#it must be fucked up to miss a woman you can only half remember and who you also kind of hate

[arolesbianism]

Just remembered that Olivia is left to seep in humanities grave for an unforeseeable future and that the best she can do in the face of a reality that she can barely interact with is peeter out with a whimper. Fucking hell (<- tragedy enjoyer entering chat)

#rat rambles #oni posting #she gets no closure and she never will get any closure. this is all thats left. #god her late late game logs fuck me up so bad god girlie is Fucked Up #a shame I dont have the patience to survive for 4000 cycles to get all of them #for context one cycle is abt 10 minutes not counting pausing and fast forward time #which I dont speed up time often anyways so :| #idk maybe one day but not anytime soon #but yeah fucked up that one of the only times olivia talks abt jackie outside of a work environment is in one of those logs #if Im remembering correctly its like cycle 3500? could be wrong tho #it must be fucked up to miss a woman you can only half remember and who you also kind of hate #or at least you did hate at one point #but when all is said and done you're left with all too much time to ruminate over everything you experienced with her #and at that point it all feels so small #and the small domestic moments become so much louder as a result #there is no one left to be mad at but there is a past joy to be missed #and it's even more painful because youll Never get that back #your world was so small once and it will never be that again #its just you and the void of space. for the rest of time. #and also your dupes who you end up abandoning because you're a deadbeat mom lol #god oxygen not included story goes so hard I love olivia so fucking much

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo realizes that adopting Megumi doesn’t just entail calling himself a DILF as a joke. It has responsibility. He doesn’t know how to live with that.

wc — 1k

tags — hurt/comfort, coping with recent chapters/leaks, spoilers for anime onlys, title from Runaway by Aurora, somewhere in the timeline of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together  

Gojo doesn’t see the point of road trips. He can get there and back in an instant, so there’s no point. 

But you like commutes, and Megumi likes what you like, so it’s two to one. Gojo tries to angle for his vote counting as three, being the savior of the Jujutsu world and all, but Megumi is already climbing in the car without him. If there’s anything Gojo hates more in the world than being ignored, it’s being left out, so he’s climbing in too, acting as if it was his plan all along. 

Halfway in, Gojo cracks like you knew he would. Somehow, road trips are just the perfect vehicle for heart-to-heart conversations. The monotony of the highways create an itch for vulnerable conversations. That, and Gojo has a bad habit of blurting out whatever’s on his mind anyway. He’s never learned the meaning of the word filter. 

“I don’t know how to be a dad,” Gojo admits. “I don’t even know if I want to be one.”

You turn to double check that Megumi’s actually asleep before you give him an admonishing look. He should’ve checked first. 

“See,” he says. “This is what I mean.” 

“It’s okay, Satoru,” you say. “We’re still learning. This is new.”

“I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be.” 

“Me neither,” you admit. “I’m so scared I’m going to mess this up.” 

Gojo laughs. “And here I thought you knew everything.” 

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you. It stretches for a few miles as you turn the conversation over in your head, trying to think through the answer. 

“How do we do this?” Gojo whispers. “This is a kid. I can’t- what I usually do isn’t going to work. If we fuck up, we fuck him up.”

You know what he means. Every mistake feels irreversible. Some days, you want nothing more than to take Megumi back to campus and demand Yaga do something about it, even though you feel guilty immediately afterwards. This responsibility weighs heavy on your shoulders. 

“I don’t know, Satoru. We just have to try. The other option-“ 

“There’s no other option,” he says, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not giving him to the Zenins. He deserves to be a kid.” 

“I agree with you.” 

“Sorry. I know you wouldn’t. I just- Sorry.” 

Without looking, you reach over and pat his knee lightly, accepting his apology. It’s alright. You understand. 

He’s silent for a while. Then he says, “You missed the exit.” 

It throws off your calculations for estimated arrival by nearly thirty whole minutes, but somehow Gojo finds that he doesn’t mind, even though this is the perfect opportunity for him to say I told you so. 

Megumi is still sleeping in the back when you stop. Gojo opens the passenger door just in time to catch him as he slumps forward, having been leaning against it. He stirs a little, but goes right back to sleep after twitching like a puppy. 

“Come on,” he coaxes, “time to get up. We’re here.” 

Megumi snuffles a little. He must still be half asleep, because he raises his head just enough to place himself over Gojo’s shoulder and wrap his arms around his neck. Megumi’s still young. He still remembers what it’s like to be carried by his father, especially when he’s dreaming. 

Gojo freezes, caught in this awkward hug that Megumi would never willingly be giving while awake. You laugh at the face he’s making. Carefully, gently, one hand goes to Megumi’s back. He scoops him up to carry him out of his seat, holding him as you lock the car. 

Somewhere in the future, Gojo Satoru steps onto the battlefield and knows he’s going to have to kill his boy. He only hopes to bring his body home for Yuuji, for the woman he loves, and for himself. Megumi deserves at least that much from him. 

Here, in the present, Gojo cradles this little body in his arms, more fragile than anything he’s ever been allowed to hold before, and feels his heart swell with an emotion he can’t quite name. All he can do is hold on, gripping your hand as he gives himself over to a force greater than himself for the first time. 

There’s a rising sense of panic in his throat. He’s never been in charge of something so small. It feels as if he’s holding the world in the palm of his hands and it terrifies him. He looks at you, pleading. Asking you to take it from him. It’s too much. 

He’s the strongest, but his heart feels stretched to its limits. It’s hard to breathe with how much he feels in this moment, overwhelming love and a desire to protect. He wants to keep this thing safe from everything in the world that could hurt it. He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling - it hurts. 

It hurts so good. 

This pain is the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt in his whole life. It’s a holy kind of hurt. It feels like Toji sticking the knife through his throat if he had willingly lowered his head and let it happen. He’s so scared of it, drowning in a riptide he can’t control. He wants you to save him from himself. 

He needs you to take this away from him. 

This is something he would ruin himself for. He can’t bear it. 

You press closer, laying your head on his other shoulder as you wrap your arms around them both. He’s breathing shallowly, trying not to disturb the quiet dreamer in his arms. The burden is enormous, but you don’t take it from him. You shoulder it with him, letting yourself fall into the current too. 

It’s humbling to be trapped by a force that Gojo had always thought he would be free from. The first time was bad enough. He had never wanted to experience it again, especially not like this. He made himself strong so he wouldn’t have to feel that vulnerability ever again. 

Even the strongest makes mistakes. This feeling is inescapable.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojo satoru x fem reader

[abbyreedus]

Save a Prayer

Sonny x Prostitute! Fem reader

Synopsis: You’re a prostitute at a brothel when a sexy biker drops by for some fun. This was inspired by the EODM’s cover of Save a Prayer, and my desire to let this man do whatever he wants to me.

Word count: 1.8k

No description of reader besides being fem. The picture is just for aesthetic purposes.

Additionally, this is my interpretation of how a brothel in the 60’s might work. It is definitely inaccurate. Please don’t look to me for education purposes lol. This is also my interpretation of Sonny. I briefly researched the real Sonny and watched the Bikeriders trailers like 7 times for reference.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: MDNI, 18+, porn with little plot, unprotected p in v (DON’T DO THIS), reader is a prostitute (DON’T DO THIS EITHER), dom! Sonny, implied age gap (no ages mentioned), mentions of alcohol and drug use, oral m! receiving, facefucking, doggy style sex, spanking, mirror sex, objectification, degradation and humiliation via dirty talk, bodily fluids, I’m sure there are more I missed. It’s just filthy y’all.😳 Don’t read if you aren’t comfortable!

It was another bustling night at the Madam Eve’s Whorehouse, and it became overly crowded when a noisy group of bikers rolled in. You watched the large group from your spot on the velvet couch, looking for potential customers. Despite the crowds, you hadn’t had much action today. The men seemingly only wanted to flirt and browse, but this raucous group might change that.

You noticed Sonny first. He was two sheets to the wind already and probably strung out on God knows what else. He was stumbling over his feet and words, flirting with any woman who breathed in his vincinity. He made his way into the room, and everyone seemed to follow him. He must be the leader of this biker group. You watched him as his eyes traveled the bodies of the scantily clad prostitutes on the various couches that littered the room. He eye-fucked each of them, his bleary eyes wandering from woman to woman until he landed on you. He checked out your body first and stopped at your face. He nodded with a lazy smirk and began making his way across the room to where you sat waiting.

