had been the last thing he’d seen coming after trying not to look desperate to you all day. Yet you’d confessed to him of all people and it weighed too heavily on his mind for the next two hours to even consider getting any sleep. Only getting maybe two hours in before an excited Jeongin bound in to try and wake you both up so everyone could come downstairs for Christmas. Though Minho ensured he never got to you before he shoved him out with hushing sound. Slipping down behind him to grab some water, coffee, and pain meds for when you’d wake up. Telling the boys you’d had a rough night, probably drank too much, and should be left alone to sleep as long as you needed. Not expecting you to already be shifting awake when he returned to the room. 

“Hey, you can sleep more if you want. It’s alright.” Minho gently brushes the hair out of your face as your eyes slowly blink open, leaning into the warmth of his touch without realizing, “I brought you meds and coffee if you’re felling hungover.”

You accept his help to sit up and take the meds, willing your fuzzy mind to clear enough to recall what happened the night before, “Minho...d-did I do anything last night? I-I can’t remember.”

Minho froze debating how he should answer that, he wanted to be honest with you, but after seeing how upset you were the night before he didn’t want to embarrass you at all, “W-Well, umm....”

“I-I said something didn’t I?” You could read his face for once, the calm demeanor gone and it telling you something had happened. The way his eyes widened at your question was enough to confirm what you thought as panic bubbled up and made your throat feel tight, “W-Whatever I said I didn’t-”

Minho cut you off by pressing his lips to yours quickly, feeling his own panic, “P-Please don’t say that you didn’t mean it. I think I would die if I lost the hope that you actually loved me back.”

The panic stopped almost instantly, feeling it dissipate as you processed his words, “L-Love you back?....Y-You mean you love me too? B-But you were acting like I was such a bother yesterday.”

Minho sits on the bed, pulling you into his arms before you could cry again, “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I-I just didn’t want to look desperate when I couldn’t think of a reason for you to love me too.” 

“You’re an idiot, I was literally like so obvious.” You whine softly and he chuckles though his focus seems to shift as his gaze falls to your lips, “You can kiss me again you know....a-after all we both just confessed so it would make sense to...”

Minho’s eyes flick back up to yours as a smirk forms on his face, but he makes no smart comment as he gives in to what both of you are wanting. Leaning in to kiss you again, less panicked this time as his lips softly meld with yours. Though the both of you were pouring too much emotion into it for it to become anything less than desperate. Now that you had each other you needed that more than air itself, it remaining sweet despite the way you both chased after each other as if afraid this would all disappear if you separated for any real stretch of time.  You feel the faintest trail as Minho’s hands move from holding you against his chest to cradling your head as he lays you back onto the bed. 

“If you want to take things slower then just say so. I-I just don’t want to let you go.” Minho’s voice comes out so light you wonder how you hear it over the beating of your own heart, especially with how it races when his lips press a fleeting trail down your jaw between his words. 

“Y-You don’t ever have to slow down Minho, I’ve wanted this.....wanted you for too long to do that now.” You insist with a low moan as his lips press a little firmer against a sweet spot on your neck.

Minho hums against your skin too caught up in you to care about words when he could show you how he felt better anyways. His hands gripping at your sides, thumbs rubbing soft circles as if he’s afraid he’ll break you by being too firm. So you decide to make a larger move, reaching to grip the hem of his sweater and pull it off him, letting your hands and eyes roam his newly exposed skin. The feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips heating you up inside, the flame of desire flaring up faster than you would have thought possible if the person before you had been anyone other than Minho. Minho’s hands gripping yours before looking up at you for permission, hesitating even as you nod.

“You sure you won’t be too cold?” Minho’s fingers peak under the hem to rub gently at your skin beneath it.

