#fuck it alternate layout
⠀⠀⠀"What can money buy?"
93 notes · View notes
Cherry Blossom - Cinnamon Girl
26 notes · View notes
lana del rey headers
“♡” or reblog if you save/use — follow me.
99 notes · View notes
I found a really cool ass alternative to Twitter 🙈 it's pretty baren but I think it can really be something like if Twitter, discord and Tumblr had a child it would be mastodon. Bitches ain't Gonna see me on Twitter no more. Tired of you toxic ass bitches
3 notes · View notes
ooc;; Have you ever seen a tvtropes YMMV description that’s so fucking wrong you just
1 note · View note
this is all for you ...
2 notes · View notes
Call It A Night - Chapter Three
Choice: Bucky Barnes (x F!Reader)
Summary: After a night of drinking and partying in Madripoor, your small group returns to Sharon’s apartment. Caught between the attentions of three vastly different men, a choice has to be made. Which one do you want?
In this choice chapter, the answer is the brooding Bucky Barnes.
Alternate Endings. Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language.
WARNINGS: Wound Tending. Blood. Cursing. Explicit Vaginal Sex. Slight Choking. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex (Female Receiving). Rough Sex. Bucky’s Damn Arm. Unprotected Sex. Use of the word ‘cunt.’
✨Previous Chapter (1)✨
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
READ ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs
Word Count: 10.3k
Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.
A/N: Enjoy it, you thirsty bitches (and I say that with the utmost affection because I too am a Thirsty Bitch).
**If you are new to ‘Call It A Night,’ this is a fic with alternate storylines. This chapter is Bucky Barnes’ smut chapter. The Helmut Zemo and Sam Wilson smut chapters are also completed. To follow the layout of the story, you can visit the masterlist here, and see what else is upcoming in the series.
I hope that you like it!
There’s no response to your knock. No noise from within. Just silence.
Part of you considers surrendering the attempt. He was in a foul mood earlier, and if he's not answering now it's likely because he is not in the mood for visitors. That probably extends to recently drunk visitors (who just can't leave things well enough alone) knocking on his door at three o’clock in the morning. Yet… you can't just bring yourself to walk away, and in all honesty, you're mentally kicking yourself for not going earlier.
There's no denying that you've been a horrible friend these past two months. It's quite likely that you abandoned him when he probably needed someone most. As much as you try to push off the reality of your actions, they all but gnaw at your insides. It was easier to shove it all down when you were an ocean away. Now that he's here and so obviously not okay, it's much harder to pretend that your choice was innocent and the effects unexpected.
Steve would be disappointed in you.
That reality is tart and bitter on your tongue, coupled with your own pain at Bucky's upset. Why hadn't you gone after him in the moment that he retreated to his room? It is so apparent in hindsight that he would not be alright. Not after what happened earlier in the bar. What Zemo made him do.
That knowledge spurs you to give another loud knock. There's no answer again. Not even a shout for you to leave him alone. It’s strange. He’s usually vocal enough about things like this. With that thought in mind, you decide to take the silence as permission to enter.
If only to ensure that he truly is alright.
Hinges creak as it swings inward, and you step into the space.
It’s dim inside. The only source of illumination is one of the two bedside lamps turned on. Light creeps across the room, fading as the distance grows. His room is less elegant than some of the others on offer, but he had accepted it without complaint. While the bed is still large, the headboard is less ornate than the one in your room. A simple sheet of wood unmarred by any intricate lines.
However... The duvet is missing. It's the first thing that you note. While the linens underneath lay undisturbed, there's no blanket lumped over the bed. A quick glance over your shoulder reveals it's crumpled form creeping up from where it lies in the ground, peaked just on the other side of the sofa. There's no one in sight, but the implication is clear. He's sleeping on the ground.
Fuck. That knowledge stirs the guilt again. It rises up, gnawing relentlessly at your insides. Reminding you that you’re partly to blame for the state that he’s in. That it’s your job to handle this. To provide some semblance of comfort. But you’ll need to find him first, in order to do that. Your gaze scans the rest of the room, but there's no one in sight.
It's then that a distant noise reaches your ears. The soft hiss of falling water. Your eyes fall to the left, to where another door lays slightly cracked off to the side. A light is on inside, spilling outward in a faint golden glow, and tendrils of steam curl out from the opened sliver. The realization has a dry lump catch in your throat.
He's taking a shower.
You nearly turn to leave, until your brain registers another sound. His low voice, murmuring a string of muffled curses. He sounds annoyed, but not 'ready to regress into the Winter Soldier' agitated. Curiosity draws you closer, but you're not about to sneak up on him. Especially not if he's already in the shower. Plush carpet sinks under your bare feet as you approach cautiously, and the air grows a little more humid as the proximity grows.
Your voice rings questioningly into the air. "Bucky?"
A pause halts the murmured rambling inside. He's finally heard you. You hesitate, still a few metres away from the bathroom door, averting your eyes unless they catch sight of something private. Something that would linger in your mind for weeks to come, and probably never leave again. There's a rustle, and then the bathroom door swings wide.
Bucky’s familiar form emerges, wreathed in soft shimmers of steam. That signature scowl curls his stubbled jaw, and those deep blue eyes are a little darker than usual. Not as soft in their regard for you. Yup. He's still annoyed about earlier. That much is obvious.
However, none of that is what you immediately notice. What registers instead is the fact that while still clad in his trousers, no shirt covers his firm, muscular chest. Those lean abs are on full display. And Christ, they are sending your mind straight to the gutter. That is, until your rapt gaze catches on the weeping line of red along his collarbone. Blood. Not much, but it stems from a cut as long as your forefinger. Worry jolts through you almost immediately, rising tart in the back of your throat.
"What happened?" The words spill out before you even think them. You're across the room in a flash, reaching for him with concerned hands.
His metal arm lifts, fending you off. Refusing to accept anything that could be construed as pity.
"Must have been cut during the bar fight." His words are curt, brisk. Unwilling to show any weakness.
You dodge under his warding hands anyhow, rising in between those strong arms and his solid chest. The proximity doesn't even register to you, but his jolted inhale of surprise echoes dimly in the back of your mind. Your attention is solely focused on the wound, however, as alarm continues to beat purposefully within your chest.
"And by cut, do you mean stabbed? Seriously Bucky? You were walking around all evening like this?!"
A defensive twists tugs his lips into a pout. "I didn't notice it earlier. Blood must have washed off when I showered before the gallery party."
It's then that you notice the transparent first aid kit clasped in the hand down by his side. It's closed over so that he could carry it out by the handle, but the clasp atop the case is unlocked, and inside the packs of bandages have been pulled open and now lay in a haphazard tangle. Reaching down, your fingers seize it from his before a protest can leave his throat.
As he begins to argue, to refuse your help as you had known he would, your hand simply lifts into the air before his face, stopping him. It works. Just as it always does. Just like it had when he tried to protest about you coming to Madripoor in the first place. You have no idea why he listens to you in the way that he does, but it's useful at times like this.
"Sit," you command, brisk tone allowing no room for any further argument.
With a sigh, he does. Springs let out a muffled groan as he drops to the mattress, bouncing slightly with the momentum. Shoulders hunching, his hands fall to grip the edge of the bed in pointed disapproval. His head averts as you step closer, eyes fixing on a point somewhere off to the side. Agitation is all too obvious in the taut set of his perfectly chiseled jaw.
While you had been worried earlier about regression - that the events of tonight could have the Winter Soldier rising to the fore - the upset in his eyes is still very much Bucky-esque.
Opening the kit, you first lift the alcohol wipes free. There are a few bloody spares already in there, showing that he had already cleaned it previously. However, the cut is still weeping crimson. After so long, it’s probably a sign that suturing is required. Super-soldiers heal quicker due to their fast metabolism, but it is still not immediate, and you’d rather close the wound to avoid any dirt or bacteria getting in.
“You need stitches,” you mutter quietly, rifling around to grasp the plastic wrapped instruments. “Really, Barnes. You should have come to get me earlier.”
‘Barnes.’ It’s what you call him when slightly irritated. He knows it, and so those shadowed cobalt eyes lift to yours, as deep and searching as oceans. His tongue darts out, crossing his lower lip in a form of hesitant thoughtfulness.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “I’ve already dragged you into enough problems.”
“Helping you out is not a problem,” you reply, sliding the needle out into your hands.
It glints silver in the dim light. The point is sharp, and should slide through his skin with ease. While stitching up one of your friends is not exactly how you wanted to end this rather eventful day, it’s not like you could simply leave it be.
“I’m not so sure that you mean that.” His response comes after a stretch of what you realise to be awkward silence.
There’s a tension to his tone. One that when coupled with his words, causes you to pause in trying to thread the suture through the slitted top of the needle. Head tilting to the side in confusion, your attention flits back to him.
“Why not?” Uncertainty couples your question.
Those broad shoulders rise and fall in another shrug, and more blood leaks from the wound at the motions. “Because you left. You went away, and it was because it all got too much. I… I don’t want you to leave again.”
It takes visible effort for him to say those words. To tell you aloud that he wishes for you to stay. You can only imagine how hard it is for him to be that vulnerable with someone.
A breath draws into your chest, composing yourself before you continue. “Taking that job was a mistake. And I can promise, I’m not going anywhere again. I don’t want to go anywhere again.”
It’s the truth, and he must see it in your eyes, as the faintest hint of a smile curves his lips. Noting your responding smile, Bucky swiftly averts his gaze. You take no offense, understanding the meaning behind the action. He wouldn’t want you to see exactly how much that statement means to him. Even 106 year old men need to play it cool. Not that he usually manages to do so with any degree of success. Emotions are still something that he struggles with, and those that he harbours for you are slightly more potent than most.
Needle in one hand, your other lifts a clean antiseptic wipe from the pack. He lets out a slight hiss as you draw it over the harsh lesion, gathering up the spilling droplets of blood in the process. Your lips purse to restrain your slight chuckle, not wanting him to think that you’re laughing at him. And you’re not. Not exactly.
Just at the fact that here is a super-soldier who spent all evening walking around with a stab wound, and yet it’s the alcohol wipes that make him flinch.
“Something funny?” he rumbles softly, having caught the flash of amusement all the same.
Your eyes assess his expression. There’s no hint of annoyance there. It seems that your earlier assurance has somewhat improved his mood. Only then are you aware of how warm his skin is underneath your touch. The way that the contact prickles, and the air grows a little heavier as you realise that you are holding his gaze and not looking away.
A cough huffs from your throat as you readjust yourself. The blood-splattered towelette flutters back into the empty side of the opened kit laying open on the bed. Your fingers trace across the gaping skin underneath the mark, trying to figure out exactly how to do this. Hesitancy wells within, conjured to life by the desire not to hurt him further. As if he senses it, calloused own fingers gently seize hold of your hands, clasping them between his.
"Just do it. I trust you.” The words are little more than a murmur, but sheer honesty burns through each syllable.
The sound of it causes a lump to catch in your throat. He releases your hands, setting his own back down to re-clasp the bed, situated evenly on either side of his body. Due to the position, you have to shift closer. Moving to stand slight over one of his legs. Allowing the dim light to wash over you.
Part of you wonders if you should move away. Go to turn on the main lights overheard to brighten the space and make it easier. And yet... You can’t quite make yourself. Doing so would only serve to kill this bridled tension slowly starting to wrap around you both. One that screams with each little shift of either of your bodies. There is an air to it feels too expectant to shatter. As if it is building to something.
And so, you abandon common sense to take a step closer. His eyes track each twist of your expression as your fingers settle purposefully over his skin. The needle pierces through the edges of the wounds. Bucky doesn’t even flinch. Just continues to watch as you lean even more over him, feeling the sides of his firm knee brushing against your bare thighs. It’s hard to ignore the sensation, but the fact he is still bleeding is a good distraction.
You work with practised precision, combining the needle and forceps to pull the suture cleaning through him. It’s hardly the first time that you’ve had to stitch a wound. Sam was awful for getting them while on the run. Every other week, he had boasted a new cut. Despite your annoyance with his carelessness at the time, it has made you somewhat of an expert at patching people up. The stitches are neat and even, drawing his skin together in a much cleaner line than before.
Satisfaction wells as you finish your work, ending in a clean knot that should not break. Not under normal pressure, anyways. Considering the type of excursion that brought you here, it’s likely that something will happen sooner rather than later to snap them apart. But with any luck, he should be completely healed within another day.
Your hands grasp another antiseptic wipe, and dab it over his skin to pick up any remaining smears of red. Afterwards, you use another to clean your own hands. His eyes remain on your face all the while. Watching. It’s hard to ignore the heat that his gaze brings. How it stirs something with a single, lingering look.
Bucky doesn’t even need words to make you nervous. Not when he is sitting there looking like that. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Now that you don’t have suturing to distract you, it becomes impossible to ignore him.
To brush aside the fire in your veins at his proximity.
Slightly trembling fingers clumsily tug open another packet. It’s a thick plaster, yet light and fluffy. The adhesive strip peels off easily, and then you are shifting in once again. His chest rises as your stomach brushes into his shoulder. His skin is scorching - nearly burning - underneath your hands as you smooth the plaster over his skin.
His stubbled chin is tilted backwards so that smoldering gaze can drink in each flicker of expression on your face. That tightness rises in your throat again. You all are too aware of your position once more. How you are nearly straddling one of his legs as your fingers shakingly smooth the line of the plaster over the top of a firm pec. Everything in you fights to ignore the smooth lines of his chest. An effort that is growing harder by the second.
It’s so fucked up. He’s been injured. Binding his wounds shouldn’t be making you aroused. And yet... Those eyes are too much to bear. Full of heat and lust, and a burning desire only exacerbated by the events of the day. By your earlier words, and the insinuation of that promise.
He’s so close, and that realisation is torture. This distance that you’ve tried to maintain for so long has been for both of your benefit. The draw that exists between you is nearly magnetic, and once you allow him to pull you in, there’s no chance of ever going back. Part of you wants to push back against the rising tension, nagging at you to walk out. That this isn’t right.
It’s not the first time that you’ve been caught in a moment like this. Every time beforehand, you had managed to draw away. To shatter it with some awkward joke, or friendly comment. And it wasn’t because you weren’t interested.
You had been trying to do it for him. To allow Bucky the time to heal himself first. So that he could find his way back to the man that Steve had told you so much about before diving into whatever this could be with you. However, standing before him now, a sudden realisation occurs.
Bucky is never going to be the man that he once was. Not after everything that he’s been through. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t know the man used to be. However, you do know this one right here, and there’s no denying that you came to this room for a reason. Because he is the one that you want.
No matter what that entails.
Your eyes lift, searing into his with a new intensity. A change ripples over him as he notes the look. There’s a new attention in his gaze, a purposeful rise to his chest. One hand slowly lifts from where it curls along the edge of the bed, rising to lightly settle on the small of your back. With a small tug, he shifts you closer.
His leg flexes slightly, knee rising to brush upwards between your naked thighs. There is the barest hint of pressure skating across the strip of your underwear, right across the growing damp spot of your core. The contact almost draws a gasp from your lips. Your fingers tighten uncontrollably, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. A low sound - something resembling a growl - comes from the back of Bucky’s throat.
Those cobalt eyes are ignited with intensity, drinking in each minute shift of your expression as he repeats this moment, lifting his knee to rub against your centre more purposefully. This time, there is no restraining the small whine that escapes your lips.
“Do you like that?” His voice is barely more than a whisper.
You don’t answer. Can’t even find the words to do so. His fingers are nearly scalding against your back, burning through the thin fabric of the dress that Zemo brought for you and causing your mind to spin. That other hand - glinting silver in the dim light - also releases its hold on the edge of the bed to slide up the side of your leg. Next thing, his grip tightens around the back of your knee and jerks it forward to land atop the mattress. The action leaves you hovering above him, nearly straddling his lap, with your faces mere inches apart.
His slow exhale washes across you. Unable to stop themselves, your eyes slowly drop to his lips. Those cold metal fingers lift from your knee to draw light patterns on the inside of your thigh. You can’t help but ache for him to move higher.
“Do you like it?” he asks again, and that searing gaze demands an answer.
There is no more holding back. Not when his mere touch is causing your heart to beat faster, and the delicious smell of him is relentlessly addling your mind. You’re sick of trying to restrain yourself. Tired of holding back, of stopping each impulse that had ever urged you to reach for him. Each whisper that had encouraged you to touch him in the way that you’ve longed to for far too long.
You all but groan in response, and the words are a soft surrender. “Yes.”
That arm across your back tightens. You sense the movement before it happens. One moment you are hovering above him, and next his body is covering yours as the sponey mattress sinks beneath your back. Bucky is braced overhead on his vibranium arm, and the length of his firm body is situated between your legs. The front of his trousers press against the throbbing point between your thighs. The contact only flares at the need building within your core.
That want is only made worse when something warm stirs underneath the fabric. Knowing that it is his hardening cock, another soft moan leaves your lips. It’s impossible to restrain the mental images that fill your mind. The thoughts of it pumping blissfully between your folds, and drawing broken cries from your lips.
Bucky’s quiet voice calls you back to reality, murmuring your name. The way that he says it - almost reverently - causes your heart to lurch inside your chest. You know how much he cares for you. It’s spoken in every action that he takes, every longing look that he casts in your direction, the softer timbre that creeps into his voice when addressing you.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs softly.
That warm hand slides out from behind your back to lift, allowing his fingers to trail smoothly down the side of your face. Caressing the soft skin that they find there. His words could be taken as sexual, but you somehow know that it’s not quite how they are intended. Maybe it’s the nervous crinkle at the side of his eyes, or the slightly uncertain note wavering the words, but Bucky is searching for more direction than where to simply place his touch.
He’s asking you to make your choice.
To release him from a binding deadlock, in one way or another. To finally put the agony of indecision to rest, so that everyone can move on. Can move forth.
Yes, or no.
Him, or Sam?
It’s a question that has plagued the three of you for a while. One that you’d never been able to answer before this moment. However, it swims before you now. Clear as the light of day. Deep as the blue of his eyes.
“I want you.”
The smile that draws over his lips is wordlessly elated Unparalleled to any expression of happiness you've seen him boast so far. You can't help but feel that painful hitch of your chest jolt once again. A faint cloud of disbelief draws your lips into a shy smile as you watch him from underneath lowered lashes.
Given the circumstance - the fact that he's lying on top of you, pressed down between your legs - you shouldn't be feeling as bashful as you are now. Yet, under that mesmerizing cobalt gaze, it's hard not to feel strangely vulnerable. The way that he looks at you… It throws your mind for a loop. Even after all this time it's hard to believe that this man - this handsome, beautiful man - so obviously and completely adores you.
There's no more time to be scared. No room in your mind to feel nervous. Not when he slowly leans down to brush his lips against yours.
The kiss is gentle at first. Soft. Waiting to see just how you respond. Your hands lift from where they had still rested on his chest, running lightly up to tangle in his dark hair. Pulling him in, pulling him closer as you open your mouth to him. Your head is spinning. It's impossible to think of anything but Bucky. How warm he feels above you. The taste of his mouth and the firm heat of his body as he presses firmly down against you. How the hand that had stroked down the side of your face moves to languidly grip your neck, and the rougher sensation that jolts within your cunt as his hips flex, the hardened lump in his trousers grinding into your already throbbing core.