“Hey there beautiful. Name’s Sonny. This seat taken?” Sonny said gesturing to the spot in between you and another girl. His hair and beard were disheveled, but you could tell beneath it all that he was a very attractive man. Sonny had stunning blue eyes and high cheekbones. He didn’t have the best teeth and his breath reeked of whiskey, but this intrigued you. His decked-out leather jacket did little to distract you from his broad shoulders and solid arms beneath it. Confidence radiated off him, and his presence dominated the room. You couldn’t help but feel special that out of all the girls there, he picked you. He didn’t wait for your answer as he sank into the couch, putting an arm around you.

“You come here often, Handsome?” you mused. “I think I would have remembered you.”

“Nah, I just blew into town.” The glint in his eyes told you that he wasn’t in town for anything good, or legal for that matter. Ugh, those gorgeous eyes. They were fucking mesmerizing. He was going to be so much fun.

You gave him your best sultry look and ran your hand up his thigh, practically begging him to fuck you.

“You think you can handle me, Darlin’?” he teased. Sonny’s sexual energy was so infectious. His words were making you weak. You usually weren’t into your clients, but he was different.

Moving your hand from his thigh to his already half-hard erection you said, “I’d love to find out.”

He groaned at this, looking at you through heavy eyelids. You swung a leg over him to straddle him, accepting his look as an invitation, and began grinding your barely-clothed pussy against his growing erection. You let yourself get lost in his eyes as you as rubbed up against him. Both his and your breathing were getting heavy when the other prostitute beside you clapped you on the shoulder and playfully said, “Get a room!”

You both stumbled to an open bedroom, so eager for each other’s bodies. The rooms here were nice. They were equipped with two king size beds, and the walls were lined with full size mirrors. Typically, you’d ask clients what all they paid for before beginning a session, but you didn’t want to stop the bedroom talk for money talk.

Sonny stood admiring the room as you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Fuck yeah”, he slurred as he began trying to get his pants off. You giggled as he fumbled with his belt, and reached out to help. When you finally got his pants off, you couldn’t help but stare at the absolutely massive cock in front of you. You weren’t used to well-endowed men paying for your services. Most men soliciting prostitutes were doing it because they were ashamed of their bodies. Sonny had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Your cock is huge. I can’t wait to feel it inside me.” you said looking up at him through your lashes.

Without another word, he grabbed the back of your head and forced your mouth onto his dick. He was gentle, but firm in a way that had you absolutely dripping wet. He moved your head back and forth, letting you take your time sucking the tip. His sexy moans and grunts filled the room, and he never took his eyes off you. He slowly began pushing you farther down his length. He was well into your throat now, and you were trying your hardest not to gag, when he suddenly thrust farther without warning. Your throat contracted around his cock, eliciting more moans from the beautiful man above you. You tried your hardest to maintain eye contact as he continued fucking your throat. By this point tears were streaming down your face, and the gagging was giving way to almost puking. Sonny all the while sang you praises.

“That’s a good girl. Choke on this cock you sexy whore.”

When he finally pulled you off his dick, you collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

He let out a low chuckle. “I hope you’re not giving out just yet. I’m paying for all of you.”

You smiled and wiped tears and spit off your face. You were nowhere near done with him. You also wanted all of him.

“Of course I’m not done.” you said in between breaths. “Why don’t you take that jacket off, and let me see your strong body?”

He chuckled again at you and began removing his top layers. You had to stifle a whimper at the sight of his torso. His biceps were huge and beautifully tanned, his shoulders were extremely well built, and he had some sexily dark tattoos. You could see a heart on his chest, along with some indiscernible names scrawled across his upper chest and arm, a demon on his upper arm, and as if on cue, he turned, showing you his powerful back muscles and two large demon-like tattoos. It was hard not to drool.

He turned back and smirked at your reaction. “Like what you see?”

That was the understatement of the century.

You nodded and clambered onto the bed. “How do you want me?”

“From behind.” he growled, as he made his way onto the bed with you. “Your ass was made for doggy and your face for missionary, but this funhouse fuckin’ room let’s me have both.”

You watched in the mirror as he came up behind you and began trying to remove your lingerie. He didn’t waste any time fumbling with the straps and instead started tearing it from your body. Sonny left you just in your heels and stockings before him as he ripped your thong in one final tug. The mirror granted you the perfect view of him behind you as you arched your back for him. At this, he threw his head back and made the sign of the cross.

“Goddamn you’re such a perfect little slut for me.”

Sonny’s large hands caressed your hips and waist as he sat back on his knees looking into the mirror, admiring his little plaything for the night, until one of his hands found a fist-full of your hair. You moaned in anticipation for what was about to come.

“Love these fuckin’ mirrors... Such a pretty face.” he slurred as he began lining himself up with your slick entrance.

You moaned loudly as he pushed himself inside you. The stretch was somehow both painful and pleasurable. Both of you moaned as he bottomed out inside of you. Your pussy was absolutely bursting at the seams.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mumbled as he began to rock his hips. “You ever had a cock so big, Honey?”

“No, baby. So big.” you whimpered into the mattress.

You yelped in pain and surprise when his palm suddenly connected with the flesh of your ass cheek.

“No sir.” he corrected.

“No sir.”

Your pussy had become so wet that with each thrust, it let out an obscene squelching sound.

“You like that?”

“Yes sir.” you moaned, as he landed another blow.

He pulled your head up by your hair, so you had to watch him fuck you senseless. You could hardly recognize the woman in the mirror. Your makeup was running down your cheeks, and you looked an absolute mess. Your ass jiggled each time his hips snapped into yours’. He was tearing you apart, and you were loving it. With each hard thrust, your orgasm was building deep in your stomach.

“That’s right, Baby.” Sonny said, slapping your ass again. “I can feel you squeezing my cock.”

Your head had almost found it’s way to the mattress, when he pulled your head back up by your hair again.

“No. Watch me destroy you.” Sonny growled. “God, you look so pathetic.”

At this, you lost all control. Your pussy spasmed around his cock, and you screamed so loud everyone in the building probably heard.

“Oh, FUCK.” he gasped as he pulled out and spilled his load all over your ass and back. When he was finished, he gave your ass one more hard spank and fell back into the bed.

You laid there for a while in the most compromising position, while he caught his breath.

“Towels,” he mumbled and began riffling through the bedside table. Sonny found one, cleaned himself up, and tossed it onto your messy back. You cleaned yourself up, while he sat back and lit a cigarette. When you were finished, you fell to the bed beside him and just gazed at him in adoration. His eyes were heavy, and he smiled over at you.

“What would you say if I wanted to take you with me?” he asked.

Suddenly overcome from all the emotions, you started to cry. Big, deep sobs from within you racked your naked body. No one had ever fucked you so good, then offered to save you from this life of selling your body for money. You didn’t believe in love at first sight, but you were so overcome with endorphins that he might as well have been your soulmate. He cocked an eye at you, and you quickly asssured him that you were okay.

“I would love to come with you. I don’t know who you are, but I know that I never want to leave your side.” you said wiping your tears.

“I guess you didn’t read the back of my jacket, did you? I’m Sonny Barger, leader of the Hells Angels.”

“I’ll be your Angel forever, Sonny Barger.”

“Good. I wasn’t taking no for an answer.” he said as he took another drag from his cigarette.

————————————————————————

Omg guys I’m so excited to share my first ever smutty fanfic. It would mean the world to me if you’d like, comment, and reblog for other Sonny lovers to read. I’m tagging everyone who expressed interest in reading new Sonny fics:

@lazyneonrabbitt @darylsgarden @dilfsandmartinis @r0reep @charlottewatkinsblog

#norman reedus #the bikeriders #the walking dead #funny sonny #daryl dixon #Sonny x reader #Spotify #fan fiction #bike riders #smut #daryl dixon smut #save a prayer

[holylulusworld]

Nrfth (1) - Dreams do come true

Summary: A dream shattered. A heart broken.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Actress!Reader

Characters: OC Tracey

Warnings: fangirling, nervous reader, language

A/N: This series is a “short” chapter story. It contains of a collection of drabbles.

>> Prologue

“You’ve got this babe. Go in there, show them what they are sign up for if they hire you, and blow their minds,” Tracey is as excited as you are. “I knew you are going to film movies with Chris Evans one day.”