“Well if I am then I guess you’ll just have to warm me up.” Your words seem to light the same fire in Minho as he doesn’t hesitate a second longer to his sweater off you. Hands running over your stomach to squeeze your breasts through the bra, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Guess I will.” Minho speaks against your lips, tone deepening as he lowers again moving to rid you of your bra as his lips trail towards your chest. You nipples pebbling slightly from the frigid air and his advances, but noticing the unpleasant chill that runs through you he presses against you more, letting his warmth radiate onto you. His warm mouth closing around your one nipple as his hand toys with and warms the other, switching between them with a new path of kisses to make sure they get equal attention.  Until he gets impatient to show his affections elsewhere and his mouth lowers while adding soft nips between kisses to reach the hem of the sweatpants he gave you to wear. His fingers nimble as they work on the tie, though he doesn’t do more than that until he has permission from you to pull them down and leave you in only your panties.

“Oh the thoughts I had while helping you get untangled from your shirt last night my flower, and to think now a few of them are becoming reality.” Minho places a kiss to your hip, as his hands gently spread your legs, loving the way he’s able to fluster you so easily, “I’ve been dying for a taste and you’re not making it any easier for me. May I?” 

The way he drags his thumb over the wet patch of your panties makes it hard to respond when you’re moaning and focused on that surge of pleasure, but the thought of getting something more urges you to form words, “Y-Yes please, I’ve been wanting to feel your mouth.”

“All you had to do was ask precious.” Minho gently blows against the wet patch making you squirm before kissing your thigh and slipping off your panties and lowering himself between your legs, placing the gentlest of kisses to your clit. The way you whine impatiently makes him chuckle against your core only making you squirm, his thumbs rubbing softly against your plush thighs as he grips them firmly to keep them open instead of impeding his work. He has no intent on tormenting you with teasing, not this morning anyways, but he still wants to savor the moment. The way he licks through your folds slow yet firm enough to spark delicious waves of pleasure through you, enough so that you can’t complain too much about his pace. Minho’s tongue and lips working everywhere to get every last drop of you that he can, while also focusing on your reactions to find what makes you feel the best. Knowing that his own patience will wear thin soon enough and he wants to know how to throw you over that sweet edge with more intensity than you thought possible, wanting to make all of you feel as amazing as his heart did upon hearing your confession. 

“M-Minho please, I want to feel all of you.” Desperation bleeds into your words and actions as you squirm against his grip, hips trying to roll against his mouth and it has his eyes darkening with a new surge of lust. Nearly giving into you pleas, but you’re his first priority and it has him pulling away slightly making you whimper.

“Shh pretty girl, shh.” Minho coos softly, grip loosening as he runs his hands over your thighs and hips trying to get you to relax some, “Calm down, don’t get so worked up. I’ll give you what you want, I promise. You just need to calm down so that I can get you ready for me. We’ve waited a long time I know, but you can be good and wait just a little longer can’t you?”

This time a simple nod isn’t enough for him as he’s a little firmer with you in this moment, pinching your thigh lightly as he demands your words, “Y-Yes sir, I can be good for you.”

Minho has to take a deep, shuttering breath when he hears the word sir fall from your lips so perfectly, now was not the time to lose control, not when he wanted to show you every emotion he’d had trapped inside for so long. Not when he knew there’d be plenty of time for that later. Yet, it does have him snap a little as he dives between your legs again with more purpose. Lips suckling and kissing your clit like his survival depended on it, eyes locked on your face as he feels your fingers weave into his hair. The soft tug you give has him moaning against your clit, only adding to that pleasure as he eases a finger in, though it’s not long before he’s able to add another. Curling them with each thrust in search of the spot that would have you trembling against him, thriving off the pleasure he’d able to feed you right now, nothing else in the world mattering more than your cries for him and the way you lose yourself to the sensations. He knows he’s found that spot, when you’re clenching around him, practically sucking his fingers in, thighs shaking as your edge hovers so close and yet just barely out of reach. 

“Minho, please I’m close. Please make me cum or give me your cock, I-I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” Your pleas sound magical to Minho, it being enough for him to give you what you want, speeding up his fingers as his tongue flicks against your clit as he brings it between his lips again. Willing to throw your over the edge for the first time, so that he can have you losing his own patience as your nails drag lightly over his shoulders. The was you fall apart beneath him is like a work of art, the most beautiful Minho has ever seen as he slips his fingers from your spasming core to gently lick over you and ride you through the pleasure until you come back to him. Kissing you briefly before licking his fingers clean while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You’re sweeter than I ever could have imagined my flower.” Minho hums in approval, his smirk almost showing more in his eyes than on his lips. You’re quick to respond though not wanting him to drag it out any longer.