The sensation has you moaning again, tugging lightly on his hair. He uses that advantage - your mouth falling open in the low murmur of pleasure - to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours. The movement is slow and knowing, sending another wanting tremble through your body. His easy grip on your throat tightens, and he breathes in the responding gasp with a small, pleased chuckle.
Determined not to give him the satisfaction of rendering you utterly useless under his touch, your hands move to either side of his face as your teeth seize his lower lip in a playful bite. Something akin growl rumbles from the back of his throat at the action - low and lusty as you tug it down in a sharp bite. That grip around your neck tightens, and Bucky shoves you down with a growl. Your head thumps back into the mattress as those fingers tighten further around your windpipe.
They shift to the side, quickly replaced by the sensation on his mouth on your jawline. His teeth catch on the skin, nipping and whispering. Dropping to your neck before continuing their slow, demanding descent. The bed creaks as Bucky shifts, knees settling against the mattress so that he can hover more fully above you. So that he can easily move down your body. His mouth ghosts teasingly over your skin, trailing down past your collarbones to whisper against the rise of your chest.
It’s hard to focus on anything but him. What he’s doing. What may come next. Reality is blurring like a drug, wrapping you in a tight haze of desire until all you can feel is the blood thundering through your veins and the tingling sensation of his body sliding over yours.
That hand releases your neck, planting itself down securely against the bed as he continues. Lips brush over the smooth fabric of the dress as Bucky passes by your navel, inching ever lower. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, but one hand falls away to grasp the undersheet, in a desperate bid for an anchor. It’s hard to believe that after so long this is really happening, but you want to centre yourself in the moment. To burn every little detail into your mind.
He stops upon reaching the pit of stomach, gaze flitting up to you. Looming over you on all fours, the mere sight of him makes your throat tighten further with pure desire. A throb comes from your core, only aching harder as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
That husky voice washes across you. “Are you sure that you want to do this?” Under the weight of his heated gaze, only a breathless nod is manageable in response. The traces of a grin curve his mouth as he lets out another murmured command. “Then shift upwards.”
With wordless obedience, you do. Bucky follows the movement with ease dominance, allowing you to pull far enough away so that he can lower himself between your legs with ease. Eyes remaining fixed upon your face, he sinks down. You can feel his shoulders brushing the edge of your thighs, and then his head is disappearing under the hem of your dress. His hot breath brushes against your already soaking cunt, and it takes everything in you to keep from squeezing your legs together.
There is no stopping the urge when his tongue laps over the increasingly wet strip of panties. Back arching, another cry escapes your lips. A pleased chuckle answers in response as his hands rise to restrain your thighs. Bucky’s head lifts, skirting upward to grasp the band of your underwear between his teeth. They peel away from your skin, whispering down your legs until he reappears from underneath your dress.
Those eyes burn into yours - holding your gaze - as his mouth slowly opens and the panties drop from his lips. His mouth curves slowly into a knowing smile as his hands fall, working smoothly against the front of his trousers. A rough clink fills the air as his belt opens. Surging into a sit, you reach to help with the zipper. That metal hand is around your throat before you can, shoving you forcefully back down on the bed. Same as he did earlier.
The meaning is clear. He wants you to stay down. Trapped writhing underneath him as he dominates you. Pleases you.
There is the rough noise as his trousers drop, kicked off with utter precision. A distant thud sounds as the opened first aid kit topples from the edge of the mattress also. You can hear it spilling across the ground, a mess that no one is bothered to stop and clean right now. Not when Bucky is towering above you, looking like a god, shifting closer with that predatory light in his eyes.
Heat surges against your bare, aching cunt as his erection - still tented by the fabric of his boxers - presses into your core as he leans down. His mouth captures yours in a rough kiss again. Braced above you on just a single forearm, you can feel all of him pressed against you. However, your spiralling mind is trapped on one point in particular, lost in the all-consuming insinuation.
The covered head of his cock is nearly throbbing in anticipation and you can feel it align perfectly with your folds as Bucky shifts even closer to hungrily command your mouth’s attention. You are utterly lost in him. Unable to think of anything but the shivering sensation of his clothed tip nudging your folds apart. A feeble whimper spills out in response, fingernails clamping into his arm in a silent beg. The need to have him inside of you is nearly overwhelming.
Your hands slide down his body almost desperately. This time, Bucky makes no move to stop you as they slowly drag his boxers downwards. You can feel the tension in the fabric as his cock strains against the fabric. How the elastic band tries to hold it in place, to keep it sheathed as you pull them the final distance down, and finally allow it to spring free.
His lips will not allow you to pull away and take in the sight. However, you can feel it in your hands. Long and thick, and completely perfect. Bucky’s dick is almost pulsing in your grip. The sensation is pure heaven, and sends another delicious tingle straight to your cunt. Your fingers slide experimentally down the shaft, feeling the smooth ridges lining his length. Precum has already gathered on the tip, and so his foreskin slides back with wet ease.
You can only imagine just how glorious it will feel inside of you.
Breaking away from his lips momentarily, a whispered plea spills from your lips. “I want you to fuck me.”
His groan vibrates through his entire chest. You can hear the longing in the sound. So over-burdened with lust that it seems almost painful.
There’s no more stopping as your hand shifts his tip back to your entrance. The bare touch of it against the lips of your aching cunt is nearly enough to have another begging moan spill from within. However, you don’t have to. This is a moment that you both have waited long enough for, and neither of you can hold back any longer.
The plaster on his shoulder brushes your chest as he shifts, momentarily placing his weight upon his knees as he rises. The arm that had braced against the mattress lifts, travelling down to seize hold of one of your calves. Touch insistent, he lifts it to drape just above his hips. Angled around his back to help hold him in place.
Fabric shifts as the hem of your dresses lifts, bunching above your hips. Dark cobalt eyes burn into yours all the while, brimming with excitement and lust. Those soft lips brush over yours as he leans down again, flexing his other hold on your neck until another strangled gasp catches in your throat. The sound draws another small grunt from his chest, the arousal twisting his face into the ghost of a snarl.
Part of you can’t help but wonder if he was always into choking, or if it is relatively new. A remnant of his time as the Winter Soldier. Either way, it doesn’t matter. His commanding touch is exciting you, sending jolts of heated arousal burning through your veins. You want him to fuck you. Hard, and in any way that he desires.
His cock throbs against your folds. You can see that raw, unbridled lust reflected in his own eyes. The building could go up in flames, and neither of you would care. Both of you are utterly lost. Consumed by the moment, and unable to pull away.
Those eyes bore into yours, sending every other thought flying from your mind. Demanding that there be nothing but him. Now. Forever. Always.
“I love you,” he confesses, and pushes himself inside before you can answer.
The gasp that escapes your throat jars with his own broken moan. Searing pleasure washes through you as his cock slides deep within your aching cunt. Your hands clamp on his side, fingernails digging into either side of his waist as he pulls out to thrust back in again. He buries himself so deep that you reach the brink of crying out almost instantly, toes curling in a mixture of strain and bliss. Every inch of him is palpable inside of you, pulsing deep within your core.
“Fuck,” he whispers jaggedly, and dimly you can’t help but realise that you’ve never heard him curse before. Not like this, in a tone so filled with filthy lust that it sends another rush of slick straight through your core. “You feel so good.”
You can’t even respond. Can’t even begin to cultivate the beginnings of a reply. Not as his cock twitches inside of you, throbbing wildly with need. With an uncontrollable urge to thrust into you again. Over and over, in purposeful, unrelenting strokes until you are a writhing mess underneath him, unable to bleat nothing but his name.
And so, he does.
Your shattered encouragements come in cracked whimpers as Bucky begins to stroke his dick into your soaked cunt. The sounds are filthy. A mixture of skin against skin, and the deep, wet noise of his cock sinking repeatedly within you. It starts off slow, as if he is trying to hold back. To not allow himself the freedom of doing all the things that he could. All the things that he wants to.
The pace picks up soon, as his control starts to slip a little further with each glorious impalement of his dick. A growl forms on his face, gritting his teeth as he hover above you. Each snap of his hips causes those fingers to swiftly tighten around your neck, in rhythm to the harsh rocking of his perfect body.
But still, he manages to cling to his control. Unwilling to allow himself to spiral completely over the edge, to lose himself in the feel of you. It doesn’t mean that he’s gentle.
His thrusts are hard. Powerful. Ridiculously enhanced by both the super-soldier serum and his own lust. You can’t help the whimpers spilling with each forceful stroke as Bucky buries himself inside of you, a growl rumbling from between his clenched teeth. Can’t focus on anything but how his cock spears relentlessly through your folds over and over again, jolting to life a simmering heat that pools within the wet centre of your core. One that creeps deliciously into the pit of your stomach before prickling across your skin, whispering that he’ll soon stroke you up to your peak, and then hammer you right over the edge.
The smell of him - a deep, seductive musk of leather and metal - laces your senses, and the scent surges further as he leans closer to press his mouth hungrily into yours again, metal fingers tightening further on your neck as he does. The squeeze leaves you dizzy, gasping for air, lost in the feel of his body against yours. How each movement is so controlled. Strong and confident. As if knows exactly what you need from him, and just how he’ll give it to you.
What he wants is absolutely clear. For you to know that he is buried inside of you - owning you, possessing every inch of your body and mind - and that he will fuck away the thought of any other man that may slip through your thoughts. Not that it matters.
You can no longer think of anything but him, and how utterly glorious he feels inside of you. It’s a heaven crafted out of sin, and you could stay there forever. All that you need is the feel of his hard cock stroking your tight cunt. Those blue eyes - a colour so deep and powerful - are nearly black in appearance as they bore down into yours. The stare is hard and unwavering, almost daring you to look away.
His upper lip is curled in a snarl, and the warm fingers that fall to hold your thigh around his waist clench hard enough to bruise. A strained grunt leaves his lips as he thrusts harshly again, pushing you further into the bed. The delicious sensation of his cock pounding directly into that spot has a strangled gasp burst from within. The nails of one of your hands dig into his side as the other claws into the undersheet for some semblance of feeble hold. He continues to work himself into you until you are flushed and gasping, throbbing from within and all over.
His name spills from your lips in a broken moan, distorted by his harsh grip. “Bucky.”
The sound of it seems to do something to him. However that firm cock still remains buried inside of you, throbbing with a relentless ache that leaves you nearly writhing as he draws back slightly, stopping to breathlessly watch you from above. Those stubbled cheeks are flushed in vibrant arousal, and his muscled chest lifts in a little more strain than usual. His lightly tanned skin is glistening - not sweating due to exertion - but with the obvious strain of holding back.
Yet… the mounting haze of unbridled lust swimming in the depths of his eyes leads you to believe that this may not be the case for much longer.
That metal hand releases its hold from around your neck. A full gasp of air rushes back into your lungs, sending another wave of dizziness through your already lust-fogged mind. Your core pulses around him, and the need to fuck down upon his cock is almost too much to bear. However, you manage to hold back. Just marginally so, as those increasingly shadowy eyes are silently commanding you to.
The tip of index fingers skates along the bare skin of your neck as it rises from your throat, trailing goosebumps in its wake. Although still clad in the dress, you can’t help but feel utterly naked underneath his silent and intense stare. Completely at his mercy.
That light touch lifts off your skin, and a bated breath whispers free of your lips. As if its presence was a wait that had kept you still and subdued. His glinting fingers settle pointedly on the headboard above, grasping it firmly as the digits flex. Bucky shifts even closer, and the roll of his hips draws another wanting moan from the back of your throat as his tip brushes against that pulsing spot within once again.
A growl rumbles from his chest in response. One that signals a breach of control. That lets you know his pool of restraint starting to leach dry as a desire to do more wells in its place. A mounting, uncontrollable urge to leave you gasping and crying out as he pounds every inch of his withheld need into your waiting core.
Underneath his sturdy hold, the wood groans in protest at the tightening grip.
A warning. An insinuation of what’s to follow. That his remaining resolve is nearing the point of shattering. Just like the straining board above. And God, every part of you just wants it to. You want to feel him pound his stress into you, releasing all of this stress and tension, until there is nothing left but him.
Your eyes lock on his. Those black pupils are blown out of proportion, flared with pure desire. Raw hunger flickers within, warring with the last vestiges of remaining hesitancy. His tongue darts, tracing his lower lip as he watches you curiously. Almost nervously. Wondering how far you’ll let him go.
Chin rising, your eyes narrow on his defiantly, burning with challenge. “Make me scream, Sergeant Barnes.”
And with the words, something inside of him snaps utterly.
That handsome face twists into a violent growl. His cock shears back inside of you with enough force that the bed slams into the wall. There’s no stopping, no gaining back the loud gasp that bursts from your chest. It happens again before you even have time to recover, the action leaving your lungs blank, refusing to work.
His thrusts are brutal and precise. Bucky pounds in and out, burying himself inside of you, right up to the hilt. As if he wants to feel all of you. As if he wants you to feel all of him. And God. You do. You fucking do.
Every inch of that glorious cock pulses within. Stretching your walls and filling your cunt, deeper than anything that you’d ever felt before. Bucky doesn’t falter. He doesn’t stutter, or miss the mark. Every single snap of his hips leaves you crying out, writhing helplessly underneath him as he works himself inside of your trembling core.
His harsh tip is jolting against that rough patch deep inside of you, stroking to life the harsh simmer of an orgasm underneath your skin. You can feel it rising, washing over your body. Prickling your skin and blurring your mind until nothing exists but the harsh lines of his face hovering above, drawn in feral concentration, and the godly feel of his cock hammering through your singing folds.
Your cries are growing louder now. So much so that a dim self-aware part of you knows that it can probably be heard beyond this room. Everyone else might be aware of exactly what Bucky is doing to you, and yet, there’s nothing within that cares anymore. Not when he is losing himself inside of you, hovering over you, looking like a dream.
His eyes are flashing, alight with burning arousal as he drinks in each twist of your expression, each loud noise that bursts from your lips. The headboard shrieks again underneath his hold as he uses it and his grip upon your thigh to fuck into your arching body. His lips are twisted into concentrated growl, and that face - so carnal and utterly possessive, hitching as a snarl tears from his throat - is what sends you utterly spiralling.
You climax violently, loudly, aware that you’ve never made a damn sound like this when orgasming before. The release tears through your body - white-hot and searing - washing everything else away until all that you can feel is the boiling heat in your veins and the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.
Overhead, Bucky cries out in response to your climax. The wood shatters underneath his hand, clenching as your release pulses around him. He throws himself forward, body covering yours as splinters rain down to pepper the bed around you. You can feel some fragments sliding across his back, falling down his sides and brushing past your hands as they do. Still, he does not stop fucking.
His thrusts are just as harsh as before, but maybe a little more wild now. He’s approaching his own peak, and it’s only a matter of time. Jilted snarls ring out in your ear. Those bruising fingers leave your thigh, skating up between your bodies to grasp hold of your throat once more. His grip is demanding as he twists your head towards his to breath another harsh kiss into your mouth. Your tongue laps needily against his, and a groan tears from his lips in response.
Pulling his face from yours, that forehead buries in your shoulder as he continues to thrust inside of you, desperate to maintain the momentum for as long as possible. To prolong this for as long as he can.
Your fingers thread in his hair, whispering jarred encouragements as his cock strokes you again. Gasps are pouring from his lips. The stroke of his hips is growing more erratic with each passing moment. He leans down - weight falling more fully atop you - and his hand shifts, searching for a hold.
He is everywhere. Inside of your body, haunting your mind, filling each and every one of your senses.
You are vaguely aware that his cock feels harder than before. Pulsing. A sign that he is so close to the edge. Striving for release, and yet struggling to get all the way there. And God, you want this for him. You want him to be able to let go, utterly and completely, within your arms. To know how much you care about him. How much you need this with him, and only him.
And so, you make it clear in the only way you can. By uttering his name. His real name.
The whisper - one filled with so much more affection than you could ever otherwise convey - is what has him erupt within you.
His cry rings in your ear. Metal shrieks as his hand rakes down the mattress. Sheets tear off to the side. Fluff and fragment springs burst free as his fingers tear it apart while he releases into you with a shattered moan. His cock is throbbing, shooting hot spurts of cum that threaten to burn your insides.
Each violent jerk of his hips leaves you gasping, his tip brushing harshly against that rough, aching spot inside of your cunt once again. His cum is pouring out against it, and it triggers something within. The sensation is enough to push you right after him as well. Another orgasm rips through your body.
Bucky responds involuntarily as your walls constrict further on his surging cock, and that hold on your neck strains to the point of pain, stealing every semblance of breath from your lungs. There is no doubt that there will be bruises forming tomorrow. Ones that even make-up will not be able to hide.
His face hovers over yours, mouth twisted into a lingering gasp, eyes closed. He looks beautiful. Glorious. Like he belongs in this moment, spilling himself within you. It’s enough to take your breath away, but you do not have any left to be stolen. Not when his grip is still tight around your windpipe. A choked splutter comes from the back of your throat. Bucky’s hold releases instantly in response, and you suck in a grateful breath, almost wheezing.
“Are you alright?” he asks, a little hoarsely. There’s a hint of sheepishness crossing his face, replacing the trembling remnants of arousal. When you don’t respond, his tone grows more urgent. “Hey. Are you okay?”
One arm wraps around your waist, gently rolling you both until you lie atop him now. Your hands are bunching against his bare chest, pressing down as you fight to catch your breath, locked in a coughing fit. Careful fingers stroke down the side of your face, pushing strands of hair behind your ears and rubbing reassuring circles on the tops of your arms as you slowly begin to gather yourself. Watering eyes lifting, your head dips in a wordless nod as your lips lift in the beginnings of a wry smile.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pulling you down into his chest.
His softening cock has slipped free, and you can feel his release begin to drip from you. The warm cum is sticky upon your thighs, falling to smear across the skin of his stomach. If he minds, there is no outward sign of it. Just soft concern as his hand runs through your hair, cupping the back of your head to guide you down into another kiss.
His mouth is softer. Sweeter. Less demanding now that he has been satisfied. Despite the slight ache in your neck, a sort of elated giddiness has flooded your entire body. One that leaves you both smiling and close to giggling as you lean into him, lips whispering against his own as your fingers trail lightly down his bare chest, ignoring the slight hiccup that still hitches your lungs.
Bucky shifts, straining upward to meet your mouth fully. The motion has something brush your legs, where they are braced against the matrress on either side of his body. Confusion surges as you glance down. It’s only then that you truly take in the state of the bed.
A jagged line is all but torn down the centre, created by the path of his vibranium arm as he strove for a hold while climaxing. Fluff and fragments of metal springs rise up from within, lining the space haphazardly. They rest in a pool of splintered wood chips, a result of the shattered headboard. Thin shavings are stuck in your hair, and you can’t help but think that it’s an absolute wonder that they didn’t get anywhere else.
A small chuckle leaves Bucky’s lips as he takes it all in. “Shit. You should shower. I’ll try to clean some of this up.” There’s a hint of pride to his tone. As if the mess pleases him, somehow.
While a shower does sound appealing, there is something else that you wish to talk about. Given that the haze of lust has passed, the memories are slowly flitting through your mind once more. Your thoughts are fixing on one in particular, regarding the words he had said upon first pushing himself inside of you.