“Trace, it’s only thanks to you and Noah. He’s…a genius. I looked like a movie star in his movie. I’ll be forever grateful for the chance I got because of you two.”

“Babe, invite me to one red-carpet event, call me your favorite bitch when they ask you who I am, and we are even,” she snickers. 

“Fuck, I’m so nervous,” you chew on your lower lip. “What if I fuck this up? This could be the only chance to land a role in the Marvel universe. If I fail now, everyone will remember.”

“I’ll tell you this only once,” Tracy says. She cups your face and forces you to breathe with her. “You are beautiful, strong, talented, and the biggest bitch in the Marvel universe. You can kick ass.”

“I can’t kick ass during the casting,” you laugh at Tracey’s determined look. She believes in you like no one else. “But I’ll give my all to land the role. And, if I walk over the red carpet for the first time, you’ll be by my side.”

The door finally opens again. Another disappointed-looking girl steps outside, sighing deeply. She’s prettier than you, and you remember her face from a show you watched a few weeks ago. If she didn’t land the role. How shall you get it?

“Next,” the annoyed voice of the woman hosting the audition catches your attention. You tear your eyes away from the girl leaving without the role and focus on your chance. 

“That’s me,” you confidentially say. This is it. Your chance to land a role. 

If you do this right, you can film next to Chris Evans. Or at least be on the same set. Your agent said it’s possible that you never even meet Chris. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Even if it’s a small role, you can say you made it. “Hi. I’m Y/N Y/L/N. You called my agent and—”

She raises her hand to stop you from talking too much. “Follow me. This way.”

She guides you toward a different room. You sigh. Maybe you don’t even get the chance to show them that you are a great actress.

“I-I thought you wanted me to come here.”

You follow her along the hallways, sighing as she won’t talk to you. “Go in there and read the lines we sent to your agent.” She finally says. The woman looks you up and down and gives you a half-smile. “Don’t freak out, okay? He’s only an actor.”

Holy fuck…no…really…holy fuck. Your breath hitches in your throat when you enter the room as Chris Evans stands there, holding the script in his hands.

“Ms. Y/L/N, welcome to the audition. You got the script we hope,” another woman asks.

“Yeah. Uh—thank you for giving me this chance. I got the script and practiced the lines,” you say.

Taking a deep breath, you open your bag to get the script out.  

“Alright, can you read the first lines? Just to get into the scene?” the woman from earlier asks. She gives you a quick smile, knowing that you must be nervous around the star of the Marvel universe.

“Sure,” you hastily say. “I’ll enter the room, check the surroundings, and get my gun out,” you recite the entrance scene of your character. “Things get heated, I’m surrounded by Hydra agents, and then…a bullet hits me. The agents storm toward me right when…”

“I break through the wall,” Chris uses his captain voice. He strides towards you, looking you straight in the eyes. “Miss? Miss, are you alright?”

It’s Captain America looking at you, not the actor behind him.

“Captain America?” you fall into the roll. You pant and clutch your lower abdomen. “I got shot,” you fall to your knees, just like described in the script. “My partner…I need to find him, Captain.”

“You got hurt.” 

“I can do this…” you whisper, faking losing consciousness. “Please, Captain. Don’t let them get him.”

That’s the end of the script for you. You want to end the scene and get back up. But Chris drops the script in his hands to pick up in bridal style.

It’s a struggle to not squeal, swoon, or drool when he carries you toward the couch in the room. He’s still in his role when he looks at you in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he ends the scene with his line, and you are sure your heart stops beating for a moment when he leans closer to whisper. “I can do this all day…”

“HOLY FUCK BABE!” Tracey raises her glass at you. “You are going to be a famous movie star and bang Chris Evans.”

“Babe, I won’t bang anyone. And my role is still small. I don’t even know if my character will survive the first episode,” you try to make her see, this role can mean your breakthrough or just a few bucks on your bank account. “You know how it is. The sidekick always ends up dead…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x actress!reader #Nrfth (1) - Dreams do come true #tw: rpf #chris evans angst

[krikeymate]

so i was watching some tlou edits today and i had the most terrible idea..

something kind of like joel’s death. with sam. with tara being held down while screaming for sam to please get up.

boy i hate angst (this probably gives away who i am) but i’d like to see your fantabulous writing with that situation!

Hi, the fuck? Double whammy.

-

The temperature difference is the first thing she notices.

The sudden heat from the building is a sharp contrast to the snowy landscape outside, it leaves her body tingling, fingers and toes numb.

That must surely be the cause of the shiver that runs down her spine.

Surely.

The room is empty, but only recently so if the melting slush that’s been stepped across the room is anything to judge by. It’s hard to say how many footprints there once were, puddles fusing together in the warmth.

But there’s too many, she thinks.

Sam, and Sidney, and… others.

Tara struggles to swallow, breath catching in her throat.

It’s just the cold.

It’s just the cold.

There’s a noise, muffled, unclear.

She wants to call out. She should call out.

She can’t.

Tara creeps through the doorway silently, gun clenched tight in her hands.

Sleeping bags. Half a dozen of them, all spread out around a fireplace, burned wood still dimly aglow.

This room is as empty and quiet as the last, signs of life with no bodies to fill them.

“Sam,” she whispers to herself, “where are you?”

It feels wrong. Abandoned. Worse yet, abandoned in a hurry.

That’s never a good sign.

She doesn’t even know if this is where Sam and Sidney ended up. They could be anywhere, it’s been hours after all, and tracking has never been Tara’s speciality. Sam was the tracker, the one with the good eye.

If Tara had been the one missing, Sam would have found her by now.

A thud has her spinning on her heel, gun nearly flying out her hand as she turns.

Fuck.

She should know better. What a stupid mistake to make. It could have cost her her life, had anyone been there.

But the noise isn’t coming from behind her, it’s coming from below. Now that her ears have trained onto the noise, Tara can’t unhear it.

She goes searching and finds the stairs to the basement behind lucky door number three, and takes a moment to breathe and settle her shaky hands before her descent.

The dread she had tried to ignore earlier is a chain now, nestled across her tense shoulders. Every step she takes feels heavier than the last.

The groaning of the wood beneath her feet sets her heart racing.

She doesn’t know why her hand trembles as she reaches out for the door handle.

She doesn’t remember the last time she felt so scared. She doesn’t remember the last time Sam wasn’t there, just within reach in case she needed her. Even when they were fighting, Sam was still there.

Then Tara hears a familiar whimper from behind the door, and finds her fear isn’t important anymore. The door flies open.

She can barely comprehend the scene before her.

Sam.

Sam’s here.

Lying on the floor.

Bloody.

There’s so much blood.

Too much blood.

Between them stands a silhouette.

Shadowed and still, other than the drip drip drip, a golf club in their hand, repurposed into a tool of violence.

It makes Tara burn.

With teeth bared, she raises her gun and steps forward, only to be thrown to the side as something collides with her.

Stupid girl.

They aren’t alone. Remember?

Tara disregards the gun now skidding away from her, and with a heavily practised motion, has her favourite knife in her hand – a gift from Sam long ago, regularly sharpened, and cherished – and thrusts it behind her and into the neck of her assailant.

The body falls away, but she has no time to breathe, to move, before an elbow cracks into her face and another takes its place.

“Get the fuck off me!” she yells as she struggles against the knee on her back and the hand pinning her head to the floor. “Sam!”

The woman holding her down laughs.

“I’m so glad you’re here to see this,” she says, fingers twisting into her hair and pulling. Tara can practically hear the grin in her voice; the manic tone holds no anger for her fallen companion, only glee at her presence.

Tara doesn’t have time to wonder why.

“Ethan,” the stranger calls out to the figure, slamming Tara’s head back down into the floor. “It’s finally time to end it.”

Ethan turns to them and smiles down at Tara, teeth bloody like the rest of his face. Her stomach lurches as she realises it’s blood splatter.

“Gladly,” he replies softly. “Don’t worry Tara, we’re not going to hurt you. We just want to settle a debt.”

He speaks with a gentle cadence, but his face tells a different story. Dark and predatory eyes, a sharpness to his toothy-smile, an unnatural giggle as he drags a hand along the wet club.

“SAM!” Tara cries out, feeling desperate in a way she’s never felt before.

Ethan smacks the club against the floor.

