#and he's all just suave and chill and kinda sexy but also why is he not wearing one of his sleeves of his coat? is the other dangling loose? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 5 years

Text

skirt chasers

jjk x (f) reader

summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing wc 7.8k

to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think

Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering.

Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done.

You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.

Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.

“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins.

“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago.

“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull.

You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs.

You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them.

“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply.

Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?”

You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.”

Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.”

“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.”

You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins.

You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out.

“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?”

You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”

This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie.

“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.”

When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative.

You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else.

Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?”

“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms.

“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further.

He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time.

The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose.

“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look.

“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough.

(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.)

“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?”

“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?”

Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his.

“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement.

You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?”

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.”

Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame.

“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head.

“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip.

“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks.

From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too.

“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down.

“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall.

You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties.

“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting.

“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.”

“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you.

Holy shit this was awkward.

Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.)

To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?

He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy.

“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y’know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame.

Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank.

“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now.

“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.”

“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters.

“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.”

“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible.

“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.”

You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.”

“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.”

“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise.

“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.”

He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end.

You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself.

You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it.

But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases).

Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him.

He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be.

It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse.

[1:21 am] jk wyd

[1:21 am] you sleeping , u?

[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros

[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/

[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it

[1:30 am] you fuck u [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep

[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes [1:33 am] jk but if u must know

[1:33 am] you I must

There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message.

[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today

Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire.

Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert.

[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today

Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else.

[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol

You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today.

[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous

The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door.

[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)

It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!

Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.

Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed.

[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :) [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie

You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall.

You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.

“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question.

“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all.

There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead.

You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix.

“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective.

You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh.

He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign.

You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.

Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout.

You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side.

“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.”

His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest.

“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.”

Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?”

You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook.

You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.”

Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home.

The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.”

You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you.

You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap.

His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever.

He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna.

“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist.

“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons.

“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck.

“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties.

“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.”

His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt.

“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle.

“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him.

You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook.

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?”

You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear.

“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock.

“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.”

He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side.

Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion.

“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.”

You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.”

He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze.

It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it.

It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror.

“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down.

He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound.

“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?”

You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor.

The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock.

“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it.

You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity.

“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?”

“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.”

Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?”

“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”

“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”

You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window.

“Was he good?” She interrogates.

You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill.

Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“

You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?”

This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry.

“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week.

“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”

“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear.

In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit.

You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests.

He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions.

You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn.

“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He’s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch.

Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit.

“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.”

“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.”

“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.”

Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here.

Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.”

“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone.

“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion.

“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?”

He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious.

Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”

At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.”

You blink.

“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?”

“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”

The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at.

“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on.

“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be.

“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities.

Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression.

The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”

“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot.

You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?”

You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once.

“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.”

“The friendzone—“

“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands.

“Ugh, you beefcake.”

“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.”

You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.”

“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.”

“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted.

“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?”

[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]

#kpopwonderlandtag #thekpopnetwork #jjk♡#jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jeon jeongguk #mine

8K notes · View notes

nicksstoryvault · 7 years

Photo

Devotion

As Bucky engaged his approach through a sea of a rich socialites-the prissy upper class of the fashion industry, he eluded any contact with the elegantly clad raven, blond and copper-haired dames ogling his masculine dominance, he wore a sharp cut Armani tailored suit -midnight black, giving him a dangerous aura. His dark wolfish mane of chestnut was slicked back with bladed tresses fanned over the broad width of his flesh and metallic shoulders; everything about his devastatingly handsome chiseled visage carried the air of suave menace and roguish allure, the suit literally showcased the solid thickness of his sculpted torso, sleek curves of his slender hips and curved edges of his biceps. He was armed for the kill, slicing through the crowd in methodical and evading stride,

He was armed for the kill, slicing through the crowd in methodical and evading stride as his powerhouse body flowed gracefully with the dissonance of the music, just like when he trained in the Red Room, obeying the sharp tempo of the piano and twirling orphan ballerinas effortlessly on stage. He knew how to glide with each rhythm, and wield precision with his footing-tonight he felt the unquenchable urge to dance with his best girl-the love of his life; Selina Kyle, an untouchable and graceful beauty who mastered the elements of darkness, and left him breathless each time he stared into her ardent coffee irises.

Sometimes, he wondered if she was a spellbinding and ethereal goddess in mortal flesh-he still couldn’t fathom why she loved him, a damaged-butchered soul who had been unmade into a stone cold instrument of death. He deserved nothing for the sins that shadowed his reflection, but Selina gave him a chance to embrace the light freedom; to become a new man and he loved her for that. Stuffing his gloved hands into the pockets of his trousers, he bit on the swell of his bottom lip, feeling out of depth and lost in a haze of confusion.“Okay, Barnes, you gotta show her the ropes tonight, no backing down…”

Grumbling under his breath, Bucky halted in his wavering steps in the center, the intensity of his frosted steel-blue eyes scanned determinedly over the lavish dresses and cloth tables displaying polished trays of diced exotic fruit and various desserts that had the Paris flare, the scents of fudge and strawberry became intoxicating as he seized a rounded cocoa ball of sprinkled coconut and quickly stuffed it into his mouth, to ease the inrush of anxiety mounting through his heated veins. The flavor was sweet and infused with chocolate; fueling the ravenous influx of questing hunger. His left gloved hand grabbed another dessert off a tray, not realizing that the strawberry pastry resembled a shape of a pig. He took a sampling bite, tasting an explosion of rich jelly and sugar. His senses were blitzed with the infusion of flavor. “Hey, this stuff is pretty damn good…”

“You should try the chocolate toads, I hear they are simply to die for.” Bucky’s moment of intoxicating indulgence was disturbed by the slithering chill of a familiar German accent creeping up on him. The former Winter Soldier froze up, mid-bite on his second serving of strawberry cheesecake. A coldness enveloped him brought about by a gust of memories, which in turn were triggered by a conniving voice that was both sickly soft and sagacious. A cold metal table, a darkened room, merciless needles, blinding lights, and withering face of a middle-aged scientist with cold eyes behind thick glasses. “Of course, I would say the same of all the delicacies here that appeal to my sweet-tooth.”

It couldn’t be….

A dark look crosses Bucky’s once relaxed features. He sets his plate down and turns, metallic hand balled into a fist at his side, only to come to a puzzling halt as he takes in the man in front of him. Garbed in a plain black tuxedo, the short and stocky man before him was the striking visage of a demon of his tormented past. “Zola…” Bucky nearly hisses out, though his brow was pinched with disbelief. “You’re dead. You can’t be here.” The man in front of him appeared genuinely confused by Bucky’s somewhat hostile approach along with the name he addressed him by.

“Zola? I beg your pardon, but my name is Ziegler. Professor Albert Ziegler of Anthropology. Good to make your acquaintance, Herr…” The man in front of him wore no glasses, spoke with the same accent and professionalism as the man that made Bucky’s life a living hell for over a decade, but something about him was entirely off. His demeanor and approach was savvy but also benign as you’d expect from a complete stranger. And yet, Bucky couldn’t quash the feeling of unease he felt in this man’s presence.

“Is this some kinda of a sick game?” Bucky clenches his teeth from behind his lips. The lingering taste of strawberry and chocolate on his tongue was somewhat distracting, making him feel as if he were being carried away on a train while he struggled to remain focused on the man in front of him. “I don’t know how you’re here, or what the hell you want. But stay away from me, or I’ll use this to rip your throat out,” Bucky makes a show of flexing his metallic digits before the befuddled and now somewhat stricken guest who went by the name Dr. Ziegler.