Despite the nervousness welling, you attempt to broach the topic. “Bucky? About what you said earlier-”
His handsome face flares with something akin to panic, and a finger rises to press against your lips, cutting you off before you can continue. “ It’s alright. Don’t feel like you need to say it back. That’s… that’s not why I said it.”
“Please. I just needed you to hear it.”
A silent overture swims in his eyes, stifling the words that you were about to utter. The thing is, you do want to say it back. However, his face is heated in embarrassment, and that slightly defensive set is back in his jaw. Something in you whispers that now is not the right time. That he’ll only take the assurance as a response due to obligation.
When you say the words, you want him to know that they are true. RIght now, a little voice in the back of your mind whispers that it’s not the proper time. That when the moment comes, you will know it, but it’s not now.
“Okay,” you surrender with a small sigh.
His hand grips your arm, helping you clamber off him to step unsteadily down onto the ground. Your legs still are a little shaky from the sex, those residual tinges still having yet to fade. The rest of you just feels deliciously satisfied. Bucky sits up, gaze appreciatively tracking your body as you take a step back, reaching down to pull your dress off as you do. The fabric rises up your chest, stirring your bra with it. It falls onto the ground, and that admiring gaze grows darker once more as he takes you in, standing before him in your underwear.
“Are you planning to join once you’re done cleaning up?” Your head tilts to the side as you voice the question coyly, allowing your own eyes to scan admiringly down his naked form.
“I’ll be in very shortly,” he replies a little stiffly, voice starting to take on that familiar growl.
Your brow raises as a slight suspicion infiltrates your mind. It’s only confirmed when your attention falls back to his cock. His dick is slowly swelling once more, visibly hardening as he continues to watch you pointedly, noting your reaction to the insinuation of a second round. Your throat goes dry at the mere concept.
Caught in this moment, you can’t help but wholly disagree with Zemo. Super-soldier serum is a fucking blessing.
“Looking forward to it,” you reply huskily, before turning to leave.
The shower is still going. Given everything going on, both of you had forgotten to turn it off. Sharon’s water bill is going to be astronomical, but that’s not your problem. Zemo had said that he’d take care of the cost of your stay. It’s about time that he truly earns his keep.
Surprisingly, the water is still warm when you step in. Splinters wash away from your hair, falling to the ground in a swirling pool before washing down the drain. Your skin is covered in a layer of sweat, a result of the hard orgasms, and a faint speckle of dust, courtesy of the shattered remnants of the bedframe.
You start to wash, using the supplies already contained in bottles lining the shower shelf. Sharon’s apartment is like a hotel, and you can’t help but think that she hasn’t done too badly in Madripoor. Of course, having to live in exile is not in any way ideal, but this just seems like a little more than simply scraping by.
The door creaks open behind you. Turning, your gaze falls on Bucky. He’s still naked, half-swollen in another bout of arousal, and that light is back in his eyes. His steps are purposeful as he approaches, pulling open the shower door and sliding in. You smile at him from over your shoulder, before lifting your face to let the water flow over your skin.
That firm chest heats your back as he looms up behind, head lowering so that his lips press against the curve of your neck. Water soaks into his fine hair, flattening short dark strands over his forehead as his hands fall to your hips. For a moment they simply rest there, swaying you slightly in a silent dance, and then he slowly begins to turn you towards him.
Those deep blue eyes fix on your neck, stroking lines across the skin found there. Instantly, you know what he’s looking at. Bruising has already started, patterning your throat. Marking the encounter. It’s a little over, but not overwhelmingly so. And in a strange way, you can’t help but enjoy the reminder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, voice nearly lost under the sound of falling water. As you go to reply, to tell him that it’s fine, those hands gently begin to press your body back. You allow him to guide you until the firm, cold surface of the shower wall blocks your retreat. Out from underneath the water, a slight chill rushes across your skin. It turns into a full blown shiver as Bucky sinks to his knees. “Let me make it up to you.”
His hands slide down your body. One grips the back of your right leg, lifting it so that it rests over his shoulder. Prickling runs across your skin as delicious anticipation begins to simmer once more. A small moan escapes your lips as your head falls back, readjusting yourself obediently so that your stance is a little wider. The motion allows Bucky easier access to shift closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair as excitement tightens your throat. Sensing your response, Bucky’s gaze lifts to your face again, and his mouth curves back into that mischievous smirk,
Attention remaining to watch your reaction, he blows experimentally. The sensation of his breath is washing over your exposed cunt as your chest hitch, hands tightening to tug in his soaked locks. He laughs, pleased at the response, before leaning to lick a firm stripe up your cunt.
The curse that blurts from your lips is vulgar. It’s accompanied by a small cry when his tongue strokes out again. The tip swirls over your clit, teasing that swollen bud of nerves in a soft flick. Steam rises all around you, building a light sheen across your skin. You can feel the water pooling around your toes, warming your body. It is nothing compared to Bucky’s tongue as he laps again, those eyes still lifted to watch every shift of emotion on your face.
He alternates between teasing, and giving exactly what you need. Enough to leave you gasping and mewling, tugging on his brunette locks and all but rutting yourself against his mouth. Each pointed caress of his tongue leaves you trembling, and each purse of his lips as he sucks on your clit has a loud cry bursting from your lips.
Bucky seems to relish in every little sound. Drinking them in like he does the slick starting to pour from within. He’s utterly focused on his task, an expert in this particular kind of torture. Within minutes, his careful motions have you at your peak, but he does just enough to prolong the encounter. To not push you over.
It’s only worse when his other hand slides up. The vibranium finger sliding inside of you is almost too much to bear. You nearly cum right there, even though his mouth had pulled away at the motion. A second finger is soon added to the first. Tremors are running over your skin, a sign that your body cannot take much more of this. Recognising this, Bucky slowly leans in again, pressing his mouth against your throbbing core.
His fingers work themselves within you, curled to hit that rough spot inside. When they brush against it the first time, a weak keen bursts from your lips. That tongue continues to draw firm patterns over your clit, and that pit of heat in the bottom of your stomach starts to bubble even higher. You can feel him working on you, inside you, and it’s absolute heaven.
Your breaths are coming in small, jagged pants. The peak is coming. Rising in the distance until you can feel your body beginning to lift. Bucky starts to slow, to tease you away from the edge again. Your pleading gasps ring out, begging him not to. Whimpering for him to bring you there. And so, with a low moan that vibrates deliciously against your cunt, he does.
Those hands marginally increase in speed, speeding you onwards towards the edge. Looking down, you can see the glinting silver digits sinking in and out. Something about the sight just drives you wild. Your hands are tangled in his hair, threatening to tear it by the roots, but still he doesn’t stop. That tongue laps against your clit. Sucking and teasing until your entire body is wracked with needy, endless shudders, and all that you can whine out is his name. His whisper comes again, barely audible over the water, murmured into your soaking cunt.
“I love you.”
The orgasm that rips through you nearly brings you to your knees. Bucky all but has to catch you, metal fingers disappearing from inside of you as his strong arms slam into the wall, holding you upright. You’re aware that you’re leaning forward, one hand bracing against the wall for a hold as he continues to fuck you with that glorious tongue, foot shuddering against the ground. Bucky’s mouth everywhere. On your clit, sliding between your folds to dip his firm tongue inside of you, lapping at the release.
Quakes of pleasure rock through your body, causing your mind to spin as he continues to campaign. His face is buried between your legs, drinking in each shudder and spasm as you moan and rut greedily into him. You can feel his stubble chafing against the insides of your thighs. The friction only causes you to climax harder, waves of release washing through your body. Small cries spill from your lips. Louder at first, but stretching out as the release starts to ebb and fade. Eventually, all you can do is gasp weakly, and allow your head to fall back against the wall once more.
Below, Bucky lifts your leg off his shoulder with a chuckle. Shower water runs down the sides of his face, but you know that the wet patch shining upon his chin is all due to you. He stays on his knees for a moment, just to make sure that you can actually stand, before clambering to his feet. Warm hands cup your chin as he pulls you in for a lingering kiss. The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and he is sure to flick it forcefully against yours. A silent demand that you taste yourself.
You can only moan brokenly, especially when you feel something hard digging into the pit of your stomach. Hands lifting to tangle in his hair, you press your body against his demandingly. Sure, you’ll likely be extremely sore in the morning. But you can’t get enough of him. Never.
His strong hands wrap around your thighs, boosting you up and into the shower wall. Setting your back firmly against the tile as he slowly sinks you down upon his hardened cock, drinking in the gasp that spills from your lips as it slides through your folds. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him against you, and it all starts over again.
And as he pounds into you up against the shower wall, your eyes catch on something spreading over the soaked bandage on his shoulder. A smear of bright, fresh crimson. Fuck.
He’s going to need more damn stitches.
A/N: This killed me. I am dead. I hope that you all enjoyed my demise, because this was HARD. If you liked it, please do let me know in the comments, my ask box, or anywhere, really. I thrive on validation.
To be notified of the continunation chapters to this story or any other content that I write, please fill out my Taglist Form!
On a final note: If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. It is the best way to spread fics around to others who may enjoy it, and us creators will be forever thankful!
✨Next Chapter (5)✨
✨ALTERNATE CHAPTER: HELMUT ZEMO
✨ALTERNATE CHAPTER: SAM WILSON
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
If you wish to be notified of updates, please follow my writing reblog account and turn on post notifications!
903 notes · View notes
it's funny 'cause I've always dreamed of me and you
when eddie gets shot, the last thing he expects is to wake up in a reality where he was married to his best friend. he had a girlfriend, for crying out loud - how could he be married to buck?
or, after getting shot, eddie spends a day in an alternative reality where he is very happily married to buck, and has a it's a wonderful life-esque experience.
Getting shot was about as fun as Eddie remembered it being. He could feel the bullet ripping through his shoulder, and the pain was excruciating – worse, than it had been the first time, because the first time adrenaline had been pumping through his body and he’d been fighting for his life; this time, Eddie had been entirely unprepared, and the shock of it felt like it was stopping his heart. He was hitting the floor, before he could fully process what happened, before he could fully process the fact that Buck was covered in Eddie’s blood and he’d just been shot, in the middle of a quiet LA street, and the chaos felt like background noise until –
“I got you, just hang on,” Buck’s voice was desperate, Eddie barely able to hold in a scream as his best friend grabbed his good arm, dragging Eddie across the concrete. It felt like the world was moving too quickly and too slowly all at once, time moving like treacle as Eddie felt himself get thrown around, Buck’s arms strong and familiar as they loaded him into the ladder truck, Buck’s hands the ones ripping his shirt open and trying to stem the bleeding.
“You just stay with me, okay?” Buck pleaded, and God, he was covered in blood. Why was he covered in blood?
Buck must be hurt. Right?
“Did you get hurt?” Eddie’s words sounded slurred to his own ears as he looked at Buck, confused. There – there couldn’t be another reason why Buck was covered in blood. He must have gotten shot too.
“No, no, no – I’m good,” Buck reassured. “You just hang on. Come on – come on!”
Buck sounded scared – that wasn’t good, Eddie decided. For all the ways Buck wore his heart on his sleeve, he was calm in a crisis, and if he wasn’t calm, it wasn’t good, Eddie decided. Maybe – maybe Eddie was dying.
“We’re just a few minutes away,” Buck reassured, his eyes bright with tears, gentle hands cupping Eddie’s face. “We’re so close, Eds, I just need you to hang on.”
Eddie wanted to hang on, really – he did. But he was so tired, and he was dizzy, and he knew that unconsciousness would bring reprieve from the pain he was feeling and he just –
They must have him on the good morphine, Eddie decided, because he didn’t think he was in any pain, as he slowly woke up. In fact – the hospital must have upgraded their sheets, since the last time he was there, because they were soft against his skin as he slowly woke.
There was someone else in Eddie’s bed.
That – that didn’t feel like it was in line with hospital policy, or COVID regulations. Slowly, Eddie opened his eyes, and very quickly realised he was not in hospital – no, he was in an unfamiliar house. Unfamiliar in that the layout of the bedroom was different, the shape and size were different to Eddie’s own – but familiar in that he could spot some of his own furniture; the chest of drawers, his abuela had given him, when he first moved to Los Angeles, the hands mismatching and the wood worn from years of being passed between members of the Diaz family.
Where – where the fuck was he?
And who the fuck was he in bed with?
Eddie – Eddie twisted, in the unfamiliar sheets, until he saw -
“Buck? ” Eddie couldn’t help the surprised gasp that left his mouth as he realised he was in bed, half naked, with his best friend.
243 notes · View notes
Few things are better in life than the feeling of a bare cock cumming in my pussy.
Of course some guys are a bit shy when it comes to sex and fucking a girl bareback. While not common for me, especially when I’m enticing them to cheat on their girlfriends with me, every once in a while a guy insists.
And that’s what happened with Eric. Eric was one of my ‘friends’ boyfriend. They had been together for ages. He was cute but a bit shy and a bit geeky. But he had all the right attributes for me, a cute face and big hands.
What also made him adorable was how loyal he was to Hannah. My flirting can be both persistent and pretty obvious. After over a year of trying to get his attention and have some fun with him.
I was almost going to give up until one night I found myself out with a bunch of our friends including him, but not Hannah. We had started early in a bar and it had all the hallmarks of one of those marathon, multi venue nights. I locked my sights on him and made sure the guys around him kept him well lubricated with alcohol
Luckily I had dressed for the occasion with a short leather skirt and a tight white top that was just a little see thru to my lace bra.
When darkness hit and we ended up in a dance club I started my campaign in earnest. Being the shy type that he was, dancing wasn’t too much his thing. So I had to drag him on to the floor along with some others in the group.
I’m of course I woman of restraint and patience so I didn’t launch straight into the bump and grind. But I did dance with him and around him so he could get used to it. His nervousness was palpable.
Fast forward a few hours, a few venues and quite a few drinks and we ended up in one of those clubs oozing sex and all sorts of natural and synthetic chemicals. We had lost quite a few from the group. But the hardcore remained. Eric and I had become one night drunken soulmates as we took turns helping each other navigate the treacherous drunken journeys faced by any seriously intrepid bar hopper.
And now the dancing was not restrained at all. We were not just touching, we were pressed into each other. His hands were glued to my hips as I pressed one way, when spun around and pressed back into him the other. I could feel his excitement. I could feel his stiff cock. We went on and on. The dancing getting more intense and his poor balls getting bluer.
When the last ones in our group called it a night and it was just us, I decided it was time to take this to the next level. I told him we should go. He was a little surprised it was so late and it was just us. So I said we should catch one cab and since I was closer, he could drop me off first and then head home. Of course that not what I actually thought.
We found a conveniently dodgy looking taxi and climbed in. As we set off, I gave the driver a flirty look and asked if he could turn the music up. He looked back at me and grinning turned up the dance station he had on.
I told Eric that I still felt like dancing and kinda wished we were back in the club. As soon as he nodded in agreement, I shuffled over to him before I moved up and sat on his lap. I moaned softly as I felt his semi hard cock under me. Then I squirmed to the music as I rubbed myself over his lap. Similar to the club but just with some different geometry.
I saw the taxi drivers eyes in the rear view mirror and I smiled to myself. Unfortunately, of course, the change in position caused my short skirt to ride up. But not quite fully. So I helped it along with some subtle sweeps of my hands. Suddenly my skirt was totally on my hips. My ass framed by a black lace thong on display for Eric.
My face turned on an even more wicked smirk when I felt Eric’s hands move to my hips and then down to my sides, touching at least some my bare ass cheeks.
We continued for another few blocks till we got to my apartment. Now it was crunch time. I told him this area was a bit dodgy and would he mind seeing me to the door. Or he could come up and sleep on the couch if he didn’t wanna waste money on taking the cab across town, reminding him Hannah was out of state with her family.
He was all hesitant and nervous. So sweet but he couldn’t not walk with me the short distance so he went to get out and I quickly gave the driver$20 and as Eric was out the door, told him to scram. He just laughed as I got myself out and repositioned my skirt.
As we walked the short distance through the front of the building, the taxi screamed off as the driver tooted his horn. I smirked at Eric as I said it looked like he was staying here now. Of course I had no intention of him sleeping on my couch. So I decided to ramp it all up right from there.
As we stood at the entrance of my building I leaned in to him and grabbed the front of his shirt pulling him down to me as I gave him a hard kiss. He pulled back slightly but then o could feel his urges take over as he leaned in. I let my tongue dance in his mouth as the sloppy and slutty kissing continued.
After a good moment or two of this, I broke away before taking his hand and pulling him into the mid sized apartment complex. As we waited for the lift and the kissing continued. The size and layout of the complex meant it was unusual to run into other people especially at this time of night. So with the assumption of privacy I gave him a big grin as the doors closed. We only had 9 floors to go but I still managed to get to my knees and unbuckle his jeans, pull his cock from his underwear and start sucking before the doors opened.
He tried to pull away at first but was already against the wall. By the time the doors were opening though, his hands were on the back of my head, encouraging his cock into my mouth. With no urgency at all as the lift shows no sign of moving I kept sucking his cock. But then the doors closed and the lift travelled back down. As it slowed I hurriedly put his cock away while I stood up and fixed myself up.
The doors opened and a couple walked in, surprised to see us there. I smiled back at them as I pressed back into Eric. Subtext reaching behind to feel his hardness. Through his still unbuckled jeans. This time we did get out on the 9th floor as our fellow travellers continued on.
I spun around and laughed as I lead Eric to my apartment. Eric’s face looked embarrassed but he showed no sign of retreat. So I continued my assault on his morals and I lifted up my skirt again so it was back over my hips. Then as I got to my door I reached behind me and pulled him into me. I grinded back into him, unlocking the door with one hand and and pulling his cock back out with the other.
We tumbled through the door into the small apartment. The couch was right in front of us. I turned to him and offered him the couch and then after a silent pause and a wicked grin, I offered an alternative.
Adorably, he told me the couch was fine. But I just smirked as I leaned back into him and meet his mouth as we kissed. I whispered into his ear that his cock is going feel so good when it’s in my pussy. He let out an groan and then I grabbed his hand and led him to my bedroom.
Once in there I pulled his jeans all the way down, pulling his boots off and helping him out of his jeans. Then I lifted the shirt up to help him remove it. Now he was completely naked and I admired his toned body with better muscle definition than I was expecting and a nice hard cock pointing out in front.
I feel back on the bed and gave him a wink as I pulled my thong to the side. That when he killed the mood and asked if I had a condom.
That’s killed the mood in the past, but I was committed to having fun with Eric so I took it in my stride. I told him he didn’t have to cause I was on the pill but like a good little boy he insisted.
So I went into my bathroom and returned with a condom. It wasn’t something I used that often. In fact this one had expired and was also a medium sized which I didn’t think was gonna work for him. Of course, I had a pack of large ones that were brand new in my cabinet, but Eric didn’t need to know that.
I sat on the bed in front of him as I removed the condom from the wrapper and placed it over his stiff cock. I struggled to get the condom stretched over his impressive size and I could tell it was already dry and brittle. But I managed to get it two thirds of the way over his cock.
Once I begrudgingly wrapped it up I pulled him on to the bed and on his back. I straddled him and lined up my dripping pussy with the head of his cock. I lock eyes with him as I lower myself down onto him. Both of us moan as the tension of the night now focuses on his cock and my pussy. I lift up and then push down. I keep going, quickening the pace and increasing the intensity.