“Sam, please get up, Sam please, Sam fucking get up!”

Her sister groans, dragging her head to face her. It looks painful. She looks like she’s in so much pain. It brings tears to Tara’s eyes as she struggles against the stranger’s grip.

It’s useless. She’s too strong, Tara’s too weak.

“Tara…” Sam whispers, fingers twitching as she tries to reach out for her.

Ethan stomps on the reaching hand, delighting in the way Sam whimpers.

“STOP IT!” Tara begs. “Please, please stop, I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt her.”

Ethan laughs harshly, persona forgotten.

“Oh, it’s too late for that Tara. Samantha here took our brother from us, now you’re going to learn what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

He swings the club before Tara can even scream out.

She finds herself frozen as he swings again and again.

All she can hear is the crack of metal against bone, the stranger above her giggling into her ear, the sound of her own sobs tearing themselves from her throat.

By the time he’s done, Ethan’s gasping, face orgasmic as he takes in the carnage.

All Tara can focus on is the shattered remains of her sister’s skull. It doesn’t feel real.

It can’t be real.

This can’t be real.

Tara thinks this image will burn behind her eyelids for as long as she lives.

She hopes it isn’t much longer.

Ethan lazily tilts his head towards her and taps the club against the floor, considering.

He says something. She can feel the woman respond, vibrations against her back, but Tara can’t hear a thing.

She feels deaf and mute and blind, stuck in the moment the club struck, that she lost her sister.

She didn’t do anything. She should have done something; she could have done something. Why didn’t she do something?

She feels her head tilt up, something hard and wet beneath her chin.

Tara looks into the eyes of the man who took her sister from her. She memorises every feature, the pattern of blood spread across his face, the knowledge of who it belongs to.

“I’m going to kill you,” she promises, voice barely a whisper.

“Good luck with that,” he laughs, and he swings.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag #rip tag #AU: TLOU

[steddiejudas]

Don't Blame Steve

TW: Smut whoops

“Hands!”

“Yes, Chef!” Steve yells, running as fast as he dares to the sous without being reprimanded for creating a hazard. The saucier he had been stationed with shoots him a warning glare, and he knows after this rush he’ll have his ass handed to him on one of the maitre d’s silver platters for abandoning his position, but he’s been given explicit instructions. When the sous calls, he is to run, not walk. He can take the wrath of a measly saucier if it means his chef de cuisine won’t be involved in this particular dispute. 

The man is horrifying, a dark void that pulls everyone in with his initial charisma, only to snap in an instant and leave you feeling like an empty shell of your former self. He runs his kitchen with an iron fist. Hopper himself would cower in Timothy’s presence. Not even swinging a bat into the flowering maw of a demogorgon could hold up to the terror he instills. The sous, though better, is no walk in the park either. She seems like a sweet woman at first, Rosie, but if her call for help goes unheeded there’s no telling what she may use as a weapon. Steve thought, based on this fact alone, that they may even get along the first time he saw her throw a metal spoon across the kitchen in a fit of rage, but this idea was quickly thrown out the window when he narrowly avoided an egg timer hitting him in the head with enough force he very well may have been on the receiving end of another concussion. And at the hands of a 54 year old woman no less. 

Steve comes skidding to a halt at Rosie’s side, close enough to smell the bourbon leaking from her pores and he desperately hopes she’s just horribly hungover. The last time she showed up drunk he went home with burns burgeoning on third degree. Why Timothy never picks up on this, or chooses to ignore it, he doesn’t understand — considering he once came in and was immediately reprimanded for his untied shoelace. 

“I need you on mise. Running low on shallots and cilantro for garnish.”

Steve tries not to roll his eyes, but well, he’s never been the best at keeping a handle on his facial expressions, and Rosie must pick up on some slight twitch in his expression or the exasperated sigh in his “yes, chef.”

“What? Do you think you have better things to be doing? We’re in the weeds and I’m running low on fucking garnishes. Maybe if you were half decent at staging I would have had everything I needed before we were getting fucked in the ass.”

“No, chef. I’m sorry, I’m on it.”

“Good. I don’t miss twice, kid.”

Steve spends the rest of the evening rush by Rosie’s side, dicing in silence like a well-trained dog. He almost misses the call for closing, overstimulated and exhausted both physically and emotionally. All through his closing duties, he’s berated by Sam, the saucier he abandoned firing dishes on his own. He almost doesn’t think he’ll make it through the night, but like always, he does, and drives home on autopilot, hardly registering the traffic as he listens to one of Eddie’s heavy metal tapes to release some of the tension thrumming in his veins. Since culinary school, he’s developed more of a taste for Eddie’s music, finding comfort in the thrumming baselines and heavy drums that make his teeth rattle with how loud it blares through the speakers.

He trudges up the stairs to their apartment, his every muscle alighting in pain. His head is pounding, and he tries to remember the last time he drank water, but days are starting to blur together and he’s not sure he even has today. Still, none of that can stop the smile that erupts over Steve’s features when he sees Eddie waiting for him with dinner set out on the table, despite it being 10 o'clock at night. 

“Hey baby. Rough day?” And Steve just melts into the way Eddie can read him in an instant, falling into his arms with a heavy sigh. He nods silently and inhales Eddie’s scent. He’s just showered and he smells like sandalwood, Steve’s favorite scent. It reminds him of the fact that Eddie changed the bodywash he uses when he discovered that tidbit of information. Eddie isn’t even a particularly huge fan of sandalwood. He doesn’t hate it or anything, it just wasn’t really on his radar until Steve said something, and now he may even love it for the way it makes Steve nestle into his neck and take in deep breaths, sighing at the way it mingles on his skin.

Eddie is no chef and Steve knows that. He doesn’t expect perfection — in fact, after nearly 11 hours of perfection, he prefers a little chaos and junk food. Eddie always delivers, plating up a simple turkey sandwich and potato chips with a vase of flowers and candlelight. 

“I love you,” Steve sighs, settling into his seat which Eddie pushes in for him, leaving a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I love you too. And I saved you plenty of hot water for a bath when you’re done.”

Steve tucks into his sandwich, eating like he’s been starving in a desert for months. Eddie watches with pure adoration on his face, eating much slower and stopping Steve every couple bites to remind him to drink the ice water he put out. After the first half (Eddie cut his sandwich into triangles. However juvenile, Steve has always found it easier to eat them this way and Eddie finds it adorable), Steve is ready to talk. He regails the evening and the vicious humbling he received after closing in as much detail as he can muster, but frankly the day starts to slip away as soon as he gets home. Maybe it’s the repeated trauma, but his brain has a way of compartmentalizing in a matter of hours. There’s just one complaint that never seems to go away.

“And I’m not even getting paid for any of this!”

Eddie gave up asking if working in kitchens was really worth it after the first week. Steve’s answer was always the same. Despite the mental and physical toll, his goals remained clear. He was going to get through this stupid stage and get a real job in a kitchen until he could save up enough money to one day open his own place dedicated to all the recipes that made him fall in love with cooking in the first place, everything the kids loved when he experimented in the kitchen for them.

Eddie has to drag Steve out of his seat to the bathroom when they finish. Steve’s body aches so bad he could fall asleep at the table. It wouldn’t be the first time and Eddie isn’t letting that happen again, lest he be charged with Steve’s complaints of sore everything in the morning. He draws the bath and puts in epsom salt for the pain and lavender scented bubble bath because it eases the knot in Steve’s mind that has his shoulders permanently pressed to his ears. He helps Steve over the ledge of the tub and gently lowers him into the steaming water. It’s the perfect temperature, nearly scalding just the way Steve likes so he can enjoy the water’s warm embrace as long as possible. They remain quiet as Eddie massages Steve’s legs, working the knots out of his calves and running his thumbs up and down the arches of his feet. Steve lets out an occasional contented sigh, relishing in the fact that Eddie enjoys pampering him just as much as he needs it after a day like today. 

The few unpredictable strands of Eddie’s hair that can never be contained by a bun, no matter how neat, are starting to form loose ringlets. Steve reaches out to wind one around his fingers, moves his hand to his boyfriend’s steam warmed cheeks, and draws him in for a delightfully slow kiss. Eddie’s hands travel up Steve’s legs to his thighs, raising them slightly from the porcelain of the tub so he can run his fingers over his taught hamstrings like the frets of his guitar. He plays Steve nearly as well, no, better, and Steve sings his praises into Eddie’s lips.