Feeling the ominous presence of a dark storm waging through the ballroom; Selina wasted not a second to glide between the crowd, as her dark coffee irises settled intently at dessert tables where Bucky stood clenching in his metallic fist at his side. Behind webbed dark tresses hanging over his razor-edged cheeks, his steel-blue eyes gleamed fiercely in restrained contempt, evident to the hardened clench of his stubbled jaw; he looked like a caged wolf, snarling to deliver a lethal strike at his unknown tormentor. She didn’t need the Winter Soldier to become unleashed, not when the stink of HYDRA slithered in the shadows.

“Bucky, cool it down,” Selina beckoned him, her sultry tone edged with a hostile flare as her dark eyes glared intently at the elderly professor standing behind the dessert table, with a smug look tampering his wrinkled features. Right there, she felt the murderous command of instinct to pull out her Glock that was strapped along the curve of her low back, concealed by the rich black velvet of her dress molding over the lithesome and curvaceous lines of her svelte body - low cut to reveal the exquisite swell of her pale breasts and the graceful length of her bare neck.

Her evening attire for the gala was practical and lethally effective to engage the dance floor while radiating an elegant illusion of a modern aged Roman empress; Selina was a sleek feline unbound, dominating the flickers of shadow as her cool alabaster skin glowed against the softness of candlelight. Her silken long mahogany locks cascaded effortlessly off her back, as she engaged the stout framed stranger who had fallen into the crosshairs of the Winter Soldier.

She needed to obstruct the impulses of his savagery, distract Bucky from making a scene when his baleful temperament became a harmful force to contend against. With a brazen move, she seized his hand firmly, entwining her lithe fingers with his cool chrome digits under the motorcycle glow. “C'mon handsome, let’s show these rich stiffs how a kid from Brooklyn dances…” she implored in a whisper, hotly.

Though he was still severely distracted by the appearance of the man who bore a striking resemblance to the one who turned him into a killing machine, Bucky allowed himself to be swept away by Selina’s guiding hand. His steel-blue eyes glared threateningly at the supposed professor who matched his glower with a tight-smile that bore no signs of fear. Zola or not, Bucky knew something was off. Releasing a shaky sigh, Bucky registers Selina’s tempting offer and feels his anxiety begin to melt away into something more lax. Truly, he needed to let loose tonight and enjoy himself. Dancing with the most beautiful woman in the world seemed like the best way of doing that.

“Let’s give em a show, Miss Kyle.” He quips with a playful gleam in his eyes with a smile to match. His wolfish gaze moves over Selina, drinking in her elegant and sexy visage as she guides him towards the dance floor. The orchestra began to play a more upbeat, fast-paced waltz. Elegant and invigorating. Electricity sizzled between Bucky and Selina’s eyes, their fingers joining as each of them drifted into a familiar cadence that they practiced with each other for many years. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Careful handsome, I might enjoy this dance,” Selina purred with effortless snark, as he guided with fluid grace towards the center of the crowded floor, his cybertronic arm deftly braced over the fine curve of her lower back, metallic coolness penetrated through her skin, with painstaking voltaic pulses that recharged a fever in her veins. Lightning flashed against the interlude of a storm. The intensity was mounting, as gravity between them was defying limits of how long they could restrain the untamed influx of hunger.

Following the sharp tunefulness of harmony and a thump of percussion, Selina’s dainty hand strayed up to the width of his broad shoulder, curving just below his thick nape, and her fingers swept under his wolfish mane, until she adjoined with him in a perfect stance. The swell of her ample breasts pressed softly against the hard planes of muscle compacted over his sculpted torso; she inhaled the intoxicating, masculine scent of frosted mint, vanilla, and sandalwood wafted off him; blitzing her aroused senses to engage. “Just focus on me, James…” she implored gently, swaying her sleek–lithesome body against the subtle flows of equal balance, urging him to lead her.

Bucky said nothing, the need for words suddenly feeling trivial in the ambiance that was created by the inspiring music that surrounded them, and the flow of their graceful movements. Selina’s soothing words had somehow managed to smooth the coils of anxiety he felt. Thoughts of the stocky German professor had begun to evaporate as he was suddenly immersed in the flow of their waltz. The corner of his lips curved into something resembling a dangerous smirk, and he eagerly followed her instruction and took control of their dance.

Though his spirit was not as lively as the young man from Brooklyn in the 1930s, his body hadn’t forgotten the memories that were sewn into his muscles. Selina’s hands were held securely in his own, not too hard or too soft, but their joined contact was enough that she felt like an extension of himself, his other half. He guides her in close, left foot back, right foot forward, their sway and turns of their bodies were smooth as silk and enchanting as poetry in motion. Feeling bold, he twirls her suddenly, watching with wolfish delight as she expertly twirls on the tip of her toes like a ballerina, before guiding her back into his arms. “I love it when you do that,” he nearly murmurs hotly against her ear.

Feeling the cool minty caress of his enticing breath ghost along the curve of her jaw, as she effortlessly relaunched her grace against the solid expanse of his torso, Selina fell into a euphoric harmony. The rhythmic heat of their adjoined bodies thrilled her senses; numbing her bones when the metallic touch of his robotic-chrome hand traced an electrifying pulse deftly against the bare milky-white softness of her skin, purring silently for an infinite release of her caged soul, she tilted her head back with a slow arch of her back as tousled cascades of mahogany languidly flowed off his shoulder; purposely displaying the elegant lines of her pale neck to his tamed masculine hunger.

Selina almost looked forbiddenly wicked in the intermixed contrasts of shadow and halos of light, betraying her cool poise to challenge his melting restraint. She detected the war raging within him, the blaze of fueling determination to undo control and ravage soul- needing passion through her captured body. Smirking coyly, she curved her neck, cushioning her lips with liquefied heat dangerously over the stubble bristle of his throat. “You know we can take this floor, easy, really knock their rich asses off…Just like in Russia, soldier boy.”

Bucky was distinctly aware that around them, several of the dancing couples had cleared the floor and formed a circle with the rest of the guests as they watch he and Selina with awe. “You read my mind, darlin’,” Bucky’s smile grew wide, making him appear younger and more vivacious in the thrum of their waltz. There as a dangerous level of excitement in the air that came with the prospect of being the center of everyone attention with the most beautiful woman in attendance. So he pulled Selina closer until she twirls balletically into the opened embrace his arms with her back pressed against his chest. “Think you can keep up?” He dares with a touch of mischievousness, knowing how much Selina loved a challenge.

“Do I detect a dare, James Barnes,” Selina coyly purred, her tone held a smoky edge, as the fullness of her lavish crimson lips curved beautifully into a jovial smirk, her coffee irises flashed with a blaze of heat, beckoning the untamed beast inside him to devour her in second she temptingly arced the swell of her breasts over the thickness of his broad chest, muscles flexed at the ignited breach of their natural contact. Following accord to the sensual rhythm of their bodies, her lithe fingers traced possessively over his concealed metallic plates of his left arm as his hand deftly gripped the smooth black velvet of her dress; catching a glimpse of him boyishly gnawing on his bottom lip. She wrinkled her nose, just watching him master perfectly in parallel cadence with her poised steps of graceful sync. They fluidly balanced visceral power and elegance with every twirl, becoming sharp as cool blades, cutting through vestiges shadow, as their adjoined bodies mirrored each sway–heated and tangible pulse of precision and rhymic flow that made them appear invincible on the ballroom floor.