I keep going harder to the point where the bed starts to creak and groan. Eric’s hands make their way to my breast through my top. I pull it off to let him have a more sensory experience as I keep fucking him. He pulls my bra down exposing my breasts allowing him to aggressively fondle them.
Our combined moaning continues to crescendo as I keep fucking him. Every once and a while checking the condom to see if it has given up yet. Alas, it holds on.
Eric is getting more and more into it now. Being very active in the fucking as he thrusts his hips up to meet me. I can feel him trying to reposition himself. So I pause my assault briefly.
He moves out from under me and roughly pushes me on my back. He quickly gets in between me and puts my ankles over his shoulders. He drives his cock deep inside me and instantly restarts the hard fucking in our new position. He keeps going and going. Now his assault on my pussy becomes relentless.
His stamina holds and his nice big cock gets me close to cumming. I’m moaning in ecstasy. As he slams into me as hard as ever, I feel something different. I move my hand to the base of his cock as it slams into me to confirm. Sure enough a broken condom is now bunched up at the base of his cock. It rubs against my lips as he drives his bare cock into me. A broad smile comes across my face as a guttural moan escapes me.
I look my legs around his waist keeping him against me. I tell him that I think the condom has broke but that I’m so close to cumming I plead with him to keep going.
I see the flash of fear on his face as I tell him. He slows briefly but my pleads and moans convince him to keep going. I’m so close to cumming but need a bit more from him. My breathing is so ragged and my moaning intense. I can sense he is close to. I squeeze my pelvic muscles as much as possible to clamp his cock. He starts grunting and I feel his cock swell. I plead with him to keep fucking me and he does, with more intensity than ever. He grunts and groans loudly. We are both totally entranced.
I scream obscenities as I go over the edge. Then i feel him slam deep inside me and hold it there. My orgasm floods my body as I feel him empty himself directly into my unprotected pussy. I look at his face and smile as I see the annalistic pleasure travel through him.
We hold it there for a few moments before he pulls out and collapses next to me.
As the light comes into my room, I slowly open my eyes. It must be mid morning. I feel Eric spooning me and I feel his cock pressing into my ass. I’m still wearing my skirt around my hubs and my bra only slightly higher up around my waist.
I get up trying not to disturb him and go and have a shower.
I’m a little bit nervous about what his more sober and stress relieved attitude will be. I decide a cooked breakfast might help him process it and recover. So I put on a short bath robe and go to the kitchen to make breakfast.
A short while later he emerges from the bedroom wearing his boxer shorts, looking sheepish. I smile at him and tell him I’ve got some bacon on the go. He walks over and stands behind me telling me how good it smells. Then he presses his body into mine.
20 seconds later he has me bent over the kitchen bench. His bare cock driving into my unprotected pussy. I smile to myself through my moaning and groaning
489 notes · View notes
forget me not.
♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.
♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.
wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?
You accept it.
For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.
♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader
♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies
♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.
♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha
♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.
Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.
It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.
When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.
The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.
Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.
There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.
When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.
Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.
So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.
You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.
Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?
Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.
The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.
You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.
As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.
You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.
The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.
Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.
Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,
"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."
Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.
In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,
The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.
Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.
Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.
Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.
"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.
Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.
The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.
You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.
Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"
But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.
"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."
It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.
No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.
To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.
Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.
Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.
Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.
People don't know this. They don't understand this.
He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.
But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.
Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.
The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.
Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.
Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.
You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.
But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.
For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.
Possible remedy according to findings entail
growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.
Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.
"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"
Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.
"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"
"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"
"I'm fine. Thanks."
"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"
You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.
So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.
"No. What does that have to do with anything?"
He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."
Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"
"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."
You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.
"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."
"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.
Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.
At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.
"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."
The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.
So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.
For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.
"Hi." He says finally.
"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!
Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.
"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.
Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."
In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.
It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.
You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."
Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."
Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.
And honestly? Neither had you.
It's quiet. Awkward.
"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."
You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.
"You...you don't have to tell me."
"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.
You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.
He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"
You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.
Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.
As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.
Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.
You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.
You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.
You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.
Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"
"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."
Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.
"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"
Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.
"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."
Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.
You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.
Bake something from scratch.
Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.
You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.
Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.
When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.
But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.
If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.
"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"
"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"
You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."
Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.
"I said you got a little...something..."
You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.
Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.
You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.
This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.
Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.
He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.
They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.
Though the answer is simple.
Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.
How ironic is that?
Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.
Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.
He's falling apart.
You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.
"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."
Self bleach hair.
It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)
His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.
You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)
You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.
"Ready to go?"
Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.
"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.
"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"
You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"
Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.
There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?
His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.
And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.
Make a snow angel.
From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.
The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.
Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"
Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...
"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"
What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.
"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"
You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.
For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.
“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.
You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.
Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.
You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.
You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.
It’s too good to be real.
You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.
See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)
Hyunjin speaks up first.
“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.
You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”
Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.
“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”
Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.
Learn to skate.
"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."
"You say it like I have a choice."
Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.
The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.
You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?
But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.
Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.
"I am pretty good, aren't I?"
He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."
Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.
"Oh my God! It is you!"
You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.
You let out a nervous laugh.
"And it's you..."
Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.
"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"
"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.
The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."
Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.
Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.
Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"
"Text me anytime."
“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."
Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.
Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.
Watch every Disney movie ever made.
You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.
"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."
Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.
He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.
You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."
Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"
"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"
"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."
A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.
Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.
The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.
"Found it yet?"
You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.
You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.
Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.
"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"
You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.
You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.
"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.
It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?
There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.
Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.
But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.
Kiss underneath a mistletoe.
“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”
Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.
Now...something doesn’t feel right.
The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.
He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.
Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)
When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.
He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.
And like always.
He takes your advice.
Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.
Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.
Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”
Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”
Your brows come together in inquiry.
"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”
He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.
“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."
A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.
"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.
It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.
"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”
“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”
“Oh hell yeah.”
You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.
In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.
Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.
See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.
All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.
The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"
This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.
In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.
"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"
"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.
"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.
750 notes · View notes
Happy FUCKING 810NICLE Day, y'all! I've got a lot of stuff I want to post today, so I'm getting started at the end. Have some Stars revamps. Or, total redesigns, really. Built from scratch in a set-plausible design intended to stick as closely to their original looks as possible while still fitting into the scale and aesthetics of Bionicle's later years.
Tahu was designed as a hybrid between his original Toa Mata appearance and the aesthetics of the Adaptive Nuva. He's an Inika build, representing that the Adaptive Armour is (partially) active, but has the slimmer silhouette of his Mata days (Plus a back gear, if you can believe it. It's not visible in any of these pictures, but it's there. Doesn't do anything, but it's a fun little decoration). I wish I could have given him fully orange limbs to match the set better, but the red hardly looks bad. I'm particularly proud of how I managed to incorporate the Stars armour pieces on the larger build, especially since it means I can do...
...this. All six of the original Golden Armour pieces still fit perfectly onto this Tahu, though I've taken the liberty of swapping out the shield for a bigger, more practical piece. He's very shiny.
Gresh has slimmed down a lot since his days as a Glatorian. In-story, I imagine this would be a result of ditching the ornamental, overly showy armour worn by most Glatorian in favour of lighter, more effective combat gear that compliments his new Air powers. Like Tahu, I was able to carry over his Stars set armour, though not quite as elegantly. He's a bit of a stick figure, but I still love him, especially since he's the only one of the six whose colour layout is basically exactly the same as his official set, part for part, with the exception of a black neck.
2010 Takanuva is supposed to be the Toa of Light in his normal form, just with his colours altered to camouflage himself as a Toa of Ice to avoid drawing attention to himself. So, here he is scaled up into a Metru build to keep him at the proper size. I didn't feel like painting anything here, so his torso's colours are off, but I can't say I care that much. He also has a working gear function, sooo...bonus!
Also, I don't know about anyone else, but I always thought it was ridiculous that Takanuva would discard his Power Lance, an amazing tool that not only channeled his powers, but also amplified them, in favour of the Twin Light Staffs, which do nothing of note except exist as a pair. So, have this headcanon: At some point during the reign of Teridax, Takanuva's Power Lance was broken. Unwilling to surrender the advantage the tool gave him, Takanuva fashioned the broken pieces of the lance into the Twin Light Staffs, specifically opting for two as a nod to the twin Power Swords traditionally wielded by Av-Matoran. Thus is the thought process for using Air Sabers as the heads of his staffs in this revamp.
Nektann is a Piraka build. And that's about it. I kept his hands, feer, and weapon from his set form, and slapped 'em on a basic Skakdi body. Took a bit of work to get his head on, but nothing too wild. After that, it was just a matter of attaching his spines to his back and arms and he was done. Technically, Nektann is supposed to be larger than the average Skakdi, but I haven't figured out a way to make that look good as of yet, so this is all I've got for him, for now.
Also, in the realm of revamps that are just tweaks to existing sets, have Winter 2009's Skrall, now in lime green and without a shield. New feet though! Yeah, this one isn't terribly creative on my part, but it is what the figure should look like, canonically speaking, and that's what I was going for, so I'm satisfied.
At least this guy gets the satisfaction of being the only one of the bunch with a launcher.
And finally, the Rahkshi of Heat Vision, alternatively and unofficially known as Zirahk. The Rahkshi design, oddly enough, was not difficult to translate into Inika scale at all, thanks to the pieces of the Stars set. The neck plugs into the front of an Inika torso with ease and the spine attaches to the back just as easily. There's even enough room to wedge a little Kraata of Heat Vision in there. I'm still amazed I have one of those. Anyway, the big challenge here was the size. Did you know Rahkshi are supposed to be 9 FEET TALL?? Because I found that out only recently. Naturally, a stubby little Rahkshi was't gonna cut it, I had to make this lad TOL.
And as you can see, it's still too small! As is, Zirahk is taller than an average Inika build; not quite as much as it should be, but it's as good as it's gonna get, methinks.
And to close, another group shot. Once again, happy 810 everybody. More to come.
73 notes · View notes
Satoru x Kakashi x reader
Firstly i just want to thank you all for your support, I genuinely had no idea this would blow up and was just posting the stories to post them but i am so grateful to have you guys as an audience. This smut was harder to make but with some inspiration from my husband and some manga, i think it'll turn out pretty spicy. So without anymore delays welcome to my 100k smut special. Hope you all enjoy but be nice lol it's the first threesome I've written about
You stared at the calendar longer than needed, you knew your eyes were correct. Today was a very special day for more than one reason and you could barely contain your happiness. Not only is it your birthday but it's the day that they come home. They both parted ways about two months ago for work and were able to get some time with you for a while starting today. You missed them so much it hurt, their touch, their voices, their kisses, just everything. You craved them more than anything in this world. Peeling your eyes from the calendar you head out to the store and picked up wine and ingredients for dinner. On your way home you stopped by a friends house to let them know you would not be available for a while and without pressing you for details she understood that you'd be tied up... hopefully literally. Once your home your phone rings and its Satoru. "Hey baby" you answer excited. "Hey princess~ i just wanted to let you know I'm waiting for Kakashi now and then we will be on our way. I'm thinking maybe 3 hours" he says in a very giddy voice. "Okay love i cant wait to see you two, get here safely" you reply. "yes maaam~" he says before hanging up.
You spent the time doing your hair, makeup and making dinner just how the likes it. They should be home within the hour and you have never been more ready to throw yourself on someone so badly. Meanwhile in the car with your loves. "You think she'd like these or these?" Kakashi asks Satoru holding up two bouquets of roses, one red and the other pink. "I'd say red considering the occasion" he reply's smirking. "Buuuuut lets just get both to be safe" he adds. "Good thinking" they go to check out and talk on the way to the house to catch up on lost time before the needed to talk about the facts. "You know this is he first time right?" Satoru asks staring out the car window into the sky through his shades. "What do you mean?" Kakashi asks. "She's never had both of us at once" he says smirking. A light blush appears on Kakashis face under his mask as he realizes he's right. They had always had alternate schedules so they each had their time with her but this is a first. To be home at the same time after being away for so long. How exciting. "We have to be extra careful with her tonight. And the next day, and maybe the next day~" Satoru says biting his lip a bit. "Understood, I'm sure we know how to make this experience as perfect as can be for our queen" Kakashi says smiling through his mask. They spent the rest of the car ride planning out everything as best as they could.
You hear them pull into the driveway and your heart begins to race as your legs moved on their own towards the door. You swing the door open before either of them could touch it and pulled them both into a deep hug. "We missed you too baby" they say to you. Satoru leans down and kisses you tenderly before Kaakshi follows right after caressing your soft skin. "Happy birthday love" Kakashi adds and they both extend their arms giving you the roses. "Their beautiful... thank you so much" you say smelling them while they fully enter the house and lock the door. "Oooh~ something smells good" Satoru coos as he walks to the dinning room. "Oh right! I made you guys dinner. Its been a while since I've been able to cook for either of you." You say as you set the flowers in a large vase before preparing to set the table. "I definitely miss your cooking... among other things" Kakashi says as he walks to the room with his bags. You blush and quickly turn around so they cant see your face. "Go get cleaned up, ill get the table set" you say. Both smiling they do as you requested. By the time you had pour their drinks they were walking towards the table. Both wearing lose sweats and t shirts as they sit down. You couldn't help but look down as they walked and you gulped at the sight. We all know about the prints and they were no exception. The guys give each other a looked in acknowledgment of your eyes wandering and shared a chuckle. You sat at the table and talked with them as they ate their dinner. "Anything you wanna do after we're done?" kakashi asks. "I'm just going with the flow today, i really don't have anything planned in particular" you say taking a sip of your wine. When you look up you see both of them staring at you smiling. It was so terrifying yet you found yourself pressing your legs together. "Are you down for anything?" Satoru asks leaning back in his chair. You slowly nod looking down at your glass when you hear their chairs move at the same time. Your head shoots up to see them walking towards you. "W-what's going on?" You ask nervously. "Do you trust us?" Satoru asks. "With my life" you reply. Before you could ask more questions Kakashi throws you over his should and walks to "The Room" this rooms layout consisted of a large comfy couch, projector screen and a Alaskan king size bed built into the floor. He puts you down once inside and immediately grabs your neck pulling you into a heated kiss. Satoru walking over to the closet and grabbing the black box. While you were preoccupied he takes out your blindfold and covers your eyes. "You remember your safe word right baby?" Satoru asks as he rips open your shirt and bra. "Mmph y-yes" you reply only to receive a harsh slap on your ass from Kakashi. "Yes what?" He asks in a low voice. "Y-yes daddy" you correct yourself. "Good girl" he praises before turning you around to face Satoru and kissing your neck softly. Satoru begins to slowly take off your pants, tossing them aside once completely off. Your breathing become heavy as you feels their hands roam all over your body. Satoru runs his hands up along your waist until they reach your breasts. Without hesitation he takes one into his mouth, gently sucking on it as you run your finger through his soft hair.
You felt Satoru smirk against your skin as he nips on your nipple and pinch the other. You lean your head back on Kakashis shoulder while he leaves deep and dark marks all over your neck. "Are you going to be a good girl for us tonight?" Satoru asks after popping your nipple out his mouth. "Yes daddy" you say feeling his gorgeous eyes stare into you. He lightly chuckles before getting on his knees again and throwing your leg over his shoulder. You jump a bit as you feel his fingers rub your pussy slowly. "mm your soaking wet down here love~" he says before sliding a finger inside you. You let out a soft moan as your body tenses us and Kakashis hands move to your breasts squeezing them. "Oh yeah? What has you so worked up baby girl?" Kakashi says as he licks your ear. "It's because -fuck- because you both of you a-are touching me like this" you sigh with a light moan. "You mean like this?" Kakashi coos as his right hand wraps around your neck and he presses his dick against your back. "And like this?~" Satoru adds as he slips in another finger curling them inside you perfectly. You let a loud moan and your body trembled a bit. "P-please... I need more... please." Satoru slipping out his fingers and going to the bed laying down on it. Kakashi knew what to do, he guides you there as well before placing you in a 69 position on top of satoru on your hands and knees. He places himself in front of you before pulling down his sweats and pumping himself slowly right in front of your covered eyes. As satoru locks your hips with his arms he starts with soft flicks of tongue on your sensitive clit. Your hands grab the blanket as you begin to moan and your legs shake lightly. "Open your mouth sweetheart" you hear in front of you and without a second thought you comply. Sticking out your tongue letting saliva drip from the tip of it. Kakashi takes his time as he circles his tip on the bed of your tongue before sliding it deep inside your throat. Letting out a deep grunt once he bottoms out feeling your throat squeezing him just right. As he pulls himself back he grabs a handful of your hair for better support. Satoru dug his hands into your hips as he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue just right. You moan into Kakashis dick as he fucks your face slowly but deep sending vibrations from him. "Good fucking girl... sss fuck- stick out your tongue more. Fuck yes just like that." He groans going harder with each thrust. Satoru made sure to make an absolutely mess of you as you grind softly on his face.
Satoru smirks against your skin as he quickens his pace knowing you were so close to cumming. Kakashi pulls from your throat as you gasp for air and pant from the tightening coil inside you. "Fuck I'm gunna cum~ feels so good daddy!" You whine as you grip kakashis shirt with one hand. Reaching down he plays with your curls as he watches you fall apart on satorus tongue. "Ahhuh god! Fuck! I-I'm mmmph! C-cu-" you couldn't get the rest out as you gush on his mouth twitching and trying to pull yourself from him as he cleans his plate. Once he's had his fill he releases his grip on you and licks his lips. "Delicious as always gorgeous" he says kissing your thighs. You can't see them but you hear them taking off their clothes and moving around the bed. You then feel one of them snatch your hands and put them behind your back while the other ties your hands together. You smirk a bit as you were getting more excited by the second. Feeling the bed dip down you feel satorus hands help you on top of him. And then you feel Kakashi right behind you holding your bound arms. You feel something wet and cold rubbing against your ass before it slowly sunk into you. You whimper at the unfamiliar feeling but just as you were getting use to the feeling of being teased from behind you feel a strong vibration against your clit. Hanging your head down you felt the vibrator going in circles on your pussy and what you come to realize a thick plug being pumped in and out of your ass. "Feeling good princess?" Kakashi asks with a chuckle as he admires your voice as it echos in the room. You were drunk on the pleasure and they haven't enough done much just yet. You called for them over and over again and before you knew it you were cumming again. "That's it baby. We just wanna make you feel good" satoru says as he slow down the circles before turning off the vibrator and slowly sinking you down on his thick dick. You cry out from the stretch but immediately felt so fucking full. Full of him and the pleasure he brought to you. As he bucks his hips into your clenching pussy Kakashi removes the plug and rubs his dick on your ass. "We need you to cum again princess. Can you do that for us?" Kakashi asks as he grips your arms and bites on your shoulder a bit. Satoru slowed his thrusting to let you answer but all you did was nod frantically. He looks down at satoru and with a smirk he begins circling the vibrator over your clit again with satoru still giving you deep and slow thrusts. "Close already? That was fast~" he mocks you as you clench around him. Kakashi pulls your body back and turns your head to him as he kisses you again. Your moans muffled with his mouth but your body jerks forward as you cum again. Tears stream down your face, you couldn't speak just react. satoru stop thrusting and pulls you into a heated kiss sliding his tongue in your mouth and making sure you knew who was in charge right now. Your breathing was still all over the place but you didn't have time to get it together when you felt Kakashis dick press into your tight ass. Your nails dig into your palms as he pushes himself half way in. Satoru grunting from the pressure and you wilding moaning between them. Both of them rubbing your body as they comfort you through the stretch. "Your taking us so well baby. Just a little more and I promise it'll feel good" Kakashi says. "I-I already f-feel good..~ haaa fuck" you cry out. Not men blushing hard before Kakashi slams the rest inside you cause you to scream out. "I'm sorry love but I can't hold back anymore" he moans as he slowly begins fucking your ass. Squelching sounds and moans filling the room you all slowly lose your minds with one another. Satoru no longer being able to sit still begins thrusting upward into you again much harder than before. One one entered you the other would pull back a bit. "Ahaaah shit!! Fuck fuck! T-too much!" You breathlessly moan. Kakashi removes your blindfold and hands. You kindly reach behind you pushing him back a bit as he speeds up while your other hand rests on Satorus chest.