“Feeling better?” Eddie asks, his forehead pressed to Steve’s, their breath intermingling in heavy puffs between them. 

“Much.” Steve replies. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation of Eddie’s fingers all over him. His firm, deliberate strokes graze higher up Steve’s thighs, ghosting between his legs and Steve chokes back a whimper. The bubbles hide the way he’s been steadily growing harder, but Eddie’s hands reveal all. He’s not always in the mood after work, but the princess treatment, as Eddie likes to call it, makes his heart swell… amongst other things.

Steve tries to stand, but the bath is still warm and Eddie’s hands hold him in place. “Just relax. Let me take care of you sweetheart.”

“I want to touch you,” Steve whines. 

“You will, but we can take it slow tonight, right?”

And Steve’s mind is foggy, sure, a combination of the long hours and Eddie’s expert touch, but he doesn’t think he’s that foggy until the words just kind of slip out of him. “Yes, chef,” he moans. 

A hand flies up to clasp over his mouth and his eyes go wide. Eddie is silent, watching like a hawk, his hand still and gripping onto Steve’s thigh in a vice grip. “I– I don’t… I’m so sorry. That just came out. Fuck.”

“Woah woah, hold on there big boy. It’s okay. Look, you don’t have to, I know you had a long day, but maybe just… say it again?”

“Y-yes chef.” Steve tries it out, wondering if it will feel foreign in his mouth, but it doesn’t. It feels natural, like an extension of himself, bearing himself raw to Eddie in a rare way he never has before. He wants to feel Eddie prodding at this part of him, taking him apart piece by piece like he has to every other aspect of his soul until now.

“Jesus christ. How does anyone get anything done in that kitchen with you around?”

“You say that every day.”

“Yeah, but now I mean it. You’re walking around all night saying ‘yes chef’ like an adorable little slut. I wouldn’t be able to think straight.” Eddie splashes Steve with the velocity at which he moves his hand to his dick, gripping tight enough to make Steve moan. His head falls back against the tub, the ends of his hair grazing the bubbly warm water. The contrast of cold porcelain against hot skin makes him realize just how hard his whole body must be flushing, damp from the water and sweat mixing on his skin. His hands find the sides of the tub and hold on for dear life as Eddie’s hand pumps and twists up the length of his shaft. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, staring, taking in every expression and breathy noise he releases. 

“Just relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me.”

“That’s right. Good boy.”

Eddie’s hand speeds up, sloshing water up all around Steve’s chest. Heat pools in his stomach and Steve feels his balls draw up, nearing the edge in record time from the praise.

“Wait,” he says, dropping a hand down to still Eddie’s wrist.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, stopping instantly, concern lacing his voice. 

“‘M okay. I don’t want to cum yet. Want to fuck you.”

Eddie hums. “I thought I was taking care of you?”

“You can take care of me while I fuck you. Ride me into the mattress.”

“Fuck, Stevie. Let’s go.” Eddie helps Steve out of the tub, drying him just enough that he’s not dripping into the carpet. Steve’s skin is red hot, the heat bubbling over into Eddie’s chest as they collide in a sloppy kiss, hardly breaking apart as they stumble to the bedroom. 

Eddie pushes Steve down onto the bed and hovers over him, admiring. He’s hard and aching, leaking against his stomach and he pulls Eddie into him, crashing their lips back together so hard their teeth clack against one another. Eddie is still fully dressed and that just won’t do. Steve’s hands roam Eddie’s body, feeling and squeezing until he reaches the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Eddie has new tattoos all over his chest, including Steve’s bat, and he loves to kiss over it, sucking bruises into the outline until it’s puffy and sticking out, raised against his milky white skin. Eddie undoes his belt hastily, pulling his pants and underwear off his hips until they fall to the ground with a clank of his belt buckle against the floor. 

“Lay back, I want you inside me.”

Steve groans. “You need to prep?”

“What do you think I do all day when you’re gone baby?”

Steve reaches around between Eddie's cheeks and sure enough he’s loose and pliant, ready to take Steve’s considerable girth. Steve twitches pathetically, precum spurting out of his tip all over the happy trail leading down to his pubes, thinking about Eddie laid out in their bed playing with himself, moaning wildly alone while he waits for Steve to trudge up the stairs to their little apartment with no promise he’ll even be fucked at all. 

“You ready for me?” Eddie asks.

“Yes chef.”

“Shit you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I may have some idea.” Steve smirks, his eyes tracing over Eddie’s frame to his throbbing erection.

“Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” Eddie straddles Steve’s hips and grabs his cock, lining himself up to sink down                       in one swift movement. 

The room is filled with the sound of their moans, their scents mingling together in a heady musk. Eddie’s hands find themselves on Steve’s chest, squeezing his pecks, a juxtaposition of soft skin and hard muscles sprinkled with thick hair. He bounces up and down at a ruthless pace, grinding his hips down with a little twist each time he sinks to the hilt. Steve falls apart under him, his face burying in the pillow beneath him, catching the cries and spit that pool on his tongue. He wants to plant his feet, drive his hips up and pound back relentlessly, drag more of those wanton moans from Eddie’s throat, but he’s so exhausted, the pleasure only adding to the led in his bones, so he lets Eddie take what he needs, let’s him dedicate his heart to Steve’s pleasure. He’s going to come already after being driven to the edge not five minutes earlier, but he needs to stave it off, hold back until he can be painted with Eddie’s cum. 

But Eddie knows him all too well. Knows every sound, knows the meaning of every pleasured grimace on his face. “Don’t wait for me honey. I want to make you feel good.”

“Can I…”

“Cum inside me baby. Want to feel you fall apart while I milk it out of you.”

Those words are all he needs, coming in thick ropes that paint Eddie’s walls. Steve is sensitive, crying out Eddie’s name as he keeps riding the last of Steve’s hard on, chasing his own pleasure. 

“Come on, Chef.” Steve wraps a hand around Eddie’s dick, stroking him hard and fast. “Need to see you cum on the fly, please.”

“Fuckkkk,” Eddie moans as he cums all over Steve’s chest. He falls boneless into Steve’s open arms. Steve wraps his arms around his neck and rubs a gentle hand up and down his back, kissing the hair matted with sweat against his forehead. 

“We need another bath.” Steve giggles.

“I’ll get a wash cloth. We can shower in the morning,” Eddie sighs, squeezing Steve back and letting his affection pour out in droves. He lifts himself off of Steve and feels his spend leaking out and making a mess. “But maybe we sleep on the couch tonight? I’m not changing the sheets.”

Eddie scurries off to the bathroom so he doesn’t drip all over the carpet and returns a couple minutes later to towel Steve off. He picks Steve up, throwing him over his shoulder to carry him to the living room, neither of them being bothered to even put on boxers. Eddie puts on a movie and they drift to sleep in each other’s arms, a tangle of limbs and shared body heat so they can both fit on the small couch. The next morning they shower together as promised before Steve has to leave for the restaurant. All day, with every call of ‘Yes, chef!’ he can’t help but think of Eddie and smile to himself. He doesn’t think working in a kitchen will ever be the same again.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #18+ minors dni #chef!steve #life is beating the shit out of me but i'm back with the weird smut

[felice-jaganshi]

His Pet

Chapter 14

Alastor x OC

Content warning: mention of potential SA and minor acephobia.

He sat on her bed, rocking her back and forth until she had calmed down. He was extremely troubled by today's events.

“Darling… I'm certain you're very tired from all of today's activities, but I need you to answer something for me before I let you rest.”

She nodded, staying silent as she clung to him.

“Darling, I'll never judge or blame you for things that happened against your will, but I must know… what did Valentino do to you?” He needed to know how badly he had failed her. How bad the damage done was.

 

She shook her head, “He only hurt me. He didn't… he tried but I fought back and I tried to rip his throat out, but he moved, so I missed and got his wing. He thought if I bled enough I'd be easier to handle. But… my blood is gold so… he freaked out. I was able to run, and hide. Took a chunk of wing with me.”

 

“Do you remember scratching me?” He held out his hand to her. She looked confused and took it.

“I did this? I… hurt you?” She kissed the marks gently. “I don't remember that, I'm sorry.” He smiled and pet her head.