“Only an invitation,” he returned breathlessly, guiding Selina towards him after a vibrant twirl across the dance floor. Their movements were as fluid as flowing water with the force of stallions. The guests watched cooed and awed as the waltz neared its end. Bucky catches Selina into his arms, his hands cradling her exposed flesh firmly as he uses her momentum to dip her back. Her hair spills back like a cascading waterfall of mahogany, shimmering in the chandelier lights above. Their gazes snapped to each other’s with the intensity of an electricity not nearly as potent as the intoxicating allure. “You haven’t missed a step, Miss Kyle. Do I have your number?” he coaxed, the warmth of his breath hovering above her slightly parted lips, waiting for his invitation to be accepted.

Staring into the devious, heated shimmer of his leveled steel-blue eyes, Selina felt her dominance ousting as he captured her within that lightning storm of intensity, the feverish clamor of blood reached uncontainable levels, the minty coolness of his breath graced her skin with languid gusts, as she felt the intimate proximity of his soft lips edging with temperate desire; a hushed thrill possessed her veins, she tilted her neck back, exposing the lines and curves of her throat, coaxing him with a low, throated purr, as her crimson lips opened freely for him to steal a kiss. “Don’t be shy,” she beguiled smoothly, with a hint of darkness chasing her sultry tone. “I heard you really cut into’s girl’s heart, soldier boy…”

Not needing any further incentive, Bucky closed the gap between them and planted his lips against hers in a warm heady exchange. The taste of both mint and strawberries on his lips brought sent a jolt of electricity through Bucky's skin, while the intoxicating scent of lavender made him feel as if he were soaring high. Their lips remain closed against each other, the noise of the approving crowd was deafened by the thumping of their pulses in their ears. Their lips continued to move slow, gentle yet still possessing great fervor in their affection and desire for one another. Instinctively, Bucky's cool hand of metal reaches up and gets lost in the sea of mahogany curls while his other hand holds her up against him. The action felt so natural to him, he couldn't help but release a soft sigh of contentment as her soft cool digits touch his cheek and their lips slowly begin to part. "How was that for a closer?" He whispers breathlessly, opening his clouded blue eyes to gaze down into hers with sparkling intensity.

"A pretty good damn one, Barnes, but we’re not finished dancing yet..." Selina purred hotly against the heaviness of his set jaw, feeling his Roman nose arrowing into the softness of her flushed cheek as the impactful heat of their moist lips opened mindlessly to the blissful unity of their souls igniting. They were masterful and lethal combatants of shadow; knowing how to effectively adapt to the elements surrounding them, but the depth of romance was just like hand-to-hand melee, competing forces of carnal heat and coolness mixed into a combustive--unrestrained ecstasy. This was a just showcase of kitty play, a facade of a glimpse to what they held back within their free domain. The Winter Soldier and the Cat were two immortal entities of tragic pasts; that would never be reckoned with, and each moment they shared without the masks and guns, it was rapturous to delve further into--but tonight Selina knew that causal restraint had to become required, even though she wanted to really exhibit what true passion was to the rich suck-ups.

Releasing a vexatious sigh, Selina glided her palms gently over his broad neck, fingers possessively caressing his lengthy bladed dark tresses as she felt the bristled prick of his stubble rasping against her skin at the inducing moment his wide, smooth lips rolled fluidly against hers with an ardent pace, arching into a quirky smirk for once he captured her lips fully into sweet, fervent surrender. Their bodies solidified into paralyzed stance of rhythm and dominance; falling into perfect balance as their deepened to a euphoric surge of unhurried passion. Little did they know that malignant phantom in the crowd would obstruct their love, pull them into the cruel gravity of an unspeakable nightmare that would soon consume their hearts.

The sudden end to the music being played by the orchestra, followed by the thunderous applause of the audience watching them was a sharp reminder for Bucky and Selina of the world surrounding them. Leisurely, he brings Selina up and she gracefully finds her footing in front of him. Their gazes remained locked as they stood with flushed cheeks and an unspoken appreciation for what turned out to be one helluva dance that turned every head in their direction. Bucky was never one for attention, even in his youth when he rivaled almost every good-looking boy at school. He was about as timid as Steve was in that regard, but Selina, she seemed to be used to drawing a crowd, and just as used to shrug them off with a slight shake of her head, with a bemused smile to match. "Guess we drew quite the crowd." He whispers with a jaunty snort doing his utmost to focus on Selina, and not the cold- chilling reminder of a stocky German scientist that resembled his most despised enemy. Just as suddenly, he felt as if the jovial spirit that came from the dance had taken a sullen turn. "Gotta say, this party is starting to get a little too crowded for my taste. Feel like takin' a break, darlin'?" He asks, Selina hopefully.

"Don't tell me that old man is getting tired," Selina snarked back coolly, meeting the stark intensity glinting in his steel-blue irises, hooded underneath tresses; without missing a beat, she wiped her thumb with a dainty glide over the red smudge dabbed at the curvy edge of his kiss-swollen lips. Her dark eyes glimmered with devious flare, holding him into tangible submission, while he questioningly luminous glacial blue, unwavering daggers back at the elderly stranger looming near the dessert tables.

"I wonder how we can change that, handsome?" she coaxed with a naked dare, rubbing her stiletto heeled foot purposely against the rigid curves of his muscled calf, watching his eyebrows furrow into a taut pinch, evident to agitated pulse she undoubtedly identified thrumming in his unshakeable core. Maybe leaving the ballroom affair was a good idea after all. "Okay, we'll continue our dance elsewhere...Let's say your apartment's roof?"

"Sounds like my kind of fun," Bucky says, as enthusiastic as he could manage despite the anxiety he felt at being in proximity to a face he found so dreadfully familiar. Seeing Zola's face and hearing that sickening soft voice of his brought back a maelstrom of dark memories, some of which he hadn't even remembered till just now. He'd had enough of this party and right now he wanted to put himself as far away from this place as possible. Years of fieldwork had ingrained into him a sense of foreboding that came upon a familiar sight, and right now, he felt as if there was something horrific on the horizon. "C'mon. Let's get going," he says eagerly, threading his fingers into Selina's, then begins to guide her away from the dance floor and towards the southern doors of the ballroom. He was grateful Selina fell into step beside him and didn't object to his somewhat desperate retreat. The crowd surrounding them begins to disperse to allow them through. But the retreating couple's progress is halted suddenly by the intruding figure of Professor Ziegler, heading them off with surprising speed, applauding them with loud claps though his expression bore no hint of warm approval. "Fine show, you both put on," Ziegler says with a dark voice that sounded nothing like the German-accented snake he was impersonating. "Mr. Barnes. Ms. Kyle." He says, a dark sneer on his lips. "There was a time I would've sought instruction as to entertain my own wife. Alas, the time for that passed long ago."

“Well, it’s been fun, Mr. Ziegler, but we’re leaving...” Selina deflected with a collective semblance of restraint, her full lips curved into a practiced smile while tracing her deft fingers tenderly over Bucky’s chrome knuckles at the second she felt his robotic hand morph into a clenching fist. She could see right through the old man’s untrusting exterior, a devoid of humanity reflected back, flares of vengeance seared like red bolts of lightning piercing through a stormy abyss. She felt an ominous chill frosting over her heart; his whole proximity reeked of deception, almost like an illusionist displaying a fictitious reflection. She brushed her lips faintly over Bucky’s stubbled jaw, whispering out an imploring and cool tone, breathily. “Let’s go, handsome.”