So many hands digging into your flesh that you don't know who is grabbing where anymore. And in a split second you blink and real size they have stood up sandwiching you between them with their arms holding you perfectly still. You wrap one of your arms around Satorus neck and then reaching over your shoulder you grab Kakashis. Their groan and labored breathing pushing you closer to your release yet again. You were begging them to make a mess of your insides, to break you or breed you. Whatever came first you wanted it and you wanted it so badly. "Mph gunna cum gunna cum again! Ugh right there! Please don't stop!~" their faces closed in on you as they fucked you in sync with one another. "Come on then birthday girl" one of them coos. "Make as much of a mess as you want" the other chimes in. Your grip on them tightens on both of them. Soon there you were again, but this time you couldn't hold back. Your body refused to hide the fact that you were receiving the ultimate amount of pleasure and as you yell into the air and come undone you find yourself squirting and violently shaking. "God your so sexy" Satoru says as he slams into you as hard as he can cumming deep within you, your nails scratching him harshly and Kakashi following right behind him. "Fuck I'm cumming baby!" He grunts as he too fills you up a strained whimper escapes you. Your eyes glazed with lust as you stare up at the ceiling feeling their cum drip from your aching holes. Best birthday ever.
124 notes · View notes
The Keeper’s Introduction
Here is my fic for @levihan-drabbles Fluff Friday!
Prompt: "I know I just broke into your apartment in the middle of the night but there are some bad people after my special power over alternate universes and I've decided to put all my faith on you to save everything."
They looked oddly at home, expertly navigating his kitchen. As though they had been there before. They grabbed the honeypot from another cupboard, and found a spoon in one of the drawers.
"Oi," Levi said. "How'd you know where I keep all my shit?"
The stranger waved their hand flippantly, "Oh, I'm well acquainted with your layout. It never really changes, wherever you are."
Levi had just settled in for the night when a loud echoing crack sounded in the street below.
It was well past midnight, far too late for such a racket. The sudden violence of it was almost enough to make him spill his tea. He waited with his breath held, his heart shamefully hammering in his chest. Levi prided himself on being the type who doesn't scare so easily—but one can't be blamed for being alarmed by an unexpected noise in the dead of night, can they?
The world remained mercifully still and quiet. Levi approached the open window slowly (carefully, not frightfully; there is no indignity in being cautious) and peered out into the night. The sky outside was almost full dark, saved from the pressing black by only a smattering of stars and the moon, a papery sliver of a thing hooked high over the distant rooftops. The window, open only an inch, gave entry to a gentle breeze, still balmy despite the lateness of the hour. The town was drowsy, dozing; only the occasional candle flickered in the darkness, and no sound, prior to or following the thunderous clap, could be heard.
The street, three stories below, was empty. Levi scanned the road, but found nothing unusual. The strangest thing, perhaps, was that his face was the only one peering out. None of his neighbours had deemed the explosion worth investigating.
It was, for all the world, a night as perfectly normal as any other. Levi had seen no reason to expect anything out of the ordinary might occur.
He blew out a breath. Maybe he had imagined it. He had been quite engrossed in his novel, and it was well past time for him to be sleeping. It isn't unreasonable to assume that the sound of a cat, perhaps, rattling the bins in the alley had startled his tired, occupied mind. Resolving to finish his chapter and go straight to bed, Levi gave the street one last cursory glance, and turned away from the window.
He had just settled back into his chair and picked up his tea cup and his book, when the doorbell rang.
The chime in itself was yet another oddity, for Levi received visitors only very rarely, and never at an hour so late as this.
He set down his drink and lowered the book to his lap with a frown. Better, he thought, not to answer straight away. Then they might leave without causing him any trouble—and if they rang a second time, and even a third, Levi would suppose it might be something urgent and might finally be pressed to receive his unwanted guest.
Much to his pleasure, the bell did not sound a second time. Levi waited, poised to stand, but minutes passed by with no sound at all, and eventually, mildly disgruntled now by the persistent interruptions, he settled back and tried, once again, to read.
He turned the page. Picked up his now lukewarm tea, and took a sip. Sunk down more comfortably into the plush armchair. He felt himself begin to settle. The peculiarities of the night drifted from his thoughts as he read, mind too engaged with the story in his hands to think too deeply over the strange events that had occurred.
And then, without any warning at all, a godawful shriek rent the air as Levi's window was wrenched open from the outside, the wood frame protesting with a violent screech. Levi jerked in his seat, book falling from his hands and his tea cup shattering as it struck the stone floor.
There was a person, making no efforts at all to be quiet, unashamedly clambering in through his window. Levi watched, too shocked to move, while they pulled themself over the sill and crumpled in a heap to the floor.
Levi could do nothing but stare as the intruder heaved themself up. They unfurled long limbs, straightening to their full height, and turned quickly to poke their head out of the open window. They looked left, then right, down, and most peculiarly, up, before pulling themself back inside and slamming the window closed. They drew the curtains shut, and turned to look into the room, casting their eyes about the place as though inspecting it.
They walked with a relaxed gate, seemingly unbothered by their rude intrusion. Levi couldn't be sure if they had noticed his presence, for they made no show of knowing he was even there, and Levi was still too stunned to announce it. He watched the stranger rotate in a slow circle, looking everywhere from the ceiling down to the floor. Satisfied, they slapped their hands to their hips and nodded once, and then their gaze fell on Levi, still sitting stiff as a board in his chair. The light from Levi's lamp cast half their face in shadow, glinting off the lenses of their glasses. Their mouth stretched in a wide, manic grin.
Levi swallowed hard. His courage returned to him swiftly, urging him to his feet. He faced the stranger head on with his face twisted in a scowl.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The intruder's grin only widened.
"Oh, Mike was right after all!"
They crossed to him quickly in two great strides. Levi twisted his head this way and that to watch them as they circled him. This close, Levi could better see the sharp hook of their nose, the angle of their jaw and the whiskey colour of their eyes, with strange, dark markings around their irises, like the face of a clock. He could also see the fingerprint smudges on their lenses. They wore all black, from their muddy boots up to the overlarge hood draped over their shoulders like a small cloak.
"Shitty four-eyes, answer me."
They let out a gleeful laugh.
"Oh, Mike my friend, you are a genius!" They said. And then, to Levi, they added, "Mike can sniff out you Guardians half a universe away, I swear."
Levi had no idea who Mike was, or what a Guardian was, and frankly, he didn't care. He levelled his home invader with a sharp glare. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. "I said, what the hell are you doing climbing through my window? How? I’m three stories up!"
The stranger's smile finally faltered. They tilted their head. "I did try the doorbell."
"Why did you want to be in my house?"
"Ah, well, you see—that's kind of a long story." They turned on their heel and strode into the kitchenette. Levi watched on, incredulous, as they filled his kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. With one hand, they reached into the cupboard above the sink and rifled through the boxes until they found Levi's stash of chamomile tea, and with the other they reached for the draining board, and plucked up two clean cups by their handles. All of this, while they watched the water begin to simmer in the pot.
They looked oddly at home expertly navigating his kitchen. As though they had been there before. They grabbed the honeypot from another cupboard, and found a spoon in one of the drawers.
"Oi," Levi said. "How'd you know where I keep all my shit?"
The stranger waved their hand flippantly, "Oh, I'm well acquainted with your layout. It never really changes, wherever you are."
"The fuck is that supposed to mean, shitty glasses?" Levi tried to inject an air of disinterested anger into his tone, but the stranger’s words, said so plainly, raised goosebumps on his skin.
They chuckled. "I can't tell you how many times we've had this conversation. I'm Hange, by the way."
Hange brought the tea over to where Levi stood, and held one cup out for Levi to take. He clenched his fists by his sides instead. The tea, upsettingly, smelled perfect; brewed at the right temperature, for the right time, and sweetened with just a drop of honey. When he didn't take the cup, Hange shrugged and set it on the little table by the armchair. They spied the broken china on the floor and smirked, "you never have much luck with that one."
"That cup. It's the one with the gold rim, right? And all the little forget-me-nots around the outside?"
Levi said nothing. Hange, irritatingly and unexplainably, for the cup was in many pieces now and the lighting was too poor to see it in any great detail, was absolutely right.
"You still haven't answered my question," he said.
"Right, right. Like I said, it's a long story. Do you want the unabridged version or are you happy with the footnotes?"
"A summary is fine."
Hange took a great slurp of their tea. "Long story short, I pissed off some very bad people, and now they are after me for my, ah—abilities."
"But why my house?"
"Mike told me where you'd be. And boy, am I glad he did! I barely made it in time. I was aiming to land right in your sitting room, but I guess my calculations were a little off…" they trailed away with a frown. Levi watched their lips work quickly, as though they were running numbers in their head. Then they stopped, and shook themselves off. "Doesn't matter now anyway. I didn't wake you, did I? World hopping can be pretty loud."
That, at least, accounted for the sound Levi had heard outside. But...
"Hange," Levi said. "You've explained nothing."
"Give me a minute, Levi. It's complicated! There's a lot of history and I already know you don't want to hear any of it. Besides, we wouldn't have the time. We'll have to leave early in the morning."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Sure you are," Hange said. "I have to meet up with Erwin, and I need you to get me there."
"Where's there? Who the hell is Erwin?"
Again, Hange waved their hand at him. "Unimportant. Look, what matters is this: I might've messed with the timeline in another universe, and that may have caused some….upset, with some very important and very powerful people. I only changed a little bit!! I met this guy, Onyankopon—he's so cool, you know? Smart as hell. He had this idea that—well, it was the base model for an airplane."
"Well, see, that's the thing. Onyankopon asked the same question, and I just...told him. A little bit. I went a little too deep into the mechanics of it all, and he...well he might have developed a model that works. Two hundred years before it was supposed to exist in his universe. And now the Bureau is looking for me, but I’m not done with Erwin’s mission yet and so I am putting all my eggs in your basket. I need you to get me out of this in one piece.”
Hange looked more sheepish about this insane indiscretion than they had about breaking and entering.
"You're fucking insane," he said. Hange let out a bright laugh.
"So you've told me, more times than I can count."
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He felt a headache coming on.
"You look stressed," Hange said, sounding almost sympathetic. "Drink the tea! It'll help, though it's probably a little cold by now."
"You're the reason I'm stressed, idiot."
"Sorry about that," they said, not sounding very sorry at all. "I know the circumstances aren't...ideal. I'd much rather have come to you another time and explained everything properly, but—well, I was kind of in a hurry, and Mike sniffed you out, said you were the nearest you to my location. I didn't have much of a choice."
"Who the hell is Mike? Some kind of mutt?"
"Sort of," Hange said with a grin. "He's a Seeker. It's his job to locate people like you—people like us—when the Bureau needs us. Fortunately for me, Mike isn't overly loyal to our dear overseers—his allegiance lies with Erwin, as does mine. And Erwin is decidedly less strict about most of the timelines."
Hange circled around Levi and set their hands on his shoulders. Something strange sparked there, a heat that sunk through skin and muscle and settled right in his bones. They had already ushered him into his chair by the time he shrugged them off.
"What does any of this batshit garbage you're spewing have to do with me?"
"You are a Guardian. It's your role to protect people like me from harm."
"The hell does that mean, people like you? I’m not fighting anyone to save your scrawny ass from anything. You fucked up, you deal with it. "
Hange stood up straight and puffed out their chest. "I am a Keeper. I'm supposed to keep order in the timelines. According to the Bureau, at least. Erwin has other ideas—but that's a story for another time. For now, we should rest. Like I said, we've got to leave early in the morning."
"To go where?"
"To Erwin!" Hange said brightly. "I don't have my pocket watch anymore, so we're gonna have to take the traditional route. There's no way I'll make it on my own. And don’t worry, you won’t have to fight anyone. I’ll explain it all on the journey."
"Look,” Levi said. “Can't you just...drop out of the sky whenever this Erwin guy is? I'm sure he's got his own window you can climb through."
"No can do," Hange said. "I can only hop between universes. I need my watch to move fast within any one universe, and mine took a dunk in a river, during my escape."
"Magic bullshit technology that lets you, what, teleport across the damn globe? And it can't survive a dip in a river?"
"They aren't watertight," Hange said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And they still run on batteries. Moblit is working on improving the technology."
Levi's head throbbed. He rubbed his eyes and glowered up at Hange, who was watching him with a soft smile. Levi deepened his scowl.
"What's that shitty face for?"
Hange's expression softened further. They looked at him with so much fondness, Levi felt his face grow warm.
"I've missed you, you know," they said. "Well, not you, but—you. It's been...a really long time."
"That makes no sense," Levi said. He meant it, too—nothing Hange had said to him made sense at all. It was the stuff of storybooks, fairy tales; the product of an imagination run wild. And yet, Hange's presence, alarming as it had been and frankly still was, felt oddly familiar. The warmth of their hands still rested on his shoulders. In spite of himself, Levi felt the corner of his lip begin to curl into a small, absent smile. He wrestled it back down.
Hange laughed, a light, lilting thing, and yawned. They crossed the room to Levi's small dining table and dropped heavily into a chair.
"I suppose you're right," they said with a lazy grin. "It doesn't make any sense at all. You'll just have to trust me."
"You broke into my house. You're not selling your reliability very well. And don't even think about it."
Hange looked over at him, surprised. "Think about what?"
"Putting your filthy feet on my damn table."
"Whatever gave you the idea I'd do something like that?"
Levi opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it closed swiftly as the thought, which had come to him thoroughly unbidden, fully registered in his mind. You do it all the time.
Levi pinched his eyes, staring at Hange. They sat with a curious little tilt of their head, watching him with an open, analytical look. Levi squirmed under their gaze.
"I don't know," he said. "Seems like the kind of shit you'd do."
"Like something I've done before?"
Levi flinched, and Hange smiled all teeth at him, a strange mix of impish and pleased. They propped their elbow on the table and rested their chin on their palm. "There it is," they said quietly.
"What?" Levi asked. Too eager. Hange looked thrilled as they straightened up in their chair, eyes gleaming in the lamplight.
"There are a lot of you's, one in every single universe, just like there are a lot of Isabel's, and Farlan's, and Petra's—"
"How do you—you know what, nevermind. Go on."
"But because you're a Guardian, all your you's are linked. And because you're my Guardian," Hange looked weirdly proud at this pronouncement, "it's only natural that you remember me. It'll happen a lot, I'm sure. Try not to freak out."
Levi snorted. "You say that now?"
"Would it have made a difference if I said it earlier?"
Levi mulled that over for a second. No, he supposed it wouldn’t. He’d have thought them completely unhinged either way. Instead of answering, he picked up the tea from the table and drained it in three gulps. When he looked back at Hange, they were smiling brightly at him.
"Just how you like it, right?"
"I prefer it hot."
Hange kicked their heels against the floor and shot him an affronted look. With a petulant pout of their lip, they said, " So unfair, Levi! That's not my fault."
He shrugged them off. He would never admit it to them, but he took some bizarre delight in watching Hange's tantrum. It felt all too natural. They slumped back in their chair, head tipped over the back rest to stare at the ceiling.
"Ah, you're as cruel as ever," they said. "It's good. Very you."
Hange pushed their glasses up to their forehead and rubbed at their eyes. The scene looked painfully familiar; Hange, smiling sleepily, bleary eyed in the low blush of candlelight. Only, in the image forming in his mind, they were resting against a plump, well-fluffed pillow, and their hair was down from its ponytail, still messy and falling over their face. In the image forming in his mind, Levi's own hand reached out to brush a few strands from their cheeks, and Hange turned into his palm, their lips brushing the sensitive skin there.
Levi shook his head, face a little warm. Hange was watching him again. He scowled at them for good measure, gathering up his own cup and theirs, and washing them in the sink. He let the water run cool over his hands for a long moment.
"You should rest, if you're tired," he said. From the table, Hange hummed.
"Good idea," they said. "The bed's big enough for two, right?"
Levi turned sharply to refute them, but Hange didn't give him the chance. They had already heaved themself up out of their chair and kicked off their boots, and now, with the practiced ease of someone who had lived in the house for years, they were wandering down the hall and straight into Levi's bedroom, leaving the door open behind them.
Levi dried his hands slowly on the dish towel. He looked at the armchair, big and well-cushioned, spacious enough for him to recline in for a few hours rest. It wouldn't be the first time, and he had no doubt it would be the last. And then he looked down the hallway, where Hange must have lit the lamp; warm light spilled out into the corridor, and Levi was reminded abruptly of his strange thoughts.
This Hange, they were crazy. Talking the most nonsense Levi had ever heard come straight from another person's mouth. He would be better off resting his eyes in his chair, and kicking Hange out at first light.
That was the logical thing to do. The reasonable thing. That was the desperate plea of his better judgement.
Instead, he blew out his lamp, and stormed down the hallway after them.
"You lie on my fresh sheets in your filthy clothes and I'm throwing you back out the window, Guardian or not."
53 notes · View notes
Call It A Night - Chapter Five (Finale)
Helmut Zemo x F!Reader | Sam Wilson x F!Reader | Bucky Barnes x !Reader
GIF created by @rogue-onee (x).
Summary: As your time in Madripoor comes to a close, you attempt to solve some problems and receive an unexpected visitor.
Alternate Endings. Explicit Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language. Canon Violence and Injury.
✨Previous Alternative Chapter (Helmut Zemo)✨
✨Previous Alternative Chapter (Bucky Barnes)✨
✨Previous Alternative Chapter (Sam Wilson)✨
WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Vaginal Fingering. Mentions of Sex.
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
READ ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs
Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.
A/N: This chapter style is similar to the first. As you are meant to have the choice of man, it doesn’t name who you chose the previous night, so that you all can fill in the insinuation as you wish. :)
**If you are new to ‘Call It A Night,’ this is a fic with alternate storylines. This chapter is the final in the main series. The Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes’ arcs have a short epilogue to follow, which round of their stories. Helmut Zemo's storyline will continue for a few more chapters.
To read the previous pieces and follow the layout of the story, you can visit the masterlist here, and see what else is contained in the series.
I hope that you like it!
As the dawn rises, some of the magic of the night drifts away. The light on the horizon signals duty and responsibility. It whispers that the soft and caressing touches must fade, and that you must slip from his comfortable arms to retreat quietly back to your room alone. That voice at the back of your mind echoes it, insisting that maintaining the team is more important than whatever feelings these last few hours had stoked within, and that you must restrain them in the daylight.
Especially if you are to keep your word.
At that thought, your friend’s aged voice sweeps hoarsely through your mind.
‘Look after them.’