“I forgive you. It was my own fault for approaching you in such a state. You bit my shoulder too, should I be glad you didn't rip my throat out?” He was teasing her now.

 

“No, I was more in control then. That one was on purpose. Just an affection bite. Something I used to do with my old partner. You're a lot like them. Please don't abandon me like they did… I know I'm useless and weird and broken, but please… I can't handle being on my own.” She started sobbing, the action taking over her whole body, her ears laying flat to her skull.

 

“Useless and broken… is that how your partner made you feel? And you dare compare me to them?” He sounded irritated. “You have been nothing but useful to me. Maybe a bit of a hassle at times, but certainly not boring at least! And broken? What about you could possibly be considered broken?” He asked, and began petting her head and hair in long slow strokes.

 

“I'm… because I couldn't… something that happened when I was… because I can't- because I'm Ace!” She was struggling to say the words. This was something that had bothered her her whole life. And even in death, her past trauma was still fucking with her! He frowned, remembering what she had said that term meant, and given the context she was struggling to give, he was able to paint a few potential pictures of what she was trying to say.

 

“My dearest… that does not make you any more broken than it does me. I don't have any interest in those activities either. So you are not broken in the slightest. And anyone who has made you feel as such is a filthy pervert undeserving of your attentions or affections. Is that also how your ex partner made you feel?”

“N-no… they were also ace… but they were always frustrated with my inability to care for myself in other ways. I always had to be told what to do and how to do it. Always living life in a daze half in my head… I just wanted to write my stories… but I acted too much like a child for an adult woman… so… they wanted their independence back.” 

 

She looked up at him.

“Well, I can certainly understand a desire for independence.” She stiffened in his arms. “Shh, shh.. but I would never abandon a soul in my care. You are mine, and I will never leave you. I…” He took a breath, was he a man or was he not? Why were these words so hard for him?! “I. Love you too. I mean it.” There! It was true enough, it might not be in the same way she felt for him, but how else could he describe this bond if not ‘love’? “Just don't expect me to say it often.”

“Al… can I kiss you?” He froze, he felt hot and cold at the same time.

“I… don't think that's a good idea.”

“Just on the forehead?” She asked next, trying to find his boundaries, it seemed.

“I… suppose that would be acceptable.” He didn't sound terribly certain though.

She put her hands on his shoulders and sat up in his lap, she gently kissed his forehead, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away and sitting in his lap with a smile. Well, that wasn't so bad… It was actually somewhat pleasant. 

“Thank you. For everything. You are my special person. I hope one day I can be considered your partner.” He thought for a moment before kissing her on the forehead back. That.. also didn't feel terrible.  

“That actually doesn't sound so bad… you could read your stories on my broadcasts, and we'll call you the Radio Angel. That would certainly scare enough sinners into leaving you alone at least. But for the next while, until you're strong enough to be an overlord yourself, I don't want you heading out without my personal escort. If I can't even count on Nifty to protect you, how can I count on anyone else?” He pulled her tight to his chest. “I will not lose my most important treasure. Not now that I've finally found it.” She purred in his arms, closing her eyes and falling asleep, feeling safe and loved.

Angel knocked on the door, “Hey, they said only I was allowed in. Mind if I do?” 

“You may join us. She just fell asleep.” Alastor called out. Angel entered the room.

“Damn… so she really is an angel. No wonder she's sweet as sugar.” He frowned and looked at her in Al's lap. “What did Big V do to her?” He seemed scared of the answer, and Alastor respected him for his concern. 

“Just a few cuts and bruises. At least that's what she told me. I'm hoping you can confirm. Being a brother figure to her, she might feel more comfortable telling you if he touched her in other ways. I want to believe her, but better safe than sorry.” 

Angel nodded, “Yeah, once she's up, I can have a talk with her. I'll help run her a nice bubble bath too. That usually helps me feel better after… Well, we don't have to talk about lil’ ol’ me. Mind if I take a seat and wait for her to wake up?”

Alastor nodded, “Her chair is at the desk. I'll keep holding her, she's likely to protest if I try to leave her like this.”

“Heh, look at that. The radio demon does have a heart. Good.” He got comfortable in the chair, pulling it close to the bed. “I won't tell anyone, promise.”

#hazbin hotel #alastor's pet #alastor x oc #ace alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #aroace alastor #platonic alastor x reader

[alder-saan]

Till death do us meet

life 2 : gunshots

Death of the endless x reader

Warnings : mass murder, death

Wordcount : ~1200

THIS IS THE SECOND PART. life 1 : Shooting stars

You were looking at your lesson. Why the fuck did you chose a math degree ? It was far too difficult for you. Actually, you had not been paying attention for months. Since your best friend just disappeared and blocked you on every social media, you began to wonder what was wrong with you. Sometimes you didn't want to wake up, an you just stayed in your bed all day. Sometimes you tried to motivate but in class, you understood that these "few days off" were in fact a "few weeks off". And from now on, you had to catch up on your work. The few "friends" you had (could you really call them friends? You mean, yeah, you liked them, and they seemed to like you but... You weren't that close), tried to cheer you up, unsuccessfully. You sighed. To your left, 'lyn shook you a bit.

"Hey, wake up"

"I don't understand, 'lyn"

"I know, but you will once you catch up. So don't give up. If you don't want to take notes, listen."

"Yes mom"

You sank into your chair and watch the half-empty lecture hall from the back seats. In the front row, you noticed a young woman. She was... well, beautiful. Really beautiful. You wondered if it was OK to approach someone at the end of a maths lesson that gave headaches. Anyway, what would you say to her, uh? "Hello, er... I was watching you from the back of the lecture hall and I found you beautiful. Do you want to go to the coffee shop with me?"

You knew that wasn't ridiculous. But persuading yourself was the only way you found to protect yourself from being rejected. She wasn't interested in you. No one was. No one would ever be. Your eyes rolled to the left. Marilyn was focused. You let your mind daydreaming. You thought about your best friend. Your ex best friend who just left you without a word.

About your mother who was never happy with what you did, what you became.

About your big brother, your stupid brother who left you and went in an other country. You missed him... He and his stupid hair, which he plastered back with gel. You laughed, hoping he'd change his hair style.

About your father who prefered his job over his children.

About 'lyn, who never let you down. You really liked her. But you felt guilty not to be able to be there for her like she was for you. You never told her she probably was your new best friend. You never thanked her.

About that girl, in the front row. You were sûre you had met her before. But you couldn't remember when. It seemed you always knew her. She may was your soulmate... Ugh, since when were you that mushy? Soulmates? Bullshit. You must have seen it in class but not noticed it, that's all...

" 'lyn?"

"Mmh?"

"See that girl in the front row?"

"Luna?"

"No, to her left"

"Er... the wall?"

"No, the girl with a black shirt"

"Luna is the only girl in the front row"

"The person with the black shirt then"

"I really don't see who you're tal-"

A gunshot.

Everyone froze.

An other gunshot.

The girl you saw stood up. You frowned. Why did she do that? No one else noticed her. The other students were hiding under their table, as the safety regulations provided for this type of incident. You didn't move. Why? Why did she stood up in the middle of the room. She gave the class a sad and sorry smile. Then she crossed your look.

"Can you see me?"

You nodded.

"Hide now."

You hid with Marilyn. She held your arm, silent tears rolled on her cheeks.

The door crashed open. A man entered, you recognized him. That was one of your ex best friend's friend. He had two guns. He pointed the barrel of one at a table and fired it. You startled. Then he shot the professor, under his table. He screamed in pain. Three other gunshot. He remained silent. But the girl? Where was she? You looked down the stairs, through the rectangular holes in the wood of the table.

Your eyes widened. She had now big black feathered wings. There was two teachers. One of them covered in blood, motionless, the other looked normal and the woman took his hands. She flapped her wings. For a brief moment, the second teacher was out of your sight, covered by the black wings. When you could see again, he had disappeared. All that was left was the bloody corpse.

The man turned towards the empty chairs. But all the stuff on several tables couldn't fool him. You shivered. The silence was deafening. Marilyn and you held your breaths. For how long? You didn't know.

Other gunshots.

You heard 'lyn sobbing and gasping, and students crying in pain. You couldn't stop your eyes from watching the woman, walking from table to table, fetching students from under their desks into the other world. She was so sweet with them. Wiping their tears away, hugging them, comforting them.

Luna, the third student who passed away, disappeared.