"Leaving so soon?" Ziegler feigns disappoint as Bucky and Selina proceed to walk around him, unwilling to indulge a conversation with him any further. Dark eyes watch with the sharpness of steel, and the intensity of a storm seeking to wreak havoc. Tension riled through as the couple moved away with expediency as though they were a pair of fleeing misfits trying to make haste before being discovered for a mischievous act. There was an air of foreboding as the ballroom distant to the suffocating fog of anticipation. Ziegler discards his smile which turns to a sneer directly at Bucky's back. "I must insist that you stay for awhile longer." He whispers ominously. With a clench of his raised fingers, Ziegler acts as puppet-master manipulating invisible strings. Bucky freezes, mid-step just as he and Selina neared the exit to the ballroom. A startled gasp flutters past his lips, his blue eyes are wide with confusion. "W-W-What, I can't move…" Bucky stutters, panic engulfing him as if his throat were being ensnared by an invisible noose that was tightening with every second, while at the same time, his limbs were still like glue.

By the conscious of feline instinct gripping through her veins, aware of the intrusive presence of unveiled evil, Selina arched her back tensely, her jeweled coffee irises keenly engaged the old professor's viperous stare; upon watching glints of reawakened pleasure merging into feverish vehemence of morbid indulgence. He somehow had immobilized her Bucky. Her thoughts steered with rapid pace, as she collectively shifted her gaze back at the dessert table. Her lips curved into a controlled grimace, stepping in front of her subdued lover, shielding him with a protective stance. "What the hell did you to do him?" she hissed fiercely.

Undaunted by Selina's show of defiance, Ziegler ignores her completely as he maintains his invisible grip on Bucky. A cold smirk forms across his lips, cruel and sadistic in the underlying intent. With a flick of his fist, he turns Bucky around as if he were a statue on a turntable. The sight was harrowing as well as confusing to a few of the guests as they catch wind of the small commotion. "Why, Mr. Barnes, you look hungry after that exhausting dance. Do indulge yourself further at the dessert table," Ziegler pulls Bucky, who struggles, away from Selina's side. The former assassin couldn't say anything, feeling as if his voice had been strangled until it vanished in a knot of discomfort. His legs were like a moving tram he couldn't step off or gain control of. He wanted to scream out his anger, to flail his fists at the stocky man across from him who smiled at him with dark amusement. "Z-Z-Zol…a…" He sneered, his gaze loathing as he passes him by. He bumps shoulders with guests in front of him who scold him.

Even though his will was upheld into a debased enchantment, Selina ardently transfixed her dark eyes towards the commanded destination; watching Bucky's defiant efforts struggling to fight with every vestige of resistance he stowed; his steps weren't methodical and exacting with lethal precision, he was being weighted with a sluggish pace. His steel-blue depths clouded with gluttonous fog, as his metallic hand strained involuntarily as clenching fingers plowed through a layer of whip cream and fudge, he bent his head down, grunting out seethes of frothing breath, but when the professor whispered latin, he fell into automatic stupor, lifting a handful of gooey chocolate and parted his shapely masculine lips, as the magic infecting his will held his mouth agape. He began to fall into a piggish nature, creating a messy that was utterly repellent for Selina to watch. "No..." She ghosted out a tenuous breath, feeling her steeled resolve fracturing. "Bucky..."

Selina's voice had become as distant to Bucky as a passing train. His thoughts were obscured by the intoxicating aroma wafting off the numerous delicacies that were in front of him, tempting him as though he were a man starving in the desert. He paid no thought or worry as he stuffs his mouth with large handfuls of cake and pudding. A myriad of tastes explode across his senses from chocolate to strawberry. But the aftertaste they left was as acrid as rotten eggs. It was delicious as it was vile. He possesses no control as he unconsciously begins to spit up his food, staining his mouth and the clothes he wears as it spills. "Hungry…" he pants through a large mouthful, before stuffing more cake into his mouth, the frosting now coating locks of his hair. "Quite the charming specimen we have here, don't we? Is it a man, or a rabid animal?!" Ziegler boasts to the crowd in a mocking tone to rile their reactions. The crowd was in a divided state of both amusement and disquiet as they watch the scene unfold. Those who were too embarrassed to watch, hide their faces in a distraction while those with less shame guffawed and made cruel jokes at the display of gluttony. Bucky could barely hear them beneath his loud chewing, but as the need for breath becomes too much, he stops his chewing and feels a pinch of pressure in his stomach. A groan comes through his lips as the pressure moves upward until it escapes in a loud belch that ignites a chorus of disgusted groans from the crowd. "There I believe is our answer!" Ziegler laughs, picking up a pastry muffin from the table and proceeds to stick it into Bucky's opened mouth. "Eat up, Mr. Barnes. Show them what a real pig looks like."

No sooner than a second a later, a cold press of carbine steel dug noxiously into the wrinkling flesh of his frail neck, Selina was standing behind him, the graceful exterior of the elegant dove morphed into a uncaged, cunning feline, readying to slash her claws into the heart of the soulless monster who toyed with her lover. Fuming in rage, her lithe finger poised on the trigger of her loaded Glock that she removed from her heeled leather boot. The sloppy noises emanating from Bucky's stuffed throat overrode her emotions, as she struggled to content with restraint. Her lethal flare of murderous intent had compulsively ignited, and she wanted to see the professor's blood spray over the untouched cake he balanced on his age--spotted. "Leave him alone or I'll make you choke on that damn muffin," she warningly seethed, thrusting the gun's nozzle harder into his nape. "Your damn trick is over..."

The crowd begins to disperse in alarm at the sudden reveal of a concealed firearm brandished in their midst. The alarming spectacle had begun to escalate into something much more deadly and dire. Distressing yells and shouts blare throughout the ballroom, yet Ziegler adopts a smug and unintimidated posture, despite the barrel of a gun held against his neck. It was the look of a man who was much more beneath the surface of what he allowed to be seen. Unpredictable and deadly, he was as a serpent amused by the approach of an ant threatening him. Staring into Selina's eyes, he coolly responds, "Ms. Kyle, my fun has only just begun!" With a speed and strength betraying his form, Ziegler catches Selina's wrist and twists it with merciless intent until she releases a strangled cry and drops her weapon. "And you will not spoil it," his tone becomes darker, deeper with an ominous intent that sent a chill through the bodies of those who lingered to watch. Bucky continues to stuff himself, ignorant of the scene surrounding him and unable to stop himself from indulging. The professor leans slant-ways against the table beside him, narrowed eyes contemptuous as they watch. "You are truly a disgusting pig, James Barnes. However, I would not expect otherwise from one descended from your line." His cryptic words were like polished steel, no longer bearing a German accent, but something akin much older and vengeful. "Men hide their darkest sins beneath a false exterior of charm and duty. But the sins of the past do not go unforgotten to those that suffered their cruelty." With a gesture of his hand, Ziegler casts an aura of green energy over the desserts, even the one Bucky holds in his hand—defiling them with a curse of dark magic.

Controlling hitches of sob that ripped out of her throat, Selina reeled back, her fingers clutched over the bruised skin of her disjointed wrist. The pressure of throbbing bone created a nauseous wake, as she stumbled, losing her feline grace and collided onto the floor, her body cemented a kneeling position. She glared up at the mage, her coffee irises heated with subdued rage, before her focus steered back to Bucky. “James...” she mewled out a kittenish whisper, compelling herself to stare at the noxious green energy pulsating off the dessert tray, that was the moment, she realized the professor’s sickened game....He was thirsting to quench out his vengeance on Bucky. He was unquestionably a ghost from the past. Her dark eyes widened, and her heartbeat amped to a crescendo of pained desperation. “Stop eating, handsome...”