And you had promised you would. Despite the potential fracturing that your decision last night could possibly cause, you were trying. You had come when they called, and stayed to keep them as far out of trouble as you could. However… Part of you whispered that you were still failing still. Not just with Sam and Bucky and the potential ramifications for your lusty actions, but with another. Despite the fact that you were torn, pulled so many different ways, it’s hard to ignore the prickle of intuition murmuring that she needs you too.
Maybe more than the boys.
Which is why you pick your phone to try again, but this time, the call doesn’t even connect. No repeated ringing, but just a long beep of whining dial tone before the robotic voice of the answering machine starts up. You simply wait, fingers twisting impatiently in your stiff bedsheets, until the cue to speak comes. Mouth a little dry, you begin to talk, fighting to keep your tone both casual and soothing. Calm. As if anxiety is not bubbling up thick within your chest, to twist and swirl along with the other medley of emotions simmering there.
“Hey, Wanda. This is the eight message that I’ve left you in five days. Is everything alright? I’m starting to get really worried. Just… Call me back. Please.”
Chewing your bottom lip nervously, you remove the phone from your ear and end the call. The hard plastic shifts between your palms as you clasp it in both hands, lowering to rest upon your lap as you stare straight ahead, lost in troubled thought. On the wall opposite, your reflection meets your gaze tiredly. She sits atop the bed in Sharon’s fourth guest room, normal in appearance except for slightly messed hair and red-rimmed eyes.
And the neck. Your fucking neck. It’s more than a slight indicator of what had occurred.
Fingers rising to brush over the sensitive skin, a grimace tugs your lips. It’s too noticeable. One single look, and everyone else would know what had happened. That hadn’t been the agreement. This isn’t the day, time, or place to outline what had occurred, and so, it’s a problem. Despite how much you had enjoyed that encounter, this will only serve a distraction to everyone else, and you already agreed that the others shouldn’t know.
A small smile creeps across your lips at the thought of your agreement. At the thought of him. The fact that it does is a little embarrassing, but there’s only you here to see it. Just you alone, remembering his touch and taste, and the way his hands had stroked your body. The feel of him inside you, and how he had made you gasp and cry out with pleasure. That delicious sensation of his form stroking against yours, and the reality that instead of satiating something, it had only left you with a burning desire for more. The thought causes a tightening in your throat, which you hastily swallow against.
Desperate for distraction - to fight off the tinges of heated arousal growing at the memories - your fingers work against the phone again, scrolling for another number. You need to focus and find out if she’s okay, because your instinct is whispering that something is wrong. It’s not a thing that you can birng yourself to ignore. Not after everything that’s happened, and here’s only one other person who can help you here.
He answers on the third ring, and sounds slightly out of breath as he does. The high-pitched shouts of children rise in the background, and you have to smile, knowing that he’s probably playing outside with them. His gruff voice comes down the line, but his rough tone is light with a mixture of surprise and happiness at seeing your contact pop up on his screen.
“Hey kid. Good to hear from you.”
You used to complain when he called you ‘kid.’ After all, he hadn’t been that much older than you. A little over a decade, but not too much. However, now he had an extra five years - courtesy of the Blip - and it maybe seems a little more appropriate. Especially since in the bright clarity of the new day, you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed for forgetting the real reasons that you were here last night, and allowing yourself to be swept away in lust like a teenager.
Still, it’s not something to burden him with, as much as a candid talk with a friend is needed. No. You have another question for him. The only other person who may know what’s going on with Wanda.
Your grin morphs into something a little more genuine as you reply. “Hi Clint. How are you?”
Barton’s reply is soft, and you can almost see the wide grin that he projects down the line. “Far better than I have been in the past. Spending the day out on the farm with the kids. You should see little Nathaniel. He’s getting so big.”
“I’ll have to come and visit soon,” you answer, feeling that mix of emotions rise in your chest. Little Nathaniel, named for his aunt Natasha. You’d give anything to have her here. “But look, Barton, I’m sorry but I’m not just calling for a catch-up. I need to know… Have you heard anything from Wanda?”
He pauses, and you can hear the contemplation down the line. Biting your bottom lip nervously, you shift as you wait for his reply, trying to ignore the slightly sore throb deep within your tired core at the motion. Yup. A little bit sore today, as one would expect. The sex hadn’t exactly been gentle.
Clint’s thoughtful voice draws you back to the present. “Not since the funeral. Why? Is something up?” There’s a hint of worry rising in his tone.
“I’m not sure,” you tell him honestly, shaking your head as a tired sigh billows from your lips. “She’s not answering her phone and I just… I’m a little too far away to do anything about it right now. Could you make some calls? I know that you have more connections working at SWORD than me.”
He pauses momentarily, trying to decipher the secretive note to your tone. "Sure. I can do that. But… is everything okay with you? Are you still in Berlin?"
With a deep breath, you lie. "Yes."
You don't want to tell him about Sam or Bucky, to avoid potentially incriminating him in any way. The two of them may have gotten you mixed up on this but you refuse to involve anyone else. After all, he just got his family back. The last thing that Clint needs is to be dragged away from them again. It's not what Natasha - or Steve - would have wanted.
"Alright," he stills sounds doubtful, but doesn't press further. "Let me see what I can do. I'll call you back when I have news."
Some of the weight lifts within your chest. Just slightly, but enough for you to take a clearer breath. To relax just a little more.
It shows in the timbre of your voice as you speak. "Thanks. With any luck, I'll speak to you soon."
You are just about to bring the phone down from your ear. Clint catches you again, calling your name just before you can hang up completely. Pausing, your head tilts curiously as you respond. "Yeah?"
"Take care of yourself," he finishes.
In that moment, you know with certainty that he's aware something is arise. That there's something you're not telling him. However, in that typical Barton fashion that you like so much, he trusts you enough not to push. Smiling, you return the sentiment gently before ending the call.
Eyes lifting back to the mirror across the room, your gaze settles once again on your neck, and your mind immediately moves from handling one problem to the next. Your damn neck. It's just far too obvious. A cover-up is required, and there's nothing on hand to do the job. It leaves one course of action to take, as much as you don’t want to.
Sighing, you push yourself off the bed. The mattress is springy underneath, and a flash of memory jolts through your mind. Just the briefest sensation of a body against yours, and raw panting harsh in your ear. A shiver runs down your skin. Something twinges in your core. Groaning slightly at the small flicker of pain from deep within, you laboriously rise to your feet before setting about pulling on yesterday morning’s set of clothes. The shirt is a little crinkled, but it’s better than the dress. As well as that piece had served you the night before, it’s not quite practical during the day.
The door closes quietly behind you as you set off down the hallway to Sharon’s room. Footsteps loud against the wooden floor, your gaze dances cautiously as you proceed. If one of those other doors opens - and it’s not him - then, you’re fucked. And not in that way.
Thankfully, the short journey is without incident. Knuckles rapping smartly against the thick panel of your host’s door, it only takes a few seconds for Sharon to pull it smoothly open. Her hair bounces on her shoulder as she does, perfectly styled in such a manner that you can’t help but feel noticeably dishevelled. Those deep brown eyes scan critically down your form. Almost instantly, they fasten upon your throat. Her lashes lift, fluttering slightly, as a muted surprise ripples through her.
“Wow.” Her tone is dry, though it holds an audible hint of amusement that she fights to restrain. “So that’s what all the noise was. You must have had a hell of a night.”
Too impatient to ask permission - and aware that her voice is airily floating down the corridor - you slip through the frame, moving past her. Sharon chuckles, but shuts the door behind you. As you stop in the middle of the room, she turns, leaning back against the flat surface as her arms cross pointedly over her chest. Head tilting towards the smile, the edges of her lips curl upwards into a wry smirk.
“Which one was it?” The meaning of her words are clear, even without further explanation.
All the same, you can’t help but attempt to feign ignorance. “Sorry?”
This is really not a conversation that you wish to be having. All that you want is to borrow a scarf. You’re not even going to be fussy about what it looks like. It just needs to cover up your neck, so that no one else realises what happened.
“Oh, come on,” Sharon chuckles, eyes glinting. “You know what I’m talking about.” As you don’t answer, her head shakes before she speaks again, as if musing. “The innocent little techie, shirking her responsibilities for a night of pleasure. I never would have thought.”
Your jaw sets slightly, words coming a little more strained. “Could I please just borrow a scarf?”
Sharon’s right eye drops into a wink. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
Pushing herself away from the door, she strides languidly across the room. The chest of drawers scrape open. Eyes darting thoughtfully, Sharon rolls her bottom lip between her teeth as her gaze scans over those hidden contents. There’s a glint to her expression - something decidedly mischievous - as she reaches in to pull out a myriad of fabric. You don’t get it at first. Not until she motions you over while draping them carefully atop the flat top of the bureau, and you get the complete view of your options. There’s three of them, each a different colour.
Purple, silver, and red.
It takes you a moment to understand. When you do, faint amusement bubbles in your chest, despite everything. While none of the options would be much of a stretch - given the neutral tone of your outfit - that’s not what this is really about. It’s not simply a stylistic choice. No. Sharon, in all of her relentlessness, has laid a trap here, because each one of those scarves correlates to a man.
Zemo is purple. Bucky is silver. Sam is red.
There’s nothing else to be done. Sure, you could lie, but part of you feels like she would know if you did. Besides… A small piece of you wants to confide in someone, to tell them about what happened last night, in all of its confusing glory. It wasn’t appropriate to do so with Clint, but Sharon is the only one who you can, and she seems both willing and curious to hear the answer. While you’re still not comfortable spilling all of the details, this little hint will do for now.
Leaning forward, your fingers snag the scarf of your choice, lifting to wind it around your neck. Your attention remains on Sharon the whole time. She doesn’t make any comment, apart from arching a single brow and voicing one quiet remark. “Interesting.”
Heat warms your cheeks as you shrug, imploring eyes scouring her face. “Please don’t tell anyone.” A plaintive note is evident in your voice, muffled slightly by the tired hand running down your face.
“Alright,” Sharon says, with a small shake of her head. There’s a slight struggle on her face to hide the small grin that is attempting to form, but her words ring true. “I won’t say anything.”
Your responding smile is a little less tight than beforehand. "Thank you."
Dipping your head to reiterate the appreciation, the plush rug sinks underfoot as you make your way back to the door. A brief hesitation hovers in the air, before Sharon’s voice breaks it once more. Something strange lingers in her tone. An almost rueful amusement, as if recalling a past even that she finds a little entertaining upon looking back.
“I used to be so jealous of you.”
Slowly, you turn, a beat of confusion rising to twist your expression. “What do you mean?”
Readjusting her jacket, a brief sigh billows from between her lips as she shakes her head. “They came back for you.” You know who she means without question, but can’t bring yourself to respond. Not when a jolt of both guilt and sympathy rise in your veins. Still - as if she can’t let go of it just yet - she continues. “He did. Steve.”
A nervous swallow constricts your throat before you answer, trying to make it better. “We were friends. They’re all my friends.”
The look that she gives you is unusually sympathetic. “I know, and that was the reason for it. But seeing you here today… Tired. Stressed. Weight of the world slumping those usually perky shoulders. Unable to have just one night of fun without feeling guilty for it the next day... Well, I just can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for you.” Pausing, she waits for you to interrupt. Yet, you can’t. Feeling a flare of heat warm your palms, you linger, waiting for her to continue, and she does. “Rogers had a tendency to place a lot of responsibility on those around him, and then just up and leave. I just want you to know that it’s alright to refuse. To do what’s best for you instead.”
An element of her words ring true, echoing at the back of your mind. ‘It’s alright to do what’s best for you.’ There’s no denying that in a way, she is right, and you can’t help but think about where this comes from. Looking at her, you are quite sure that you have a good idea of that source. She’s looking out for you. Or at least trying to, in her own way. Offering the advice that someone should have gifted her, before she made herself a criminal in helping the man who abandoned her. The very one who had shown up at your door in the dead of night, and asked you to come with them only mere days later.
Your voice is soft as you respond. “Thank you, Sharon.”
She inclines her head once more, wordlessly now. You take the silence as a cue to leave.
The hallway outside is still just as quiet as earlier. All of the other doors remain closed, and it allows no visible clue of who may have arisen and who not. Such an idea only makes you nervous. Is he up yet? Coming to a halt by the entrance to his room, your raised fist hovers just beyond the wood, debating whether or not to bite the bullet and knock. Your words from last night stop you. ‘No one else should know.’ It’s too much with everything else going on. Disappointment welling in your chest, you move away from the door, but you try to fight it down. He may not even be in there.
Flouncing away, you continue down the hall. Bright sunlight lines the path towards the kitchen. Someone’s in there already, seated by the table and all but bathed in the dappled sunlight. Those intense bronze eyes caress your skin, tracing the lines of your face, before coming to rest on your own. A thin smile - all too knowing - curls his lips.
Zemo raises his small mug of espresso, and murmurs a greeting in his low, rasp. “Good morning, dragă. Sleep well?”
Leaning back against the side of the frame, your mouth opens, curling upwards to offer a smart reply. Before you can, there’s another noise from behind. Bucky’s body is warm and solid as he slides past and into the room. His firm chest presses briefly against your side. You can’t help but swallow, cheeks heating once more in a silent display of nervousness. It’s hard not to feel scrutinised under the weight of both sets of gazes. How they prickle over your skin.
“Excuse me,” Bucky repeats softly, tongue darting out to trace a line over his bottom lip.
He doesn’t move for the cabinets. Instead, cautious blue eyes dart between yourself and Zemo. Calculating. Assessing. Recognising the glint of interest simmering within the other man’s expression. You can almost see that protective instinct loom straight to the fore as he abandons the idea of breakfast to stride across to the table and seat himself opposite the escaped criminal. Right in-between the two of you, so that the Baron has to readjust himself slightly so that he can continue to watch you.
Having both of them present is more than a little daunting. Busying yourself with making a cup of coffee, it’s a relief when the door opens again, and another figure comes in. You can’t help but relax slightly under the comfort of Sam’s glinting smile. He takes a quick look at the other two men, immediately sensing the awkward silence, before sliding a bit closer to you. The amusement in his gaze can’t help but make the vestiges of a grin start to form on your face.
It’s just all so awkward.
Thankfully, the presence of a fourth person helps to break the ice a little. Each person’s attention is further divided, and does not rest mostly on you and another potential contender. It’s easier to turn the conversation to the situation at hand today. To looking for Doctor Nagel, and exactly what you’ll do when he is found. Throughout that conversation, you can’t help but note that Zemo falls slightly more quiet than before. Rather than interjecting in his usual manner - one which usually entails a piece of helpful advice and another smart comment added to bring some of the attention back to him - he just drinks in what the other two say with a calculated glint in his eye.
You don’t remark on it, but quietly resolve to keep an eye on him. After all, he’s still the same ruthless man who took down the Avengers... Or at least, that’s what you keep reminding yourself.
Sharon joins only a short time later, adding into the final details.
Morning turns into early afternoon, and it becomes clear that it’s time to leave. You can’t just hide out in this comfortable penthouse forever. Apprehension rises in your throat as you place your empty mug into the sink, feeling the heat of caffeine tingle through your veins as you make your way back to the bedroom. Your blazer is still inside, draped across the end of your bed. There’s a slight stain on one sleeve - a result of some spilled wine on the flight over to Madripoor - but nothing can be done about that now. You pull it all swiftly, aware that everyone is due to meet at the front door in a few minutes, before running a hand down your still mussed hair. Your reflection stares at you from the mirror, her attention on the scarf wound around your neck.
No one has asked about it yet. Thankfully. With the slightly grey sky overhead, it’s not all that questionable an addition to the outfit.
As you reach up, fingers curling around the edge to tug it down and reveal that reminder of last night, the handle of your bedroom door twists. You quickly let go, yanking the soft fabric back into place as it opens. Someone slips in, carefully poised on the tops of their feet so as to make less noise, and quietly pushes the door closed behind them before straightening. Those familiar eyes bore into yours, mouth curled into a grin full of insinuation. Him.
“What are you doing?!” you hiss, striding across the room to push at his chest scoldingly. “You shouldn’t be here!”
He laughs slightly, seizing your wrist amidst his warm, roughened palms as he twists, pressing your back to the solid frame of the door. The scent of him washes over you as he steps in closer, chest brushing against yours, and all of those delicious memories of last night flit uncontrollably through your mind. You are helpless to stop him as his fingers lift, pulling down your scarf to peer at the marked skin of your throat. A soft sound of appreciation hums from the back of his throat as those searing eyes drink in the sight.
His voice is rough with desire, but undeniably playful as he finally speaks. “I was wondering how you were going to hide it.”
Heat flares within your core. Those teasing fingertips travel down your body. Even through the fabric, the mere touch leaves burning lines upon your skin. A soft moan escapes your lips as you lean back, head thudding gently against the wood. Despite knowing that you are surely going to fail - that his touch is a poison that only paralyzes your rational thought - you try to fight the haze welling within your mind. One that reaches with whispering tendrils to cloud your judgment, and suggest that you take him by the hand to that bed, push him down, and take him quickly, before the others can come to see what’s keeping you for so long.
A similar thought seems to echo within his head, as his hands continue their descent. One halts at the swell of your breast while the other continues on, ghosting underneath the crotch of your trousers and rubbing the covered place directly above where your aching centre lies. Breath bursts from you in a gasp. Above, his eyes flutter closed, and he leans in lowering his face to press against your shoulder as a lusty groan grates from the back of his throat. You can feel how he tries to stifle it. How something swells within the front of his own trousers as he presses in closer.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you repeat in a stammer, shaking your head in a vain effort to compose yourself as both of his hands begin to work on the buttons of your pants. “We said-”
“I know what we said,” he replies in a whisper, head lifting as his mouth starts to trail searing kisses along your chin.
You can hear it in his voice. The desire. An ache that even all the glorious events of last night hadn’t been able to long satiate. Not that you can blame him for it. Especially not as one set of careful fingers dip beneath the fabric of your trousers, sliding into your underwear to rub over your throbbing clit.
There’s no more protests after that. Just the press of your mouth against his as you lean in to kiss him hungrily. To have him swallow the small cries that spill from your lips, muffling them from the others who pass through the corridor just beyond that single door-frame. Right on the other side and only metres away as he delves between your wet folds.
It should feel wrong. Inappropriate in some way, that the idea of being caught with his hand between your legs only fills you with excitement. Still, the very small part of you that still clings to an iota of common sense whispers that they cannot. There’s work to be done, and you both need to compose yourself and focus. But you’ll do so after, you silently swear. After. Once his touch - the gentle fucking of his two main fingers - had driven you up and over the peak of release again.
It’s not something that he takes slowly. This doesn’t - can’t - share the unhurried trace of last night, and so his hand works quickly. Despite the pressure, the hardened determination to push you over that edge before someone comes knocking, his prowess during the day still lives up to his skill of last night. That utterly mind-blowing precision that jolts within your cunt as his fingers repeatedly stroke against the rough patch deep inside. One that brings the heat simmering within the pit of your stomach to boil, and has him drinking the strangled cries from your lips as you climax violently against the palm of his hand.
He draws back after the spasming of your orgasm has mostly subsided. The release has left you breathless, body feeling heavy and light all at once. Tingles run over your skin, vibrating deep within your core as you drink in the sight of him lifting his hand up before him. Slick glistens upon his fingers. He admires them with a smug grin, before placing them into his mouth to suck them clean. Despite the hardness at the front of his trousers, he makes no move to come for you again. No. This little act was for your pleasure alone - though, as an expression of bliss crosses his face at the taste - you can’t help but think that maybe it was just a little bit for him too.