The police and ambulance sirens drilled the silence. The woman turned towards the man. He shot himself. She stood in front of him.

"It's over"

Her wings flapped. He was gone.

You came out of your hidding, not paying attention to Marilyn, next to you. You wanted to talk to the woman before she goes. She looked at you and went up the stairs.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting"

"Don't worry, you had work to do"

"I've missed you."

"What do you mean?" You said, confused.

"You don't remember? Not surprinsing though, but kinda disappointing... Anyway that's not your fault so don't worry."

You searched in your memory, giving you an excuse to close your eyes and avoid the view of the corpses, but didn't find anything.

"I... I am sorry what was I supposed to remember?"

"The shooting stars"

You frowned. The shooting stars? What did that mean? The shoo-

A shooting star, a big shooting star, with two tails. One fire-colored, one bluish. The woman. Beside you. Your kiss. Was this...

"Your previous life."

You opened your mouth. But no sound went out. You didn't know what to say.

"I must admit I quite liked your kiss... That was... brave."

"I- I need to process these things out. Can we discuss about that later? I can offer you a drink sometime... But with what happened I'm not sure it'll be today, or even tomorrow. I have to talk about this with-"

You turned towards 'lyn, still under her table. She was holding... you? Your body?

Then you saw blood on your stomach, and a whole in the wood of the table. 'lyn was crying, her hands were red, living marks on her cheeks when she wiped her tears.

"Please... tell me something..." she moaned.

Death took your hand.

"I think we need to talk about that now."

"No, no it can't be possible!"

"I'm sorry. You'll be okay"

"But I didn't thank her!"

"I'm sorry, I can't bring you back. Come here."

She ran her thumb over your cheek to remove a tear.

"But what I can do, is being sure you'll see her in your next life. You'll be able to thank her"

"Can you do that?"

"Well I'm not supposed to, but yes, I can."

"Thank you"

She cupped your head in your hands.

"Can you kiss me again, before you go ? I want to feel it one more time."

A smile appeared on your face and you kissed her.

And you were gone.

_________________________________________

#death of the endless x reader #death x reader #death of the endless #the sandman

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Of Silver Threads and Golden Fates (Chapter 2: More Than This)

Summary: Kassie had been running from many things throughout her life. Running from her father. From Love. From Happiness. Falling headfirst to whatever she could just to make herself feel more alive. She became someone she never wanted to be. What happens when one dreary night she meets someone who along the way begins to show her that perhaps she was meant for something greater than what she made for herself and just maybe, Dreams can come true?

Pairing: Morpheus x Original Character

Warnings: Cursing, mention of violence, mention of blood

"The way I see it if you want the rainbow you got to put up with the storm" -Dolly Parton

Wonderland's Workshop

<< Chapter 1

The light that streamed through the window cast itself across the messy bedroom; its golden yellow hues shone onto articles of clothes that had been tossed in a hazardous manner the night previous. Leggings crumbled by the bathroom door that hung ajar. A long-sleeved sweater draped over the vanity chair. One sneaker was half hidden under the metal framing of a twin-sized bed while its partner was nowhere to be seen and a plain black bra hanging off the bedroom doorknob. Somewhere beneath the pile of grey fluffy comforters, a figure stirs awake as the light chose that moment to brighten the young woman’s face. Irritated because the blackout curtains were not shut as they normally would have been, Kassie was forced to awaken from her slumber. The sunshine hurt her already throbbing cranium as she raised a hand to shield the morning rays from her bloodshot eyes. God her entire body was hurting as hell too, not just her head. She blinked a few times and sat up on her elbows to stare around the room as if she had not seen it before; catching sight of every article of clothing that made the room a mess before noticing the men’s clean leather shoes by her bedroom door neatly sat and a cream colored blazer hanging on the hook on her closet door. She blinked trying to remember what happened after she got home. Corinthian was there since he’d taken her home. There were drinks involved, her ranting over Rob’s small dick move, and then she was crying over something and complaining her feet hurt. After that everything became a blur. 

She twisted around to find Corinthian lying under the covers with her; one arm was thrown over his head, his rather surprisingly muscular bicep on full display as well as his cleanly sculpted chest down to his waist. He had no shirt on but he still wore those fucking shades covering his eyes from view. He looked like he was peacefully sleeping. Kassie looked down at herself next to find that she was wearing Corinthian’s missing green sweater and nothing but a pair of cheeky nylon panties underneath. God, she didn’t even want to know what her makeup and hair must have looked like right now; she was scared to lean over to look at her reflection in the vanity mirror that faced her bed. The woman ran her fingers through her tangled hair and rested her elbow on an upturned knee as she half turned to look over at Corinthian who hadn’t moved an inch. His chest rose and fell in even slow movements as he slept. At a closer look at the handsome man in her bed, she noticed the dark marks on his neck that peaked around from under where his arm blocked her view and Kassie gasped horrified as she leaned over and moved his arm away to look at the bruises on his tanned skin.

“Holy fuck!” she whispered. 

She’d fucking marked the man with hickeys and…oh god were those teeth marks? Just to be sure she carefully peeled back the comforter to check and see if he was still wearing at least his boxers and she breathed a sigh of relief when she found not only was he still wearing boxers but his suit pants as well. 

“Has anyone told yah your heart’s got teeth?” the lazy southern drawl made her jump and drop the comforter back on his lap; her head turning swiftly to look at him

He didn’t even sound as if he just woke up either! Was he awake this entire fucking time?! Kassie felt heat rise to her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands and groaned. “Oh my god! How much shit did I drink last night?”

The man let out a chuckle as his arm reached out to grab her by the back of her hair and playfully yank her backward until she had no choice but to allow gravity to pull her with his strength and flop on top of him unceremoniously; draping over him like a terrible flung blanket. 

“If it makes you feel better we didn’t fuck.” he commented, his voice a rumble against the side of her face as she got comfortable on top of him and rested her cheek against his pectoral

“I feel like shit. I look like shit. And I smell like shit.” the dancer grumbled hiding her face in his chest. “I need a cup of coffee, some painkillers, and a shower before my brain even wants to consider what we did last night.”

Strong fingers lazily traced her jawline before lifting her face so he looked down at it; the feeling of those eyes of his scanning her face was unnerving up close considering in the 6 months they’d known each other she had never once seen him without his glasses on, not that she’d have the nerve to ask him about it, not yet at least. His lips turned down slightly in a show of thoughtfulness as his thumb began to wipe away smudged mascara and eyeliner from under her eyes.

“You don’t look that bad.” he finally relented allowing his hand to drop to her back once more, the pressure of his palm oddly comforting.

It was the oddest sensation lying next to this man. For everything he was worth that Kassie knew of him and all the feelings he brought out within her; the simple moment of lying in her shitty one-bedroom apartment seemed so mundane and so domestic. That was never a good sign. Kassie never did the whole domestically normal life when it came to men. If a man managed by the grace of god to enter her apartment it normally was for a quick fuck and then they would leave; that was if they’d ever make it to her apartment instead of the car, or run-down motel, shit even the alleyway. She didn’t bring men home 9/10 so why did she so willingly offer her small one-bedroom apartment to a man that by all rights could be a serial killer? Because Kassie didn’t give two shits. Maybe she was lonely, maybe she simply didn’t care about what happened to her life. It’s not the worst thing she’d ever done to fuck up her well-being. So if mister tall blonde and devilish wanted to murder her who was she to stand in the way? 

“You’re overthinking again,” Corinthian commented breaking the silence 

‘What? No, I’m not.” Kassie protested, her face scrunching up in disbelief as she lifted her head slightly to look at the man whose face was lit with a lazy smile. 

“You’re playing footsy with me,” he replied and Kassie’s head snapped up to look down the length of the bed to where their bare feet stuck out from beneath the blankets. Sure enough, one of her smaller feet was idly brushing back and forth against his.

“I was not playing footsy!” she flounder as she pulled her feet away quickly and sat up. “What time is it anyway?” she added quickly trying to change the subject. 

“I’d say around noon I think? I don’t know, I stopped checking the time after 9.” Corinthian drawled as he got comfortable in the bed again now that she was not lying on top of him. 

“Wait, how long have you been awake?”

“I never slept.” 

“What?!” Kassie bulked and scrambled to face him. “You didn’t sleep? Are you an insomniac or something?” she questioned tilting her head. 