"He won't stop. Not until the ugliness within is brought out into the open," Ziegler gestures to the chilling sight of Bucky's listless hunger. His eyes were captivated on something unseen while chewing with a vacant look, unaware of the messy staining his face and clothes, just as well as Selina's desperate attempt to reach out to him. With each bite he swallows, there was a groaning shift in the outfit he wore. The baggy wrinkles faded as the garment of his coat became increasingly tight as if they had grown too small for him to wear. Ziegler, in his cold amusement, smiles toothily at the display. "Besides, I don't believe he wants to stop. Do you, my boy?" As if he were a collared animal, Bucky answers the call of his master with a tired shrug. "So hungry…" his tone is stuffed as well as weak, as if there was a true part of him inside crying out for help. His chewing slows to that of an exhausted heave, his face begins to turn a sickly shade of blue as if he were deprived of precious air. Ziegler watches, eye gleaming with anticipation as Bucky stumbles backwards until he slips and falls onto his back with a harsh noise. Once he collides, gas escapes him loudly into the room. The noise was like an alarm blaring through a graveyard, sparking numerous reactions from laughter to disgust among the guests in attendance. "Quite the repugnant creature you are," Ziegler mocks with a sarcastic chuckle. "S-S-Selina…" Bucky burps, spitting up a disgusting bile of cake and saliva from his mouth as he lays helplessly in front of her.

Listening to a resonance of unrestrained belching that erupted out of him, Selina remained unshakeable, despite the potent stench of rotten egg disgustingly seeping out of him.

She didn't care about the revolting tidal wave of the smell; instead of engaging the wicked mage with a high crescent kick, Selina lowered down to Bucky's level, wincing as her injured wrist flared, she rested naturally on her side, motionlessly impassive facing him with vivid tears welling in her coffee depths. Against the fringes of chaos invading their world, her hand tentatively reached for him, as she delicately wiped off the remnants of chocolate pudding and bile off the plump swell of his lip with a tender caress of her thumb. She could feel his heat, thermal and ever constant as he panted heavily, his glacial steel-blue eyes mirroring with unshed tears, he was on the verge of crying--they both were.

"I don't know what this bastard planning to do with you, Buck..." She halted in a terse breath, swallowing down another choked sob, she wouldn't submit to the approach of infinite heartache as a vengeful blade tried to pierce her. "...but you can be damn sure that I won't let him take you from me."

Her words were like a cool rag soothing a scolding fever. Bucky unconsciously leaned into her touch, but found himself capable of little else as his body was assaulted by stretching aches and gassy hiccups. His clouded stare focused up at her, taking in each flawless detail to her teary expression, from the smoothness of her alabaster skin, to the deep red of her strawberry lips, and finally the swirl of affection in her coffee brown orbs. He wanted to reach up and touch her, but his body felt as if he were being weighed down by a ton of bricks. He couldn't fathom what had happened as suddenly as it had begun, but it was as though his very being was being remolded as if he were made of clay. "R-R-Run…" he tells her with a strangled voice, which garbled into a strangled pull. "It would appear vestiges remain. Good, I had hoped to finally discard this pathetic visage and meet my foe, face-to-face," Ziegler says while stepping away from the table. With methodical steps, the stocky professor stands in front of the downed couple with an imperious stance that gleamed of power and authority. The crowd, as well as Selina and Bucky, watch with anticipation as the image of Arnim Zola fades in a glow of green magic until he's replaced by that of an older man with cleanly cut white hair and beard. He appeared elderly, but his eyes and stance presented a strength that was powerful beyond his years. "Ah…much better."

Selina inwardly winced at the encroaching haughtily cadence of senescent formality, the wage of her mounting emotions began to evinced a heated, turbulent duel of lethal reserve that suffused her resolve. Her pert nose crinkled against the rancid ---yecch odor enveloping over Bucky's conquered body; it was a dominant aggregate of acidic bile, cake batter, and unctuous pig; erasing the intoxicating sandalwood and minty scent of his cologne. He smelt utterly horrid, and the repeated belching never ceased. His tongue arced disgustingly over his upper lip, gathering another a taste of pudding. Turning her neck, Selina glared vehemently at the conceited professor standing in front of them, feasting on Bucky’s misery, his merciless intent unchanged. Expelling a seethe of urgency, she demanded the vile purpose why he had targeted Bucky, she wouldn't tolerate this aging chameleon's deviating jest of devolving her lover. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done to him?" she gritted, furiously, her dark eyes radiating fire.

"Who am I? Young woman, I am the resurgence of a once mighty society that was both legend and myth; power and fruition in this world," the old mage says bitterly, despite his prideful words. He bore the look and posture of a man forced to conceal himself for a vast amount of time while the world around him moved on, oblivious and indifferent to the atrocities of the past. He bore the dialect of an old scholar, yet spoke with the condemning tone of a radical corrupted by immense power. His hardened eyes focused in on the sight of Bucky and Selina on the floor in front of him, measuring them with sagacious intent. "Until deluded minds saw fit to hunt my kind and exterminate them from this world." He points a finger in Bucky's direction, bearing the authority of an accuser finally allowed to seek justice after so long concealed in shadows. "Your bloodline, James Buchanan Barnes, a descendant of King Sebastian William Barnes I. You are to blame for why my kind are all but extinct from this world. The hour of your reckoning has finally come, and it is I, Dagon of Mercia, who will carry out your punishment!" Drawing a knife from his pocket, the old mage marches towards Bucky and draws blood from his hand.

“Damn you,” Selina hissed ferally, quickly ripping off a piece the hem of her dress, wrapping it over the bloodied slice gouged into Bucky’s right palm, before she exchanged a heated glare at the snow-white haired mage who gazed menacingly down at Bucky, murmuring a disguised incantation of delivering virulent energy to infuse within his veins, warmth began to recede was coldness penetrated through her disjointed wrist, subduing her to remain grounded at Bucky's side, as vapors of rank odor of a gluttonous pig assulted her nostrils.

She felt inept of protecting him, the intrusive phantom standing in front of them, wouldn't offer mercy as he quested for vengeance. All she heard against the crescendo of her raging pulse was 'burgeon his flesh...' Her dark eyes grew livid as a burst of green tendrils, blindingly piercing into Bucky's chest, producing a throated outcry of unshackled agony as his blood-smeared fingers viciously clawed at the floor. "Bucky..."

Bucky could barely feel the blade that sliced across his swelling hand, but the feeling of warm crimson dripping down his wrist was too intense and chilling for him to shake off. He also felt extremely hot for some reason. Dagon's words echoed through his thoughts, filling him with confusion that made him think that this had to be a colossal mistake. But somehow, deep within his being, he knew that there was something off about his attacker, something familiar, and now there was only an unshakable sensation of dread clawing through him. He hisses as he attempts to acknowledge Selina, to reach out to her. But the once his eyes catch a glimpse of the startling image of patches of fur sprouting across his flesh, he begins to enter panic-mode. A yell, that sounded anything but human, erupted from his mouth. The noise was as devastating as a wild animal being taken out to pasture, and the guests in attendance shuddered and backed away, some even trying to leave but the doors were sealed shut by an unseen force. "The next person that attempt to leave will suffer his fate!" Dagon yells to the crowd, immediately pacifying them into a fearful submission. "What you see now is a deliverance of justice, and you are the witnesses!" He raves while drawing a glass vial from his pocket. He holds the tip of the blood-stained blade over it, and samples Bucky's blood into it. "I have waited far too long for this, and you, James Barnes, will know the suffering and humiliation that your ancestors deserved."