“I bet we’d taste sweeter together, but there’s only one way to find that out now isn’t there?” You purr back as your fingers work to untie his sweatpants, gripping both them and his undergarments to impatiently push both down at once. Freeing his beautiful, hardened length to you finally. Not giving him to to ask for your permission before you rub his tip through your folds, leg locking around his waist to urge his hips closer. Your actions seem to be enough as he places his hands on either side of you, slowly pushing in and leaning in as he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

“You were awfully loud earlier flower, if you don’t quiet down then all the boys will know what we’ve been up to. Do you want that?” Minho’s question is somewhat serious, but it also holds a teasing to it as he’s proud of the fact that he can make you feel good enough to be so loud. You getting him back by rolling your hips against him and earning a groan from him. Hands slipping around his neck to tug him down and tease his lips with your own.

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” Your words are almost daring and they have him crashing his lips messily against yours as his own hips start to move against you. The patience between you both is gone as he finds a quick pace and yet he’s not manhandling or overly rough in his treatment, the erotic scene still one of passionate lovers. Baring their emotions to each other in the most desperate of ways despite not being able to handle a slow pace any longer. It being everything you could have asked for and more, right now you didn’t need the soft, slow lovemaking. You need this the desperate lovemaking, the kind that showed that Minho had been longing for you just as much as you’d been longing for him. The kind that showed that you were his now and that he would show you that in every way possible for as long as you would ask it of him. Where every move he made was to find what made you feel best, because you were what he most cared for in this world and where it was so much better than he could have imagined that he wasn’t sure if he could hold off. Though he was intent on your pleasure coming first as he angled himself to perfectly hit the spots he found brought you the most pleasure with each drag of his cock, thumb rubbing quick circles into your clit as his other hand tangled into your hair to keep your lips pressed against his. Taking in all of your moans as your pleasure explodes once more, the feeling of you cumming on his cock enough to send him spiraling into his own high as he moans into your mouth in response. Slowing his thrusts as he rides you both through your highs. Hands gently tracing shapes over your heated flesh, finding you glowing in the aftermath of your climax.

“Come on my flower, I’ll help you shower before we join the others.” Minho kisses your forehead softly before scooping you up to take you to the bathroom. Getting you in the steaming shower as quickly as he can so that you won’t have to face the cold while bare for too long and so that you two can be quick enough to be able to get some food in before the others ate everything. Not that he wouldn’t cook you up a good breakfast if it came down to it. Willing to shower you in all affections imaginable after what you both had just done. Though before long Minho had you both cleaned up and in warm fresh clothes, going down the stairs to join the others.

“Weren’t you wearing something different this morning?” Jisung questions Minho slyly as if they hadn’t all heard what you two had been up to earlier. Minho knew what he meant, but still didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah well I took a shower, so I put on something else.” Minho shrugs pulling out a seat for you, before taking his own so you two could eat breakfast as well.

“Oh did Y/N shower too? Her hair is all damp still.” Jisung innocently inquires taking a bite of his pancake trying to hide his smug expression. Minho gently moving your damp hair away from your bare skin so that it wouldn’t get too chilled.

“Well then you obviously know the answer.” Minho rolls his eyes adding his portion of whipped cream and other sweet toppings to your plate instead of his own.

“Hm I just find that interesting considering we only heard one shower running.” Jisung smirks at you both as the others snicker and chuckle, teasing you all through breakfast while exchanging knowing looks. 

The teasing had died down some later as you all gathered around to exchange gifts. Feeling your heart stutter as you hold Minho’s in your hands, the man seeming flustered as you go to open it. Finding a small necklace inside one that looked like a lifeline with a heart at the end, flipping it over to find his initials on the back besides yours. 

“So if things had been different this would have been when I confessed.” He admits in a soft whisper into your ear,  a blush adorning his cheeks so beautifully as you laugh softly.