One hand motions for you to shift away from the door, and you do on trembling legs. He steps forward without another word, pulling it open slightly before glancing trepidatiously down the hallway. There’s no one in sight. The coast is clear. His eyes turn back to you, drinking in your flustered expression as a satisfied smirk twists the edge of his lips.
“To be continued,” he all but promises, and then he is gone.
The door closes so abruptly behind him that you almost have to wonder if it was a dream. If he was really here at all, or if it was some lusty daydream. Fuck. The low sound of footsteps receding down the hall echo the fact that it was not, as does the satisfied ache between your legs. Your hand falls back to brace against the desk behind you, providing support as you lean to compose yourself.
Just a moment. That’s all that you need.
However, the slight tremble still running down your unsteady legs suggest that it might take a little longer. Disbelief wells in your chest, along with a pronounced glimmer of amusement. The whole thing is just… very hard to believe. Head shaking ruefully, a wry laugh bursts from your lips. The sound lifts into the quiet room, mixing with the gentle light of day, as a satisfied smile draws across your cheeks. So. That happened.
While you’re not exactly sure what will happen next - where this road will take you - one thought rings true. High and clear above everything else, and unignorable. Unable to vanish even as Sharon comes knocking to suspiciously ask what is taking you so long.
You fucking love Madripoor.
A/N: Well... I hope you liked it. Tried to make it as open as I could, so that it could be any one of the guys!
But hey, it’s not the end! Not quite yet. Please find below Sam and Bucky’s separate epilogues, and the first chapter of Zemo’s spin-off. (I’ll be adding them immediately after posting this chapter, so be sure to refresh the page after a few minutes if they are not showing):
✨Next Chapter - Helmut Zemo Continuation (Call It A Secret)✨
✨Bucky Barnes Epilogue - Call It A Confession✨
✨Sam Wilson Epilogue - Call It A First✨
I also want to take a quick moment to say thank you so much for all of your love and support on the story. Zemo’s piece was my first smut, and to get such an amazing reaction was incredible. I truly appreciate all of the likes, comments, reblogs, encouraging messages, and those who took the time and effort to include it in Tiktok videos.
You’re all wonderful, and I hope you’ll stick around for my future stuff.
CALL IT A NIGHT - MAIN MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
As usual, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!
If you wish to be notified of updates, please follow my writing reblog account and turn on post notifications!
126 notes · View notes
The fact that I just came up with a whole alternate layout for a What If Trent didn’t get eliminated of TDI over the past… hour and a half?
Not gonna lie - I’m actually fucking proud of it and I think it feels pretty believable.
Comment if you curious and want me to share
And yes - it doesn’t just effect Gwen, this would effect the other finalists at that point and yes Lindsay will get still get to tell off Heather!
I will NOT ROB LINDSAY OF THAT!!
33 notes · View notes
since everyones sharing their fucked up deltarune dreams now i might as well get this one out there
i had this dream around two or three years ago. the deltarune ch1 window was open, and kris was alone in the beginning area that they first fall into in the light world with all the eye etchings. the ground and background were just a bit darker, the layout was different and more linear, and i remember that there might have been a few vines here and there. kris walked much slower and they were covered in some sort of weird black goo. they were either holding their soul with them/their soul was glowing from their chest, and their eyes were glowing red like in the end of chapter cutscenes. (they mightve been covered in a few vines as well but i dont remember clearly)
eventually they came upon a tall pit in the ground with ground on the other side they couldnt reach, and there was a back wall above them
the only feature about the room is that it had weird incomprehensible perfect square of bright colors up on the wall. its really hard to remember what it looked like but what is closest would probably be papyrus' tile puzzle? or a placeholder
kris seems to be upset about whats in the room and tries to move away, but their movements get even slower and the black substance creeps up their body. they reach up to their soul, which is floating up like in the fountain cutscene and covered in the black goo as well now. it cuts to a game over.
there is also simultaneously a version of the color block room that doesnt have the pit, but the same thing happens despite kris being able to cross.
the area was either an alternate version of what they fall into normally and they could be there right off the bat, or it was a hidden area you could find if you backtracked from castle town. im pretty sure that the black stuff was supposed to be something like amalgamates
13 notes · View notes
Which book did you prefer between Call Down The Hawk and Mister Impossible, and why?
I think I'm in the mindset to answer this, haha.
I'm going to say that Mister Impossible is my preferred one, if not one of my favourite books of all time. This wasn't a hard decision to make; I knew it the moment I read your ask. The why is what kept me from answering this right away because my mind is still overwhelmed, still contemplating. As much as I read (of all different genres), very few books leave me breathless. Even the very excellent novels I crow about, such as House of Leaves, Infinite Jest, The Southern Reach Trilogy, Duane's Young Wizards series, His Dark Materials, and so on, so forth (the list goes on), didn't always accomplish that punch-to-the-gut, oh fuck sort of feeling.
That's the TL;DR, non-spoilery answer.
In depth, very spoilery, VERY, VERY, VERY LONG answer:
☣ I love the title and the cover(s). Yeah, fandom was hating it and here I was just going "whaaat, THIS IS AWESOME?" Stief always said she wanted to write something supernatural fantasy and also action thriller - like those cheap paperbacks you'd see Colin Greenmantle reading. And honestly, this book seems to be a perfect medium between the two genres, so... I'd say Stief succeeded. And I'm down for people succeeding. Also, I think the cover art is bad ass. I'm not sure I understand the complaints about it except that Hennessy is hella tall and the swords are the wrong colours or something? But I love the layout. I love the glossiness. I love the fact that we have two alternate covers to use, too [IS there another author who's hit the NY Best Seller list who puts this much effort into giving a whole lot to their fans? Hand-signed copies versus stamps? Signed book covers? All at reasonable prices? Like man, Harry Potter's release sticker price was $40 at Barnes & Noble, and that was without anything else that came with it]. Also, I love that the book is titled like an action thriller but then you find out that Mister Impossible is what a dreamt mother called her son and the layers and implications there are just... *clenches fist* ...awesome. Like a big ole slap against toxic masculinity, huzzah!
☣ It's not a book without flaws, of course. The flaws being that, while there is a lot of reference back to the actions in TRC, you'd think that someone like Colin Greenmantle would know of the existence of the Zeds/moderators. I have no issue with authors accelerating drama for a sequel series - if they can do it effectively, with few continuity errors. Stief sort of - but sort of did not - succeed here. She succeeded characteristically - at least with the Lynches, etc. She succeeded, in my opinion, by making the explosion of the dream world (in comparison to the more subtle magical realism of TRC - "subtle" may not be the right word...) pretty believable and consistent (with the exception of Ronan/Bryde's anti-electricity BS vs Orla Sargent's abilities and a few other things). We were NOT shown just how extensive the magical world was in TRC. We were only shown a teeny, tiny window. And that was enough for TRC, but it would not be enough for a family like the Lynches.
The other major flaw is that Gansey is somehow staying put and not gallavanting across the country to rescue Ronan. I've seen some arguments for this - how Gansey has evolved in his growth to see his friendship with Ronan as still vital, etc, but also that he's formulated his own support circle, and his own goals and life away from Ronan in a much less codependent way; basically, that whole adage of "we could be on opposite ends of the world but you're still my best mate, even if we don't talk for a couple months at a time."
I understand that Stief didn't want to include all the TRC characters and wanted this to be a specific focus on the Lynches, so I can abide by it, and I'll just suffer my Ronsey brainrot in quiet, haha.
Also, I do miss some of Stief's meatier character study - not that her character studies in this, particularly around Hennessy/Jordan, and the Lynches, are not meaty. They very much are, but the book is only 300 pages, and I'm a sucker for long internal dialogue and events that are literally just character studies and-- I'd've liked a bit more of a happy medium (lol) between the slowness of TRC and the non-stop action we have now. Just a bit. A small bit. >.>
Carliana - something I'm not sure how I feel about. I can't tell if it's properly written or lazily written. "Lazily" isn't really a good term to use because Stief doesn't really do anything lazily from what I've seen/gathered. But Liliana is a character I have little investment in, little interest in. I like her, don't get me wrong. She's way cool. And I adore Carmen. I am glad they're together, I am glad they kissed, I am glad for that representation. They just seem very anti-climactic in their relationship and I can't tell if this is a good thing or not? The kiss left something to be desired but, at the same time, sometimes that's how it goes? Unlike Jordeclan, which is hot, fast, and furious (because of Declan's rushing into the future and Jordan's desperation for agency and identity), it's definitely a contrast and maybe that's a good thing? I'm so used to Stief's relationships (and relationships in general) following the usual pattern of lust + desire + love, that I think I may be forgetting the fact that there are rare instances where humans do just slide into love (where there IS still sexual attraction, it's just one of the least important aspects - I am not wording this correctly). That Liliana and Carmen are so easy with each other that a kiss just seems as natural and regular and almost boring as breathing... maybe that's what's perfect for them, especially with Liliana having lived in different parts of their lives already. To her, the first kiss is not really a first kiss. Liliana has already reached that peaceable part in her life - the one where you've been with someone for so long that you're already attuned to everything about them, that the lust and desire are not necessarily gone or even faded, but they're calmer, peaceable, like... breathing. And Carmen seems the type to fall into that easily, even without the experiences. Hopefully, I'm making sense.
I may have just defeated myself in argument here. Haha.
☣ There is a lack of obvious Irish mythology but I didn't feel like there was a total lack of Irishness. In CDTH, we got the Hawk of Achill, some Niall Lynch quotations, Feniall, and Mor. In Mister Impossible, we have still have those lingering questions - that will probably be addressed in book 3 - but at the same time, all of MI could be one helluva Yeats metaphor. Someone in a Discord server mentioned this and ya know, I'm waiting for the essays (because I agree).
☣ Very few books make me ask a lot of questions. No, wait, that's not accurate. All books make me ask a lot of questions. As much of an insomniac as I am, even so, very few books prevent me from even napping because I can't stop thinking about them. I made a post earlier on about the essays that run through my mind, questions and philosophies and theories I have but I'll never write about (because I simply do not have the emotional capacity to write them right now thanks to OCD and fatigue). Some of these questions/essays are the following:
Moderators (humanity's children turn against humanity feat. Niall Lynch's beautiful mind)
Ronan's Nightmare vs Rhiannon's Veritas Mirrors (Self vs. Aggregate/What We See vs. Truth - AKA Maybe We Should Be Kinder to Ourselves)
Blasting Open Ley Lines vs. Peaceful Coexistence (the misanthropy of ecoterrorism vs. the magic of peace in ecofuturism feat. Orla Sargent)
Sweetmetals: A Translation of the Human Condition via Art (capitalising on human emotion to keep our dreams alive, agency, and what it means to be human).
Other essays/posts I'd make would be similar to things like: Magic: A Metaphor for Friendship vs. a Metaphor for Mental Illness. I wouldn't write this one simply because it's been made super obvious from Stief's recent answers during her Reddit AMA. It's a very "crunchy" subject, as she put it (I mean, I think my other essays are equally crunchy, too, in different ways). It's a very sensitive topic, one that hits a little too close to home for comfort and I think plenty of other people have already sort of written about this anyway.
Essays don't usually jump into my head so easily. My brain gets overwhelmed very quickly and organising thoughts when there are billions of them racing around each other within the nooks and crannies of cranial matter and synaptic collisions... is not something I am usually able to accomplish with a lot of the literature I read. A lot of books have effed me up in a million ways but I don't always have the energy or need/desire to ask questions - even when they cross my mind. Often, I am either just content with reading everyone else's thoughts (due to the inability to organise my own + lack of personal investment), or I've moved onto something else. Mister Impossible feels super personal in ways CDTH does not. In lieu of all the magical wtfuckery, the story feels weirdly real. I've made a lot of similar mistakes (I mean, without the ecoterrorism... or with?? Haha just kidding...). I've totally assumed people hated me based on the most asinine of shit - people I should have trusted, friends who I know now would take bullets for me and I for them. I've felt that intrinsically alone. I've isolated myself to extremes (even recently). I've foresaken people who could have been lifelong friends over minor grievances. Anyway, so yeah, Mister Impossible tackles the hard subject of mental illness.
☣ It also tackles grief. Grief is... Grief is an interesting concept. I read an Amazon review where the person hated this series because she felt that Ronan was so OOC, that Ronan had gotten over his grief in TRC, that Ronan didn't react this badly to seeing his mother die. And I kinda just had to go... cool off for a bit.
Grief is not linear.
I need people to understand this.
Grief is not linear.
It is not something you simply get over after a few months.
Grief is not linear.
Grief also doesn't just refer to the loss of someone through death. That is one type of grief and one type only.
I had a conversation with an aunt of mine where I mentioned how much I rebel against stability even though I want stability. And my aunt literally said, so plainly, "you are in a constant state of grief, that's why. You are still grieving."
I had no idea what she was talking about. My mother died of her own hand when I was a teenager. My father died of his own hand when I was in my twenties. My best mate died of his own hand when I was a teenager. I've lost pets and other friends and other family to things natural and not natural for years. I lost three family members within four weeks. But I felt fine, right? I was managing, right? I got up in the morning. I worked long hours. But I was working. I read books. I play violin. I write. I laugh. I joke. I sing. I dance. Just because so many people are dead, does not mean I am unhappy?
"You're not just grieving the deceased," my aunt said. "You're grieving your constant losses." I've moved around a lot. I haven't lived in a single place for more than a year or two... in... a long time. I've lost a lot of important, sentimental material things. I've lost friends. I've lost animals. Not always to death either. Left places behind. Left memories behind (well, that was the hope anyway but no, those come with you).
And just a couple mornings ago, I woke up with a sharp stab of grief and burst into tears. I hadn't cried over my parents in a while - why would I when this coming summer was filled with promising plans - and there it was: a sharp, stabbing spike that pushed me over the edge. That was a rough morning, I tell ya.
Ronan's grief is so palpable. We see the beginnings of his isolation in Opal. But it's always been there, he's just had distractions. He didn't think too much about Kavinsky, or go into a spiral after watching his mother die, and so on, because he had distractions. He was distracted. And I think many of us can relate to just how deceiving distrations are when it comes to mental illness, how often we think I got this but only because we're super busy so we don't have all that time to be alone with our thoughts.
Mister Impossible really dives into the effects grief can have on us, even if you subtract all the magical shit, even if you look at everything as pure metaphor. It shows how we create our own demons - and though it's not our fault, it is our responsibility. It also shows how different people react to mental illness - something that isn't as visible as, say, cancer, or a broken leg.
Mister Impossible also shows us varying types of mental illness in glaring contrast to each other. We've got Declan, rushing into his future, trying not to be his father while also inevitably following the same, or similar, path. Declan, who always wanted to make an impact on the world, who always wanted to be somebody, who's had to hide all of that to the point it's more than just a personality trait...
We've got Adam at Harvard. Yeah, we got glimpses of Adam's struggles in CDTH. Him lying to his fake friends (I got so much hate about saying that these weren't Adam's real friends... but I mean... I was accurate). Him saying he won't scry again alone... his almost addiction to magic. His need to be a leader. His need to be someone else, an "improved" version of himself. But we get even more of this in Mister Impossible. Adam is not okay. He's still addicted to magic. He's still lying to everyone (and yeah, I mean, it makes sense, considering only like what... a month or two have passed in the Dreamer Trilogy 'Verse?). He's got his hands on FBI files, is worried sick about Ronan, while trying to be this horrible interpretation of Gansey (and the fact that Adam has misinterpreted Gansey so much is also very telling, too, of his own trauma and mental illness). Stief said that Adam is up to his own thing that none of us have guessed/thought of ("it's not what you think") and I am supremely curious about this!!!
We have Hennessy, who is a whole Lot to Unpack, too. I don't relate to her as much, which is why I haven't been talking about her as much. I quite like her and her own Self Destruction with the Lace is another mental illness take. [I'd honestly rather let another segment of fandom discuss her because they do her more justice than I ever could]
We have Carmen Farooq-Lane. There was a comment in a server about how normal Carmen seems. Especially in comparison to her brother (who, again, is another example of mental illness). But I wouldn't call Carmen normal at all. She's described as joining every club possible in high school and university - definitely not normal behaviour, and I don't think it's an exaggeration. She is very, very slow to leave the Moderators (maybe not in terms of actual timeline, but in terms of how much time has passed in feeling) for someone who is as astute as she is. She's awesome and I love her but she's not what I'd call totally well either, especially given her own experiences with trauma.
And then we see Matthew and his questions and Jordan's questions about identity and agency. And though both of them are seemingly more well-adjusted than anyone else, there is still a lot of trauma there as well.
Honestly, I could go on. But I gotta say that, contrary to some beliefs perpetuated by various members of fandom, I DO believe Stief handles mental illness supremely well, and a helluva lot better than most authors I've read. I DO trust Stief to continue with her layers and her accurate depictions in Book 3.
☣ All the implications in this book have thoroughly succeeded in making me over-the-top excited for Book 3. Stief stated that "we're only halfway through" this venture (in her recent Reddit AMA), so I'm hoping that's a LITERAL, PURPOSELY PHRASING. As in... the third book will be 600 pages of EPICNESS.
But I'm probably wrong. Stief is very particular about the way she phrases things during written Q&A sessions (partially due, I'm guessing, to how many times she's been misunderstood by fandom and had that used against her).
The fact that those last 20 or so pages were so fucking epic and this wasn't even the climax of the whole story... sort of metaphorically leaves me frothing at the mouth. The third book is gonna be SO good, mates, SO GOOD.
Anyway, I'm tiring myself out. There's so much I left out of this post (from dreamfuckery, to art history, to catchy words like "sweetmetals," to the humour/banter, to... so much more...) but I'm exhausted now and I'm gonna leave this as is. Maybe in time, I can write a Part II that goes into more explicit detail regarding specific sections.
But for now, the hour grows late and I must move onto other things.
I hope this wasn't boring for anyone - if anyone actually even reads this entire mess. :D Thank you for the question!!!! Apologies for the intensity!
32 notes · View notes
richie x reader where he pretends to hate her but actually doesn’t and the losers don’t know why he hates her but he’s actually in love with her
The Quarry - Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader
a/n: of course!! nobody died/ moved away in this and some street layouts were changed to help with plot details!! also, this is in she/her pronouns as of the request, but lmk if i need to make an alternate version with different pronouns for anyone!! enjoy, and ty to this anon who sent in requests for a bunch of underrated characters!!
Finally, the last day of sophomore year. The Losers burst through the front entrance of Derry High School and headed towards the trash cans, like usual, to dump the contents of their school bags into the garbage. Y/N, the only other girl loser besides Bev, joined them as she had done since the 5th grade.
Y/N had been brought to the group by Stan, the shyest but most friendly loser. The others had been suspicious of her at first, but she soon proved herself worthy of being a loser when she stood up to the Bowers Gang, who were making fun of the others.
Richie instantly liked Y/N. With her fiery personality and sarcastic humor that in ways rivaled his, how couldn’t he? They grew close fast, soon becoming best friends. They did everything together: homework, skating, they even killed Pennywise together when they were only 12.