Shut the hell up!” Selina growled out of an erupted of provoked hostility, her voice carrying the fierceness of an untamed panther teeming to strike; she wouldn’t grant Dagon any regard of surrender.

Feeling momentarily paralyzed by a trigger of hyperadrenalized blood, she gazed dismally at the bloodied slit created by the mage's blade, vanishing under the bubbling expanses of fat on his shrinking palm, rigid knuckles disjointed and his clenching fingers merged into a swelling mass against the convergence of the sickening enchantment.

The redolence of pig was potently disturbing, as he stared up at her, his eyes glistening and pupils dilated as rims of black devoured the hawkish radiance of his steel-blue irises, and the shapely plumpness of his masculine lips deformed into a puckering and widened swell of moist flesh...The Siberian--Brooklyn warrior she loved was torturously evolving into a fattening creature by the seconds she had dared to fathom the unthinkable, disgusting sight of hard planes of enhanced muscle expanding into loose globs of flab. His smooth and ridged abdominal muscles ballooned up increasingly, as his shortening legs parted against the mounting heaviness, releasing a foul stench of noxious sulfur.

“Bucky,” she yelled out breathlessly, clamping her hand over her trembling lips, trying desperately not to inhale. His stoic, flushed demeanor sulked into an abashed grimace, avoiding her widened--horrified stare as a coating of pinkish bristles swathed relentlessly over his chubby features.

"What's matter Ms. Kyle, don't you want to kiss your beloved piggy..." Dagon's sinister voice raised wickedly as she blankly watched the sharpened edge of Bucky's dimpled chin sag into a layer of pudge. That was an extreme blow against her heart, quaking through her with ramming force. The sorcerous barrage of the mage’s wielded energy was morphing Bucky into a pig.

Relying on the command of feline reflexes, Selina hastily reached her discarded Glock, her coffee orbs settled deeply on Bucky, mirroring the unspoken devotion–eternal love that a unveiled bride would to her beloved groom, she stared into his glacial aquamarine depths, that always held striking intensity and coolness of a frosted blade, but now, all that stared back at her was a devoid of hell-bent defiance, just blurring tears of benumbed despair. Her hand lovingly cupped over his thick, furry jaw, as the heated, gracing touch became suddenly alarmed by prickles of coarse pinkish fur as he began to rapidly convulse against every torturous influx of white-hot agony arrowing through him.

She curved her red lips into a watery smile, offering him a sense of blazing hope, despite riding through a hellish nightmare. In those fleeting seconds of that relished and aching contact, she defied the curse, bringing tangible proximity back, as her lips openly seized his swollen mouth with imploring, liquid heat, feeling heavy gusts of his laborious grunts envelope her skin, as closeness was met against the voltaic rhythm of their heartbeats. Everything began to blur, as they fell into eternity, silencing a dying wish, and praying their love would vanquish the darkness of the possessive spell.

Emitting a throaty oink, and a vehement measure of steeped effort, Bucky softly rolled the arch of his shaky lips, painstakingly angling the swollen flesh over her mouth, fluidly tasting the exquisite infusion of passionate, feverish ecstasy as his Roman nose molded into a bulged mass reshaping into a piggish snout, and his lower teeth grew in harrowing length, resembling small tusks. The wetness of released tears dampened their cheeks, tousled, entangled tresses draped and their eyes closed in beautiful sync as they shared a deep and sensuous kiss one last time.

When she pulled away by the wrench of the mage's power, and she gazed into the distressed stillness of his soulful blue eyes, as green mist smoked over him, obstructing the visage of his chiseled and suave youthful beauty--he was fading in the thralls of Dagon's calamitous enchantment. "Just keep on looking at me, handsome..." she urged gently, lifting his cybertronic hand resting the coolness of metallic firmly on her cheek, holding onto him with every pulse of strength her soul could generate.

He tried to speak, but the only noise that came from his changing lips was a disgruntled squeal that sent a flare of dread throughout his body. He hoped that this was a nightmare he'd soon wake up from, that any minute now he'd wake to the smell of lavender and strawberries on his shoulder inside of his bedroom. But the pain and shifting in his body was too real to ignore, he felt as if he were being drawn and quartered but also imploding within. His very muscles were like ice being melted down to non-existence, while his bones were shrinking to inhuman size and shape. The crowd at this point felt remorse and dread claw through them as they were forced to watch the horror unfold. Too afraid to leave, and to look away lest the same fate fall onto them. Bucky ignored everything except the beautiful unshakeable visage of Selina hovering over him, cradling him close as if he were the most precious thing in the world. He would've wept were it possible, at the feeling of affection running through him. With the last ounce of strength, Bucky could only gaze up at Selina with his love reflecting at her. He knew whatever was happening to him, he wouldn't be the same. The man he once was would only exist within a devolved shell of a beast that no woman could love. He inwardly screamed in both rage and sadness, yet his body was helpless as the transformation began to consume his humanly visage; turning hands into cloven hooves, his mouth and nose into a snout, and body into pudgy -rotund fat. Dagon smirks with satisfaction, watching with everyone in the crowd as the transformation completes , and where there was once the charming visage of manly perfection was now the grunting and revolting sight of a fully grown pot-bellied pig, held in Selina's arms. "At last, my vengeance—my justice—has been granted." He chuckles evilly.

Feeling the unnatural heaviness of his pudgy weight pressed against her chest, the damning sense of induced defeat became a shockwave through her lithesome, curvaceous body; she was shackled down by incessant dread, her trembling arms were cradling over a tubby creature that was definitely a pig. His studded hooves dug into her, as he frantically strove for balance against the shreds of his black Armani dress shirt that was still wrapped over his enlarged girth.

Holding her steeled composure, irately, Selina's glistening coffee eyes dauntlessly glanced down at the disheartened and soul-wrenching sight of a blobbing tub of pinkish and chestnut fur sitting on a sagging mound of fat that was attached to his expanded belly. She felt utterly demolished. Bucky no longer existed in human reflection, the spell entombed him within a vessel of a dwarfed-sized, stout pig who still had patches of his dark wolfish fringe cloaked over his humped and furry shoulders. His chubby visage was different than a farm hog, Bucky looked almost parallel to a domestic pot-bellied pig.

Bucky didn't open his eyes, his moist snout was buried into her chest; her world collapsed---her reserves of defiance betrayed her as she registered the dejected and piteous oinking volumes emanating out of him with panicked heaves. "It's okay, Buck," she soothed brokenly in a delicate purr, restraining the overwhelming urge to cry.

The world hadn't changed to his perception, but Bucky felt as if he were crumbled like a ball of plastic and shoved into a disposable container. Within the secure embrace of Selina's arms, the former Brooklyn soldier forced himself not to break down and shudder into a batch of broken sobs and yells. His body felt like stuffed ham, his bones were constrained as if they were attached to a hollow base. He could fathom the extent of his transformation judging by the sounds of his own deep breathing that came out as stuffed oinks. Dagon's words burned in his ears, mocking him and carving out every miniscule of hope within him. His soul cried even as his body would not allow him to. Not just at the realization that he'd been turned into a fat pathetic pig, but that Selina hadn't abandoned him.