“It’s alright I liked the way things turned out much better anyways.” Minho admits before the guys pretend to gag and whine at all the pda they were witnessing.

“Alright enough of the mushy stuff, you have to open mine next.” Hyunjin dramatically insists shoving his gift in front of you, a pretty envelope sitting on top and beckoning you to open the card first. Your attention immediately drawn to a special little note at the bottom...

PS. Minho’s name was the only one in that hat.

“Well guess I ruined your little plan huh?” You tease, flustering along with him as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek in front of everyone.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Two

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Smut (DUBCON), Somnophilia, Injuries, Dark Themes, Language,

Word Count: 3.2K

A/n: Here you go! Pissed this out in like, an hour because I’m starting to really really like this series already lol. Hope you enjoy!

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

Part One!

~*~

You pace around the kitchen of the small house, fingers stuck in your hair, pulling it at the roots.

You've been here for four hours. Alone. The Captain gave you few words before pushing you into the house and closing the door behind himself, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and the worst-case-scenarios that your mind has been conjuring since leaving Fury's office.

There's no way for you to leave the house. That much you gathered quickly. After bruising your fingers trying to pry the door open, and wracking your brain trying to figure out a loophole for the DNA keypad, you gave up. The windows are all made of the thickest glass you've ever encountered, and nothing you’ve thrown at them made them crack in the slightest.

So you brought yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find a weapon to use to defend yourself, only to be disappointed. All the cabinets and drawers are locked. Why everything is locked and reinforced so much, you have no clue. And it only makes you more nervous.

Now you pace, back and forth and back and forth in the kitchen, trying desperately to figure out what they have planned for you and why they're doing this. They're supposed to be heroes, for god's sake. 

Protectors. And yet they lock you in a strange place, with no contact with the outside world and no chance of escape. You find yourself wondering if they're really any better than the people they fight.

The front door beeps twice then opens, freezing you mid-step.

You stare at one of the two hallways leading to the kitchen, each hallway meeting in the front foyer and leading to the front door. The fact that there are two ways to access the kitchen puts you at ease and on edge at the same time. You won't know where the intruder is coming from, but you'll have an escape if they mean to harm you.

You strain your ears, listening intently for whoever is in the house. It's futile, however, because anyone entering the house would be a highly trained spy and would know how to stay quiet and be undetected.

"Jesus Christ, they really did it," A male voice whispers from behind you. You spin around, facing the hallway behind you. You stare up at him and instantly recognize him as the Winter Soldier. 

He's wearing a casual outfit, black fitted jeans and a black hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets. His hair is long and unkempt around his head, and his eyes are a striking blue that seems to stare straight through your body and into your soul.

He remembers seeing a picture of you, one picture among thousands of others of women that fury deemed 'replaceable'. His lack of regard for human life made the metal armed soldier uneasy, and seeing you here in front of him makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"A-are you gonna hurt me?" The words fly from your lips before you can stop them, and you flinch away from him, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate a hostile move on his part.

He sighs, the sound bordering on a scoff, and shakes his head, metal fingers coming up and raking through his hair.

"No. I'm not gonna hurt you. Not on purpose." You peak your eyes open at that, curious about his intentions.

"C-Captain Rogers and Commander Fury said that I'm here to 'personally help you' and to 'take care of you'... what do they mean by that?" He looks at your frightened eyes then down to the ground.

"I uh... it..." He shakes his head and groans.

"I've been... falling back into old habits. At night... I get triggered into the soldier. And I've been trying to... hurt my female companions lately. The Captain thinks that having a woman to help satisfy my... primal desires will make me less of a hazard on the field." The words roll over in your mind and you look up at him.

"So I've been taken as some sort of sex slave?!" He winces at the way you spit the ugly words, not wanting to think about it like that.

"Well... no... I don't know! I was opposed to it, but they insisted. So... I picked you out of everyone. You've got a pretty face... and your body..." He trails off, eyes roaming up and down your figure then returning to your eyes. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods. "Out of everyone, I'm glad it was you. You're... perfect." You ignore his compliments and shake your head.