But in the 8th grade, he started pushing her away and blowing off plans with her, he never even told her why. They were obviously in the same friend group, so he couldn’t ignore her forever, so he went for the second best option: being a dick.
Now Y/N had very thick skin, but when he started hating her all of a sudden, she started to become very insecure and upset over him. Alas, she wasn’t about to let a man talk to her like that and not do anything. Eddie was the only one who knew how Y/N truly felt about how Richie treated her, having confided in him early on. But in the eyes of the other losers, Y/N didn’t give a shit what he said about her.
“Dude, why does she have to tag along for everything?” Richie groaned when he saw Y/N approach. “I don’t know, maybe cause these are my friends too? An odd concept to you, I know, since you think the world revolves around you.” She shot back and turned to the rest of the group. “What are you all doing tomorrow?” She asked. “I-I don’t know yet. I was thinking we sh-s-should go down to the quarry if everyone else is c-cool with that.” Bill said, still stuttering but only slightly, as he was growing out of it as he got older.
The rest of the group agreed, including Richie, (surprising, considering he never agreed to anything if you did), and you made a plan to meet at the quarry with food at noon for a losers-only picnic. Y/N bid goodbye to her friends and walked back home.
“Bye, mom!” Y/N headed out of her house, backpack over her shoulder and bike in tow, to meet her friends at the quarry. As she neared the end of her street, she hopped on her bike and started riding down the sidewalk. “Yo Y/N, wait up!” She looked back to see Mike riding towards her, a couple of the others trailing behind.
Mike, Ben, Stan, and Y/N all lived in the same area of Derry, while Bill, Beverly, Eddie, and Richie lived on the exact opposite side. Going anywhere usually meant each half of the group gathering and then meeting halfway. Speaking of the others...
“I still don’t understand why we can’t do anything without Y/N. She always makes everything so boring!” Richie complained as he walked to the quarry with the other 3 losers in his half. “Dude, you were just fine and dandy with her until the end of middle school when you started acting like she’s worthless!” Eddie argued back.
“Look, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but you need to learn to at least deal with her, got it? She’s our friend and no matter what reason, you need to tolerate her because we love her.” Eddie gestured to Bill and Beverly who nodded, and then to Y/N and the other 3 losers approaching, who were all laughing at some dumb joke she said. I do too, he thought.
Richie’s heart skipped a beat and butterflies erupted in his stomach as he looked at you. Fuck, why does this always happen?! He suppressed the urge to hug you (why the fuck did he want to hug you for no reason?!) as he greeted the other three losers with a smile and wave. When she saw him smile, it was her turn to get butterflies in her stomach, as per usual. But forget it, she thinks. He hates you.
Y/N stripped down to her bathing suit and waited for the others to do the same. Richie subtly checked her out as he pulled his shirt off and turned to talk to Eddie and Bill. His muscles became more toned since last year, so Y/N was surprised when she saw him. She not-so-subtly checked him out as well. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” Richie calls behind him. “Could say the same to you, Tozier. I saw that, earlier!” Richie’s face flushed and he turned to Eddie again. That whole ‘jumping in the water with only undergarments on’ thing ended in 7th grade when everyone hit puberty, it just wasn’t going to work anymore (and for obvious reasons).
Before anyone could battle her, she ran towards the edge of the cliff and jumped off. Her body hit the cold water and it felt amazing compared to the sweltering summer heat. She swam out of the way for the boys to follow and unsurprisingly, Richie was next. He was always the daredevil of the group. This was followed by Beverly, then Bill, Ben, Stan, and then Mike and Eddie at the same time.
After they all ate lunch, Y/N sat on the little shore on the edge of the water. She soon heard her name being called. “Y/N!! We’re playing chicken, get over here!” Beverly yelled. Y/N swam over and hoisted herself onto Bill’s shoulders. Beverly got onto Mike’s shoulders and the game started. Richie sat next to Stanley as he watched the game from the rocks. “You like her, don’t you?” Stan said gently. “What?! Of course not? Why would you even think that...” Richie wasn’t convincing him. “Whatever you say, my friend.” Stan said and patted him on the shoulder. Richie rolled his eyes and turned back to the game.
Y/N defeated Beverly for the second time and raised her arms in victory. That’s kinda cute, Richie thought. And he didn’t even second guess or correct himself this time. “We play the winner!” Stan yelled towards Bill and Y/N. “We do?” Richie whispered to him. “Yep, we do.” Stan replied and swam towards them. Richie soon followed suit.
“Okay Richie, get on Stan’s shoulders. Whoever wins the most rounds out of 3 wins.” While Bill explained the game and all the rules, Y/N looked at Bev on the rocks. Bev gave her a wink and a thumbs up, whatever that was supposed to mean.
The game began and she tried her hardest to push Richie off of Stan’s shoulders. “Damn Stan, you got grip!” She laughed and Richie laughed too. Why was he being so friendly all of a sudden? She decided to talk to him about it later, she was having fun and she didn’t want to ruin it.
Richie finally got her off of Bill’s shoulders and she tumbled into the water. She came back up and started laughing along with everyone else. “Y/N, we should clean that up real quick.” Eddie said and pointed to her elbow, which was scratched up. “Oh okay, that’s fine.” She said. “It must have happened when I was fighting Bev because it looks like it already started to heal up. I didn’t notice it at all.” She laughed and went up to the rocks to clean the small wound.
She grabbed the rubbing alcohol from Eddie’s backpack and started pouring some on the edge of a spare towel she brought. “Well, this is gonna hurt.” She said and hissed as she placed it on her elbow. She felt a hand rubbing her back and leaned her back onto the person’s chest, thinking it was Stanley, only to realize as she was reaching for the Neosporin and a bandaid that it was Richie. Since the other losers were maybe 10 feet away, she thought now would be a great time to confront him.
“What’s with you being all chill with me now? I thought you hated me.” She said and Richie sucked in a sharp breath. “Eddie talked to me earlier as about you. He said that I should ‘at least put up with you’ because you were part of the Losers Club and you deserve to be treated with respect because you’re their- our! Our friend.” He explained. Her heart sunk as she thought she realized what he meant.
“Oh, so you’re just being nice to me because you have to be?” She asked, dissapointed. “No no no!! Not at all, I’m genuinely sorry. To be honest... I don’t know why I was such a dick to you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve had a mature conversation with you on why I was feeling so insecure and shit instead of ghosting you. Not only did it fuck up our friendship, but it fucked up any chances I had of being with you, as more than friends.” Wait, what did he just say?
“It wasn’t cool and I feel so stupid knowing that I-” “Just shut up.” Y/N cut him off and placed her lips on his. He got over the shock fast, brought his hand up to hold her face, and kissed back. Their moment was cut short by Beverly. “Yeah Tozier, get some!!” She yelled and Y/N giggled as they pulled away and stood up. Richie laughed and flipped her off.
“I know I’m not off scot-free, but does this mean you’ll at least give me a chance?” Richie asks hesitantly as they walk towards the other losers. Y/N put a finger to her chin and pretended to think. “Hmmm... okay. But only one. And we’ll be discussing boundaries and all that jazz tonight when I sneak you through my window and you stay the night.” She says with a serious tone and Richie nodded. He picked her up and spun her around. “Thank youuuuuuuu!” He sets her down and kisses her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Ewwww, do we have to deal with all your gross PDA now?” Ben and Mike say in sync and all the losers laugh. It’s not perfect, she thinks, but it’s pretty fucking close.
93 notes · View notes
Kinkmas 2020: Day 21
Prompt: Yandere/Spanking w/ Inoichi
Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Yandere, Mutual Pining, Implied Stalking, Mild Dubcon, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Aftercare || Characters: Inoichi Yamanka, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here
this fic contains yandere and mild dubcon themes, if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read!
With a content sigh, you unlocked the front door to your apartment, a slight fuzziness blurring your vision and limbs thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your keys were discarded into the cutesy trinket tray, your shoes kicked off into the ever-growing pile nearby. The date was an okay one, nothing extremely exciting but, hey, he was cute and it was a fun time. It may have sounded obnoxious when said out loud, but no men your age interested you. Not like you didn't give a plethora of them chances, and you still made friends with most of them. You just never seemed to form that romantic attachment you craved so desperately. What that said about your mental health wasn't totally lost on you, but not like you could (or wanted) to do a whole lot about it.
The sweater covering your shoulders was thrown onto a chair, your constricting belt quickly following as you made your way to your bedroom. At first, you didn't notice it, didn't notice anything at all. You simply continued walking on past the kitchen and living room, into your bedroom where you stripped your shirt and pants off. Trudging back out to the bathroom in your underwear and bra, your brows furrowed. You didn't remember turning one of the lights on… Chalking it up to the kitchen stove light you always left on, you continued your mission of brushing your teeth and face. When you came back out of the bathroom, you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, freezing when you saw a figure sitting in one of your chairs, contently reading a book.
"S-Sir?!" the big kitchen light was on, illuminating the stoic face of one of Konoha's strongest shinobi.
The older blond man placed his book down, seeming annoyed it took you this long to notice him before he started with a huff, "I pay all my employees well, even ones as low down on the ladder as you. One would think that allows for better locks. And it's about time you arrived home, considering you have work tomorrow, no?"
Confusion was about the only emotion you could feel as your boss all but scolded you, besides the dull horny you always felt when it came to the man in front of you, though you suppressed that part for now, "Better wha- What the hell are you doing in my house?!"
Inoichi stood slowly, towering over you and making you regret the harsh tone you used, "Because it seems you forgot whom you belong to, dearest rosebud."
Besides the fact that his reply gave you more questions than answers, you silently gasped at the pet name he used. It was the same pet name your secret admirer had been using for you. You never saw the constant flower bouquets, food deliveries, or expensive gifts as harmful. They were, if anything, an ego boost to you thus far. All delivered to you with the sweetest notes, describing how ethereal you were, and always addressing you as rosebud, albeit also sounding a bit possessive. Additionally, in the six months, you had been receiving gifts, you hadn't been on any dates, instead choosing to focus on your new career supporting the Torture and Interrogation Department. A career that found you moving up the ladder fast, though you were still just doing menial tasks. Briefly, you wondered how much Inoichi had to do with those promotions, but he took a step towards you, cupping your face in his hand, and tore you from your thoughts.
"I think it's about time you come home. To your true home, don't you?"
Your heart thumped loudly in your throat and you nodded against your better judgment, "I do."
The smile you were met with sent a warm tingle through your body, and you returned a smile of your own. Inoichi nodded and picked his book up from the table, his other hand patting the top of your head. The silent praise had your chest swelling with pride for some reason unknown to you. It should have alarmed you how easily you accepted his offer, though you rationalized that you didn't have much choice, fearing that if you rejected him the trained ninja would take you anyways. Better to go willingly than be taken by force, right? Well, that and you were still a bit tipsy.
Before long, you were tucked snugly into the side of the blond man, his arm wrapped protectively around you. The route to his home was longer than it should have been, you suspected he was purposely avoiding the main streets. Being a high ranking shinobi taking a girl home during the early hours of the morning would raise questions. Especially a girl that worked under him. His warm touch was protecting you from the cold and the smell of his expensive cologne was intoxicating. It had you snuggling into his side more, an act which made him smile, he knew his rosebud wouldn't deny him. This definitely proved you deserved a present larger than anything he gifted you previously.
The Yamanaka clan complex was expansive and the main house was nothing to sneeze at either, easily dwarfing your apartment several times over. He led you inside, showing you around and you took notice of how similar his place was to yours. Not in the layout or big furniture pieces, but he had the same type of napkins, your favorite drinks, even your shampoo in his bathroom which you assumed was his daughter's. It didn't dawn on you until he took you on a tour of his room just how deep you were in. In his room, you found clothing that was unmistakably yours, items that had gone missing months ago and some just last week. They ranged from shirts and leggings to underwear and even a pillowcase. You tried not to take note of how some pieces were stained with white spots. Uneasiness began to grow in your gut as you wondered what exactly you had gotten yourself into when your phone buzzed with a notification. You pulled it out, only to have Inoichi take it from you and punch in your passcode.
His face soured, "You really think that lowlife deserves a second date? Before you give me even <em>one</em>? Disgusting."
Your date from earlier must have texted back after you replied you wanted to see him again. He was about to slide your phone onto the dresser when it began to ring. If the scowl on his face told you anything, it was, unfortunately, your date calling. The guy did say he preferred talking over text and at the time, you didn't mind, but now, it was really rather annoying.
"Answer it. Reject him. Reject him like you know you want to," the direction was clear and stern, leaving no room for discussion as he thrust the phone in your direction.
Nervously, you took the device from him and answered the call. Rejecting someone, in general, was an anxiety-inducing task, but to have an overbearing admirer glare you down while doing so was all the more nerve-wracking. Your voice wavered slightly as you talked and although Inoichi still frowned, his hands played through your hair, skimming the ends of your locks. The guy on the other end was rightfully confused while you explained you never wanted to see him again because just an hour ago you texted you were looking forward to it. Part of you hoped he would pick up on the odd behavior and come after you, but the realistic part of your brain told you the boy was too daft and a measly coward. The opposite of the man in front of you.
Once the call was complete the smile returned to the blonde's face, "Good flower! I knew you wanted to be with me. But-," his face fell again, a look of complete seriousness that made you swallow hard, "I can't forgive your little indiscretion. Not yet. It seems you need a punishment to truly remind you of whom you belong to, rosebud."
Your face grew cold at the implications, yet still, you allowed Inoichi to lead you towards the bed. He sat on the edge and patted his expansive thighs, hardened with all the training he did. You should be refusing, should be running far, far away from this situation. But, it was too tempting. How many times does the man you fantasize about return your affections so vigorously? Additionally, a spanking from him sounded like time well spent and you did deserve it for trying to date someone else when you were meant for him. You laid yourself across his legs, the pants you haphazardly put on before leaving being tugged down to your knees. His hands caressed your backside, massaging your ass cheeks before giving a playful swat to them.
"Count them. If you lose count we start over. We'll stop when I think you've learned your lesson. Got it?"
You nodded before squeaking out a, "Yes, daddy."
The name seemed to both please and shock the man, as his hand stalled in mid-air before he grinned. Then, he brought his hand down to your cheek, prompting you to call out the number. A second smack was quick to follow onto the other cheek along with a third, his hands only stalling to hear you mutter out the number. Thankfully, he was merciful in his technique, alternating cheeks and making sure to smack the untouched parts of your backside. A couple even landed harshly on your folds, the wetness gathering there only intensifying the pleasure-pain you felt. After spank thirty, it was hard to find an area that wasn't welting up, and so he went over the areas he already smacked. It made it all the more sensitive as your legs jerked slightly and hands clutched at the comforter beneath you. Your ass was raw and bleeding slightly in a few places, yet still, his hands struck you, enjoying each conflicted whine that left your mouth.
At fifty, you prayed he would be finished, but he kept on spanking, making sure to land more smacks over your pussy. He'd make comments that were a mix of degrading praise about how wet you were for him and how well he was going to fuck you. The promise of being railed by the ever-growing hard-on beneath you was the only thing keeping you from begging him to stop. You were determined to be a good girl for your daddy, despite the burning pain you felt on your rear. Somewhere in the midst of the sixties, you actually came on his hand after he smacked your pussy again, earning rumbling praise from the man above you. Finally, at seventy-five, he stopped, most likely because his hands were sore at this point too. Your reprieve was capitalized by him affectionately rubbing and massaging your abused cheeks as if it pained him to hurt you. Without restraint, you whined into his chest as he held you, hips grinding down against his.
He laughed softly and kissed along your jaw, "Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to accept me as your one and only?"
"Yes, I've learned my lesson, daddy. You're the only one I want in my life. Now and always, please never leave me," you held onto his shirt as you locked gazes with him, your best puppy dog eyes on display.
They worked their intended magic, as you could see his expression soften almost immediately, "Good little blossom. I'll never leave your side and you'll never leave mine. Especially not after we become one, petal."
The notion was intoxicating, being loved by someone so much they'd do anything for you. But right now, the love you needed was physical and with the goal dangling right above your head, you were desperate to reach it. Your hands slid under his shirt and peeled it off, your own being removed soon after. Within a flash, you both were naked and kissing each other feverishly. Inoichi laid back on the bed's pillows, admiring the sight of you perched atop him. You didn't mind being on top, taking the advantage to push his cock into you quickly. As you sank down on him, his hands stroked up and down your thighs, giving a testing thrust up into you. You sat on his cock as much as your body would allow and without hesitation, began to bounce yourself on him. He sighed in pleasure as you wrapped around him so perfectly, telling you he expected nothing less from his perfect rosebud. The praise drove you wild, finally getting the recognition you deserved, albeit in the form of compliments on your sex technique.
When your thigh muscles began to clam up from overuse he laid your body down on top of him. His thick arms wrapped around your torso and he wasted little time in thrusting up into you. Hands caressed your shoulders and he locked gazes with you, unable to tear his eyes away from your face. In the midst of your passionate throes, Inoichi couldn't help but get lost in your otherworldly beauty, only the noises you made and the movement of his hips kept him grounded. It felt like your pussy was made for him, wrapping around him so perfect and driving him insane, he had trouble restraining himself from fucking into you harder. His lips met yours fiercely, kissing and holding onto you like you might disappear at any time. You put a hand on his cheek as you kissed him back and snaked a hand down between your bodies to rub at your clit. Though, your hand was soon removed, being replaced by one of Inoichi's, who explained he was determined to be the one who pleased you. As if you'd have any qualms about that.
His surprisingly smooth fingertips rubbed at your clit and with the constant feeling of his cock pounding against your cervix, you quickly came a second time. Yet still, his fingers kept moving, only stopping for a brief moment to let you ride out your high. The look on his face let you know he was close to orgasm himself, the blush covering his cheeks made your own heat up. Seeing the older blond man so lost in ecstasy, lost in your body, was absolutely pussy clenching. He groaned and held onto you tighter, his face burying into your neck as he moaned your name. The number of times you imagined him calling out your name in pleasure had absolutely nothing on the real thing. You whined into his chest and dug your nails into his shoulder, relishing in the way his cock pounded into your hole, hitting the same spot over and over. Every little thing was mind-blowing when added together and when you heard Inoichi announce he was cumming inside of you, you easily spiraled into another orgasm of your own. You clenched around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was giving you.
After you coaxed a second orgasm from Inoichi you let him pull out, both panting hard and nearly passed out. Yet somehow, he managed to get you into the bathtub and cleaned you up, personally washing you as he whispered constant praises in your ear. You nearly fell asleep like that, if it wouldn't have been for the cold surrounding you once the water was drained. Inoichi sat you down in front of the vanity after he dried your body and affectionately brushed your hair while blow-drying it. Again, the attention and repetitive actions almost put you to sleep, your daddy coaxing you awake with kisses to your jaw. He instructed you to pick out something to wear in the closet while he waited for you in the bed. You assumed he meant to pick something of his to wear for the night, but once you entered the expansive walk-in closet, it all became a bit too clear. The wall opposite of what you assumed was Inoichi's was filled with clothes that fit your exact aesthetic. A few flips through and it confirmed, they were all in your size, some items were exact copies of things you had in your closet, others literal things that you had gone missing. The sight should have disgusted you, creeped you out, something. But looking at the wall of clothes and shoes all you could think of was how thoughtful it was of him to so thoroughly prepare for you moving in.
hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D
90 notes · View notes