Nuzzling his snout deeper against her shoulder, the pig puffed hot air and shuddered with remorse. "Run, Selina." He says to her. Fear tore at his heart while the deafening silence of the ballroom weighed on him. Any moment now, the old mage could decide to turn his wrath onto her. That's the one thing that terrified Bucky the most. She had to make a break for it somehow. "Run…"

Run...Selina barely heard the sluggish timbre of his once suave and dangerously husky resonance being forced down by a distressed, throated grunts. She was anticipating at direct attack, at the very least from the old bastard who dared to curse Bucky into a snorting chubby beach ball with hooves; she was locked in the crosshairs, armed with a Glock, that would offer her only a fleeting distraction to escape, but she needed to carry Bucky out with her. It wasn't going to easy since he weighed 300 lbs of pure fat.

Tucking back a loose strand behind her ear, she became poised with a measure of control against the spiraling helix of devilish sorcery that penetrated her world. "Cats never run from a fight, handsome," she whispered under her terse breath, cupping her palm tentatively under his pudgy snout, feeling his laborious snorts gust over her alabaster skin as she tilted his wedged shaped head up, staring to the subtle and restrained tension reflecting in the still glints of light of his beady steel-blue irises that became palpable against the heart-wrenching moment dividing them into a realm of infinite entropy.

Despite the immense layers of flab and pinkish fur, Selia could still see him--Bucky-- the intensity of his defiant spirit and the brokenness of his tortured and raging soul. All she wanted to do, was laying on the floor, and spoon a protective embrace of her arms over him rotund piggish body, holding Bucky as her greatest treasure--her true love against the semblance of evil that invaded their eternity. The coldness of her feline essence possessed her emotions, she pressed her lips sourly into a grimace, her fingers splayed warmth over the swollen expanse of his sagging belly. She wouldn't discard him for the mage to play with as a leashed pet. She loved him too damn much. "I'm not leaving you to become this bastard's pork dinner...So quit it with the grunting and let me figure out how the hell I''m going to move your fat ass, Barnes."

The trepidation Bucky felt was quickly replaced by vexation. He knew just how damn stubborn Selina could be, and while it was a trait that could be endearing, it could also prove to be her undoing tonight. He would have growled in annoyance if it were possible, but his new form was capable of only squeamish oinks and lazy grunts. “Damn it, Lina. You need to listen to me…” he grunts protectively once he dares to look over his shoulder and sees the old mage approaching them. The measure of his stride suggested bad news, and Bucky wasn’t going to let Selina get caught in the cross-fire.

“Good, your thoughts and soul remain intact. I would have hated to unleash further wrath on an empty vessel,” Dagon sneers with a malevolent smirk stretched across his lips. His old eyes glimmered with a perverse excitement that reminded Bucky too well of the Hydra scientists he endured so much suffering from over the past 70 years. It made sense to him now why this crazy old mage had taken Zola’s face to get him unraveled before making his move. Now that he had, Bucky was right to suspect that he wasn’t done with him yet.

“You did not think the sum of my retribution would be exacted by mere public humiliation and transformation, did you now?” Dagon mocks, an evil chuckle forming past his lips. “Oh no, Mr. Barnes. My vengeance had waited centuries, and rest assured I will savor every moment of making you suffer, until you beg for me to end you.” There was a fanatical gleam in his eyes that only highlighted the madness lurking behind his blue eyes, his tone was ever dour and lethal as steel. “And when the time come that I do take your life…I will cast a spell that your mortal spirit never finds the peace that mine was so denied.”

“Come with me quietly, and I will spare your foolish lover that still clings to you.” He threatens, setting a jolt of fear into Bucky’s heart. Still curled into Selina’s embrace, Bucky resisted the urge to shudder in her arms as he listened to the mage’s words that felt every bit as real as the tub of fat hanging from his belly. Though he had tussled with magical threats in the past, none of them ever had it out for him as badly as this old man that claimed to harbor an ancestral grudge with him. He wasn’t just evil, he was crazy. And Bucky knew just how unpredictable and dangerous that combination was. He couldn’t let Selina get become a target just because she loved and remained loyal to him.

“Please let me go, darlin’” He tells her, pulling himself away, almost forcefully. He could feel his heart breaking, at both the loss of warm contact with her, as well as registered her broken whimper. “Can’t let you get hurt because of me. Never again.” He sniffs.

“Time for you to come with me, little piggy,” Dagon makes his way over to Bucky, his hand reaching out and preparing to magically tether him like an unleashed animal…

There was only one time in her hellish life when she felt incapable of fight back; that was twenty-eight years ago, hiding in her mother’s bedroom closet, forcing down tears as she listened to the death knells of a fury of bullets echoing in her rundown Narrows apartment. She was trapped in limbic shock, watching blood smear the carpet as Falcone's men unleashed their ruthlessness, murdering her beloved mother --after that night, the blaze of innocence was snuffed out, darkened by somber and indifferent entity of feline spirit, she welcomingly accepted that; prevailing in the thrilling afterlife --engaged in the crosshairs of seduction and death, wielding shadows as her weapons.

Now, she was balancing on the knife-edge, as the blade was piercing deeper into her safeguarded heart; surrendering Bucky into the hands of the wrinkled face devil felt condemning to discard, he deserved freedom, not another existence of being enslaved to obey the mage's insane pleasures of fattening him up with cake being forced down his throat while shackled to the bastard's heel. She would trade away nine lives in a heartbeat just to spend one with him. Listening to grunting protests emitting from the pig, she allowed dark embers of reawakened malevolence to fuel her lethal intent, gripping the Glock tighter with steady poise in her clutch, glaring unwaveringly at Dagon."You're not taking him...Bucky is coming with me," She gritted viciously, the gravity of her voice held an impending reckoning as a deadly semblance cast over her pale, elfish features, holding no sentiment of mercy, only cold deadened wrath. "...and if you touch him, I will make you scream in hell."

Dagon appeared only mildly amused, if not impressed by Selina's passionate threat. Having heard only whispers about her past as a reputable thief and spy, the old mage saw her only as a minor obstacle against his unassuming power. What skills she possessed in the art of combat bore little danger to him who had killed countless formidable warriors in the past. She was but a stray cat that needed to be house-broken and taught to respect those above her. A cruel smile forms across his lips at the wicked thought. "Your devotion to your beloved, while commendable, is also foolish. I can see you are a stubborn woman that makes play she is a feline that prowls the night," he taunts, circling the pair while assessing them. "You hunt trinkets for sport and find solace in the embrace of a one as dark and broken as yourself," he ticks his tongue with disapproval, finally coming to a stop mere inches from them. "If you wish to join him so much, I will oblige you, my dear. You will make excellent fodder for my insatiable appetite. We will see if you can be tamed as the black cat you so believe yourself to be!"

Selina became conscious of the rotating movement of his wrinkled fingers, as green tendrils of energy sickeningly pulsated out of his veins, creating a sinister aura, for the extent of the stilled moment, she felt the pace of her heartbeat amplifying as hot octane rushed through her veins, her dark eyes glinted back a bespoke dare while her hand graced soothing caresses over Bucky's humped back, easing down his heavy, guttural snorts. The old mage's face was unreadable, like a towering Spinx, monopolizing her challenge with lifeless serpent eyes. Obviously, a gun was a predictable choice of weapon, she needed to cunningly grasp onto invention, her eyes glanced at the heap of Bucky's clothing, searching for a combat knife, that he usually kept in his jacket's pocket. There was nothing. 'Damn it, Barnes,' she inwardly berated, roving her gaze over one of her heeled boots, the spike were jagged like a blade, something she would effectively utilize as an instrumental weapon. A wicked smirk played on her full lips, as she moved her hand downwards the boot, with a seductive graze of her lithe fingers. "Oh, that would be so much fun for you, except, don't you know that cats can't be tamed..." Lightning-fast, she broke off the chrome heel and threw it directly towards his position with no disruptive hesitance in her display murderous precision, she was aiming for his throat.