"Do you realize that I've been taken against my will here?! I've been brought here to service you in a way that I don't want to. And now I'm going to be forced to have sex with you? None of this is consensual! None of this is right!" You shake your head angrily, trying to come up with a solution.

"You said you're against it, so tell them to let me go! I didn't agree to any of this!"

"Did you or did you not willingly come meet with me?" You jump, spinning around quickly as Fury walks into the room, arms crossed over his chest. Your hands tremble, anger and fear chasing each other through your veins.

"You willingly came to the tower to meet me. You accepted the job by coming in for the meeting. You cannot by law say that that was against any of your human rights. You accepted a job then came in to learn about the requirements. That is your own fault." You shake your head, hands clenching into fists.

"I changed my mind during the meeting. I told you I didn't want to do it. I signed no contract, I made no legally binding agreement." The man in front of you grins.

"There's fine print in everything I send. The email specifically said 'by going to this meeting I am accepting the position and all it entails'. It's not my fault you didn't read it. Now I advise you to stop complaining. Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy this position, and any others he decides to put you in."

You grimace and glance over your shoulder at the soldier. His cheeks are pink and he's staring at the ground.

"Now, I came to drop off your belongings. They're being put into the bedroom as we speak. I took the liberty of throwing in a few things I thought the two of you may need. Now, Barnes, any questions?" 

You turn around and look at the brunet, eyes pleading with him to tell the other man to call this whole thing off. He stares into your eyes for a long silent moment then looks over your shoulder.

"I think this arrangement will help my performance on the field and in the office. I want to get started right away." Your heart sinks and you shake your head.

"Alright. By all means," Fury gestures towards you and you turn away from the brunet, tears prickling your eyes.

You go to push past the dark-skinned man when he grabs you by the wrist, staring at you with hard eyes.

"I can be a very patient man, but even my patience has limits. You agreed to this position, you chose your fate. Don't blame anyone else for your lack of attention to detail." You tear your arm from him and level him with a hard glare.

"Barnes, bring her upstairs. If she can't be talked into submission, maybe other methods will work better." An arm is wound around your waist and you start thrashing immediately.

"No! Let me go! Stop!" He ignores you, scooping you up in his arms with ease and taking you up the stairs.

"Let go of me! Help! Please! Someone Help!" He pushes into a huge bedroom and tosses you onto the bed, arms crossing over his chest as he stares at you.

"No one can hear you," Fury says, coming into the room shortly after. Tears streak down your face and you glare at both of them.

"Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be out ruining another innocent person's life?" He chuckles and looks over at the soldier.

"You've got a fiery one. Have fun with her." He turns and leaves the room, the beep of the lock letting you know that he's left the house.

You and James have a staredown as you sit on the bed and he stands by the wall, not moving, simply staring at you.

You finally give in, looking down at your hands, fingers trembling. "Please don't do it," you whisper, desperation dripping from your words. He sighs heavily and you feel the few shards of hope you have left glue themselves back together.

"Please. I just... please don't hurt me." When you look up he's directly in front of you, making you gasp.

"Why are you so against it?" He asks suddenly.

"I just..." You don't want to confess your fear to the man in front of you. You don't want him to know that he haunts your nightmares already.

"If you can't give me a good reason then why shouldn't I?" His voice is harder than before, stern, with an aggravated edge to it.

You take a deep breath and clench your hands into fists.

"Because you scare me," you finally whisper. "I've heard so many stories... seen so many things... and you scare me. I don't want to believe them but... this makes me wonder if they're all right about you. If you're truly the monster they say you are." The air is still and heavy with the weight of your words, and you find yourself regretting them instantly.

A metal hand is suddenly around your throat, pushing you and forcing you back on the mattress until your back hits the headboard.

You grab his wrist fruitlessly, struggling to drag in a breath as you look up at him. His eyes are dark with anger, and his chest is heaving.

"A monster? You think I'm a monster?!" He chuckles lowly without humour, shaking his head as he kneels on the bed. "I'll show you a fucking monster." He lets go of your throat and you gasp, coughing as the pressure gets released. You're definitely going to have finger-shaped bruises in the morning.

He grabs your knees and tears them apart, ignoring the scream of pain that leaves your lips as you feel a muscle in your thigh get pulled.

"Do you know how easy this is for me?" He demands, grabbing the fabric of your shirt and tearing it down the middle.

"Overpowering you is nothing to me. I could break you so fucking easily if I really wanted to. If I wanted to be a monster. I could make you cry and scream and wish for death." You sob loudly, fighting to free yourself as he presses his half-hard length against your centre through the layers of clothing separating the two of you.

"If I wanted to fuck you, I would. If I wanted to show you how much of a fucking monster I can be, I would. Because I can. And there's nothing you can do about it. You'll never be strong enough to fight back, strong enough to run. You belong to me now. Realize it. Embrace it. And don't fucking get on my bad side or you'll regret it."

He pushes off of you, kneeling between your legs and glaring down at you where you lay. You're shaking and sobbing, but he gives no indication that he cares.

"You haven't seen a monster yet, but test me again and I'll show you what a monster really looks like." You hiccup another sob, eyes staying trained on him. He glares at you for a moment longer before spitting at you. You flinch, humiliation pumping through your body as he chuckles.

"You're pathetic," he whispers, pushing himself off of the bed and leaving the room without another word.

You stay trembling and crying on the bed for what feels like hours after that, not moving for fear of aggravating your captor and your injured leg.

Meanwhile, Bucky sits in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand and regret swimming in his mind. He didn't mean to hurt you so bad, but you calling him a monster when you have no idea what he's been through? He won't tolerate that. He needed to put you in your place. To show you who you belong to. If you cooperate, you can enjoy yourself but if you misbehave, you'll be punished.

~*~

You're not sure when you fall asleep, but you're slowly roused from your slumber by a warm tongue sweeping itself over your clit.

A soft moan leaves your lips and your roll your hips gently, sleep clouding your thoughts.

The mouth disappears only to be replaced by something hot and big. Your eyelids flutter before slowly opening, and you feel confusion fill you as a big body hovers over you.

"Wh-what...?" You trail off, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as the man pushes his cock inside of you, stretching you out in the most perfectly painful way.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" He asks, voice thick and husky, the slightest twinge of a Russian accent decorating his words. Your hands find his shoulders and you blink a few times, the events of the day rushing into your brain.

"Wait... s-stop..." He doesn't. Instead, he cradles your head in his hands and presses gentle kisses to your face.

"You're okay. It feels nice. You like it. It feels good when you listen." His voice is so deep and perfect... you can't help but nod.

"This is what you're here for," he grunts, pumping into you harder. He grabs your hips and pulls out of you, only to flip you onto your stomach.

"This is why they brought you here. You're here for me to fuck. For me to have." He pushes back in and you gasp as he hits deeper than before.

"Yeah... feels so good... you were made for me, weren't you?" You find yourself nodding to his words again. He fucks into you hard and fast, his mind focused on his own release.

"Your cunt is so nice and tight and wet. So perfect for me. Waiting for me to fuck it, destroy it." You mewl in response, arching your back as he pounds into you, the slap of his hips against your ass making you even wetter for him.

You block out the shame of it all, ignore the fact that a few hours ago, this man was hurting and humiliating you.

His thrusts stutter for a moment before he picks up the pace again, this time reaching his metal fingers around to toy with your clit. "Gonna make you cum on my cock. You might not admit it, but you fuckin' love getting used like a dirty little whore. You like having your pussy fucked full of my fat cock. You fucking love it." 

Your body starts convulsing, pussy clenching hard around him as he pushes you over the edge into an orgasm. Your eyes roll back, head spinning at the intensity of it.

"Fuckin' feel that... fuck... Fuck!" He spills inside of you, warm white filling you up then spilling out over your swollen cunt.

He pulls out and collapses on the bed beside you, panting hard. Your body aches, pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing while his seed spills out of you, staining the sheets.

You lower your hips and stretch out on your stomach, catching your breath and riding the aftershocks of your climax.

He rubs your back gently and you're surprised by the intimate and kind gesture.

"You only get punished when you're bad," he whispers. You don't acknowledge him and he sighs.