The mage had been unprepared for the unexpected attack, but his reaction was expedient enough for him to bring up his hand to shield himself. The pulse of magic had been a second slower than the speed of the sharp object hurled at him. An explosion of pain and heat ran through his body, originating from the palm of his hand that was now dripping furious crimson. Eyes wide, the mage stares at the sharp edge of a heel protruding from the back of his hand, penetrating his palm. Gasping, he stumbles back, blinking repeatedly as he works quick to nurse his hand and carefully remove the object. "Damned woman! You would dare?" He seethes, his facial features twisted into something demonic and irate as he glares at her with hate. Until now, he had presented himself as an unconquerable force before both his hated enemy, and the fools that openly watched him with fear. In the blink of an eye, his image was both diminished and challenged by the brazen act of a defiance. Rage coursed through him as he notes the smug smirk worn across his attacker's face. His pain forgotten, the mage rips the heel free, ignoring the flow of blood that poured down his fingertips. "You have branded yourself my enemy. Make no mistake, Miss Kyle, this is not over. Like your beloved, you will know my wrath."

"I look forward to that dance," Selina deflected stiffly, not falter betrayed the heated ferocity ghosting from her smooth undertone. A poignant ache flooded through her, as her coffee eyes guardingly narrowed back at the plump dwarf sized hog, who hardly balanced on his stubby hooves, and the width of his hanging belly. Though she wouldn't dare admit it, Bucky was kinda adorable for a short-round pig; his pink snout was puckered inward, making the chubbiness of his cheeks protrude and his ears were pointed, chestnut patches of fur gave him panda eyes.

She wouldn't allow Dagon to leash him up, the unadulterated dread still blitzkrieg into her heart, but feeling the thermic warmth of Bucky's pudgy, heavy body toasted against her skin, slowly down frenetic pulses hammering against her heart.The awareness of his everlasting love never evaded, despite he now existed as tubby pot-bellied hog.

Keeping Bucky from dislodging from her arm lock, her encompassing fingers gripped onto his pinkish and brunette fur, possessively while feeling a twitch of his cork-screw tail wiggle against her chest. As wetness gathered vividly in her dark eyes, Selina vowed in reverent silence to make Bucky's unsettling days comfortable while enduring the nefarious curse; mostly keep him anchored at her side until she would find a way to restore him back. Tapping his plump belly, with subtle urgency, Selina gently coaxed her enchanted soldier to follow her lead, while swiftly collecting his discarded attire and wallet.

Trying to ease the pig off her lap, Selina instantly registered sloppy munching noises coming from the disgustingly fat pudge ball as white sugar powder smeared over her velvet dress. Her jaw flexed and knuckles cracked into a balled fist, she coldly glared down at Bucky, watching his swollen mouth shift with each heavy sluggish chew, as nasal grunts arrested the depth of his voice.

Suppressing a hiss of revulsion with a mask of tolerance, Selina rubbed the rounded shape of his engorged belly, listening to an enraptured moan unabashedly escape from the pig's mouth when his head tilted upwards, conveying that he was sensually content by her beguiling touch, snapping him out of his unbridled-obscene gluttony. Tousled wavelets of her silken mahogany strands cascaded over his back as she leaned down to the level of his ear, whispering imploringly. "Come on, Barnes, off, I'm not carrying for fat ass out...”

Cautiously, Bucky steps away from Selina's empowering touch that was still capable of reducing him to a helpless captive to her charms. It was an odd pull, a familiar and pleasant one that brought fond memories to his turbulent thoughts. He savored the distraction from the harrowing reality he found himself in. Once he was brought back into focus, anxiety and fear quickly assaulted him as he shifts on wobbly hooves until he's leaning beside her instead of on top of her. "Sorry, Selina. I'll be good," he says with a deep grunt, finding himself vexed while setting his sights on the object of his unease across the room.

Dagon observed the odd pair with contempt in his eyes where the storm within had yet to calm, but rather shift in its lethal course. His wounded hand he clutched still bled even as he poured his magic into a healing spell. His magic was still weak as each day he was in the middle of a resurgence that would bring him back to form in a matter of weeks. He wouldn't waste the effort in taking both pig and woman as captives in his diminished state. No. Patience awarded him this small victory against the descendent of his hated enemies. He was confident that with enough time, the remainder of his vengeance would be paid in full. "You only delay the inevitable. When next you see me, I will have my due," he promises, his hateful gaze squared on the pig whose humanity still gleamed through the depths of swirling blue orbs staring back at him. Triggered by the storm of his anger, Dagon brings his uninjured hand up and mutters a teleportation spell that consumes him in a green light of magical energies. The crowd watching unravels as if they had been deprived of precious oxygen and mobility once they see that he's gone. Many of them make a quick dash and exit the ballroom, leaving only Selina and Bucky inside. The eerie silence that lingered in the once lively and uplifting ballroom was something that resembled a graveyard. The guests had scattered in wake of a force that spelled death and ruin. In an odd sort of way, Bucky missed the stormy turn of events that kept him from focusing on the cold reality that he was now two feet shorter, and over a hundred pounds heavier in the form of a gluttonous tub of pork. Victory and relief felt as distant as the sun on the horizon, and Bucky was left feeling the bitter taste of a solemn defeat. He wanted to scream, to unburden the anger he felt within at this ridiculous turn of events that had nothing to do with him directly, yet still impacted him in the most humiliating way possible. Instead, he felt his anxiety melt away by the brush of a cool touch behind his ear. Selina's presence wasn't just a reminder that he wasn't alone in this dreadful situation, but that he was still loved as well. The gravity of the events of the past hour quickly caught up to him and the pig whines, heartache gripping him as well as a swell of ardent affection for the brunette beside him. Selina stood by him, despite the risk to herself, and the repugnant form that had been forced onto him. The panic and fear he felt for her remained as he recalled Dagon's threat to exact retribution. But now that they were allowed a moment to breathe, Bucky felt confident that whatever the old mage had in store for them, they would be ready this time. His gaze finds Selina's, feeling a tug of remorse in his heart as he sees the watery and weary state of her expression. He knew this evening took as much out of her as himself, and there was nothing he wanted more than to take her in his arms and let the memory of this night fade away into obscurity. "Let's go home, darlin'." He finds himself saying with a hopeful tremor in his voice. There was nothing he needed more right now than an escape from this hellacious environment, and to feel the comfort of his own home surrounding him—and Selina curled beside him. He watches as Selina nods her approval, giving him a soft scratch behind his ears for good measure at the same time. The height difference was noticed almost immediately, and Bucky vainly tries to square his posture on his hooves to maintain some measure of dignity. He relaxes into a normal posture as their steps guide them out of the ballroom. In the distance could be heard the blaring of police sirens and chattering guests. This evening would go unforgotten by all unfortunate to have been witness to it. But for Bucky and Selina, this was just another Saturday in the long list of bad ones they'd faced and overcome in their unnatural lives. Whatever the outcome, they knew they would face this latest challenge, and come away from it victorious—together. The End.

1 note · View note