"I'll probably come to you again tonight, and I'll probably be rougher. I can't control myself when he takes over. If you fight back then it'll only be worse for you. Just lie back and take it, okay?" You still say nothing, yelping when his hand comes down hard on your ass. "Okay," you finally whisper, skin burning where he hit you.

"Good. Now, I'm gonna go make dinner. I expect you down in half an hour." He climbs off the bed without another word and leaves the room.

You stay there, silent tears sliding down your face at the fact that this man just fucked you, but worse, you liked it.

~*~

Dinner is silent, you limping to the table and wincing every time you shift your weight. Your ass burns, your pussy aches, and you definitely tore something in your thigh.

But Bucky seems to be in good spirits.

You only manage to force down a few bites before you push your plate away, stomach flipping uncomfortably.

“Eat,” he says, staring at your full plate then looking up to your eyes.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, voice rough and scratchy from the way he crushed your throat earlier. He sighs heavily and tosses his fork onto the table, leaning forward to look at you.

“My goal wasn’t to hurt you. Just to show you that I’m only a monster if you want me to be. I can be nice to you. I made you cum twice while you slept.” 

That explains the deep throb in your pussy.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I think they’re right. I need you. More importantly, the soldier needs you. I think I'll be able to control him better. I know you’re not the biggest fan of this, but you’ve gotta admit that you enjoyed it.” You say nothing, but the way you shift in your seat makes him grin.

“This can be good for both of us. Just relax and accept it. I won’t hurt you again, not on purpose. And not unless you give me a reason to.” You simply nod, not wanting to be having any type of conversation with this man.

“Hate it all you want, but you can’t deny your body’s reaction to me. Just give in.” You glare at your plate, the word ‘monster’ bouncing around in your mind as he resumes eating as if he isn't holding you hostage here.

~*~

You can’t sleep. Your body aches too much and you’re far too terrified of him visiting you in the form of the Soldier.

It’s a little past two in the morning, and you’re fighting your heavy lids when the door to what he deemed as ‘your’ bedroom opens.

His eyes are dark and distant, and you know that this isn’t the same man as before.

He’s naked, cock hanging freely between his legs. An impressive nine inches of thick, hard flesh, waiting to abuse your cunt yet again.

He climbs onto the bed and pulls the blankets away from your body. You try to relax, you really do, but with the rough way he strips you of your clothes, it’s hard not to panic.

His hands come beside your head as he situates himself between your thighs, his huge frame making you feel even smaller and even more intimidated. He nudges his hard cock at your entrance and you wince as he pushes in with little preparation.

It stings. The stretch and pull off his cock dragging against your walls.

He gives you no time to get adjusted before he starts a fast and borderline brutal pace, not giving a single fuck about the way he’s abusing your pussy. You whimper, hands coming up and instinctively pushing against his shoulders to try and get him to slow down.

He mutters something in Russian, then grabs your hands and pins them above your head, squeezing your wrists together tightly in his metal hand. You yelp in pain, trying to twist into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t let up and you accept the pain, allowing it to distract you from the vicious way he’s fucking you. His other hand grabs your legs and pulls them up over his shoulders, leaning down so his body is hovering just above yours.

His hips slam into you, cock hitting your cervix painfully with each thrust.

“Ow! S-slow down, please! I-it hurts!” You beg him to have mercy, and he quickly grows tired of hearing your voice. The hand supporting his weight comes up and presses hard on your throat. With no free hands, he presses harder against your wrists to keep himself upright, the pressure on your neck growing with each savage thrust of his hips.

The edges of your vision start to get spotty and black, your mouth parted in a desperate attempt to drag in a breath of air. Your body starts going numb, and soon you can’t even feel him inside of you. Your ears start to ring and after a painfully long moment, the world goes black.

The soldier continues fucking your pliant body, even after you’ve passed out. He fucks you hard and fast until he finally finishes.

He cums hard, filling you up with his seed and leaving his mark on your abused walls. He pulls out of you with a soft grunt, then leaves you alone and unconscious in the middle of the bed, cum painting your swollen pussy white, and bruises already forming on your wrists and neck.

~