His head tilted to the ceiling and he breathed out a long patient sigh. “Something like that, you can say I’m not overly fond of what comes during slumber,” he added 

She squinted a moment at him trying to figure him out; maybe he wore the sunglasses because his eyes were always bloodshot? With a mental shrug, the young woman leaned over the male to grab her phone from her nightstand that was being charged as she added with a playful tone of voice “You know I’ve read somewhere people who are insomniacs tend to be or later become serial killers or psychopaths.” 

Corinthian didn’t reply to that although she could make out the slow grin creeping up onto his face at that. She wasn’t fond of that smile. It gave her a feeling that perhaps she hit the nail right on the head this time so instead, she distracted herself with what was on her phone. She didn’t mind as Corinthian casually gripped her hips and situated her over his lap as he watched from behind his dark shades as she absently checked her phone. The position was not at all new to either of them all things considered so it was rather comfortable. 

“What’s that mean?” Kassie jolted when she felt his hands beneath the shirt she wore; having lifted it high enough that he could just make out the tattoo that jutted along her hipbone. 

She seemed to freeze above him as she stared at the phone screen in front of her but her eyes were not moving so she wasn’t looking at what was on there. Her voice was soft as she spoke trying to sound disinterested “It’s just a feather tattoo.” 

“You know, tattoos aren’t just some pretty body decorations. They generally have some sort of meaning behind them.” Corinthian drawled and Kassie lowered her phone just enough to glare at him. 

“I’m going to go shower.” she tossed her phone down on the bed before swinging herself off of him and heading into the connected bathroom; the door slamming just a bit too hard as she closed it. 

In the safety of the bathroom, she rested her back against the cold wood and took a breath. She didn’t realize her hands were shaking until she raised them to comb her hair back. “Get a fucking grip Kassie!” she muttered to herself as she stalked over to the bathroom sink

She looked utterly horrible. Her skin felt like a gallon of oil had been smeared on her face due to sleeping in her makeup. Her mascara and eyeliner were smeared and smudged making her look like a crazed raccoon and don’t get her started on the rat's nest that was her hair. She looked as tired as she felt. 

“Is that a…?” her jaw dropped as she pulled her hair away from her neck. “Cori!” she shrieked pressing her fingers against the dark bruise on her neck “You shithead, you left me a fucking hickey!” 

She could hear Corinthian’s rich chuckle from behind the door somewhere in the depths of her small bedroom and she had half a mind to stalk out there and punch him straight in his handsome face and knock out a few of those perfect teeth from his mouth. But she didn’t. Frankly, she didn’t want to damage that pretty face. It’d be a shame to humanity. So instead, she shucked off his sweater and her underwear. Turning on the water without even allowing it to get warm enough before climbing under the spray. The water was like ice droplets racing down her skin causing goosebumps to rise all over her body. She didn’t care, glad to wash away the drama and sweat from last night away. She found herself sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest allowing the water to roll down her body. Sometimes she just needed the moment; sitting there allowing the water to wash away all her sins and purify her for the day’s events to come even when she knew deep down that her sins would never wash away. When her fingers began to prune Kassie figured she needed to hurry up before the hot water ran out. So she rose, grabbed her favorite shampoo that made her hair smell like vanilla and warm sunshine, and began lathering the thick locks before matching it with the conditioner. Then she repeated the process all over again before moving on to her body. The coconut and shea butter felt moisturizing on her skin as she lathered up following up with the sugar scrub to polish her olive skin leaving it glowing. Once that was done she shut off her water and wrung her hair out. It was always such a process but one she had to do to keep up with appearances. 

When she stepped out onto her bath mat she realized that she hadn’t brought out a towel in with her and she cursed under her breath. Cracking open the door to the bathroom she peered outside to see her bedroom was empty. Thank god, and there was the towel she needed hanging off of her closet door. So she darted out and snatched it quickly off the hook; seconds before the bedroom door swung open and Corinthian stood there with a cup of coffee in hand. She hugged the towel to her chest and gave a faint smile. 

“Sorry I took so long, did you need the shower? There should be some hot water left.” she offered

“Actually, I have some business I have to attend to. As do you it seems. You’re phone’s been going off like crazy since you were in the shower.” he commented as he held his arm out holding the mug of coffee. 

“Oh, thanks.” she blinked and grabbed the cup from him. Glad for the warmth that raced through her body as she took a sip of the coffee. Wait, how’d he know she liked her coffee like this? She opened her mouth to say something as she looked up from her mug but froze when Corinthian’s voice spoke by the front door followed by the sound of it closing behind him as he left

“Don’t wait up tonight roomie. I’ll see you at work tonight.” 

She huffed setting her coffee down on her nightstand and went to grab her phone off the bed. She had so many missed messages from Alyssa making her take a moment to scroll up to read them all. The poor girl was freaking out over…? Oh hell no! Quickly hitting the call button Kassie sat on the bed with a thumbnail between her teeth as she waited anxiously for her friend to pick up. It did after a few rings. 

“Aly? What happened is he still there?” she rushed out to say. She could hear the crying over the other end of the line and it sent Kassie into a protective frenzy. “Alyssa is he still there at the club?”

“Y-yes.” Alyssa’s choked reply came as she sniffled no doubt trying to wipe her tears away and clean up her makeup.

“Listen, I’m coming over right now okay? Go find Alex or Kevin and stick to them. Don’t let that fucker get near you. I’m on my way baby okay?” she said stalking over to her dresser to grab herself some clothes to throw on at random. 

“Kassie please, don’t do anything stupid-” Alyssa rushed out to hastily say but Kassie was already plotting just what she’d do to the bastard. 

“No one fucking hurts my friends Alyssa. Least of all a sweet girl like you. Now go find one of the boys and I’ll be over in 20.” Kassie hung up and began yanking on some jeans and a T-shirt before shoving her feet into her favorite metal-tipped combat boots.

The ride over to Club Sin was one filled with anxiety and barely contained rage. When the taxi pulled up she tipped and left the cab. She could see a few stragglers standing outside smoking and chatting; these were the day drinkers who’d stop by on occasion. Daytime was usually common folk time and any VIP people or of higher class came in at night for special entertainment. When she saw Andrew one of their door bouncers standing at the front door smoking with some of the daytime regulars she walked over and tipped her head inside. 

“He still here?” 

Andrew eyed her and nodded unamused. “Been drinking with his buddies. Refusing to leave, spitting shit about being a paying customer.” he snorted 

“Paying customer huh? Oh trust me, he’s going to be paying for a lot more than he’s drinking.” Kassie stalked past the rope and inside the club.

Now, the club during day hours was like any other bar in town. Perhaps a little bit more on the classier side in decorations but at the end of the day, there was some good liquor here to drink hence why it’s popular during daylight and night hours. There were no dancers to entertain during day time. It functioned like any other bar just without the TV playing a shitty sports game. She scanned the room a few times before she noticed a group of 5 men at the bar taking up most of the space there. Allison, an older blonde woman in her 40s was working as a bartender today for which Kassie was glad; she and Allison got along great since she’d have her back. 

Stalking over to the men Kassie stood behind one man with dirty blonde hair that looked like it was either crusting with gel that he hadn’t washed in a few days or he simply didn’t shower at all. She tapped him on the shoulder and when he spun around she gave him a sickly sweet smile. 

“Hello, Jared,” she said tilting her head 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. The bitch called her lap dog on me. “ the man, Jared stated with a disbelieving laugh. 

Ignoring that comment Kassie placed her hands on her hips and leaned closer. “Yeah, she did because that’s what friends will do. Now, do you remember the last time something like this happened? Do you remember what I told you?” that same sickly sweet smile plastered on her face despite the way her eyes blazed with internal rage. 

“You know what? I don’t think I do. I was too busy being distracted by your amazing tits. How much do they cost to get done?” his brown eyes fell to her chest

Kassie’s hands shot out and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and yanked him off his bar stool only to throw him across the room onto another table. His larger body crashed down rather heavily having not expected the launch from such a tiny girl.

“I said I’d cut your dick off and glue it to your forehead so you look like a limp dicked unicorn asshole!” she snarled launching herself at him. A knee came up to kick him in the gut causing him to double over to his knees. 

“Do you think it’s fun beating women huh? Do you think it’s fucking fun?!” the toe of her steel boots caught him in the nose as she swung a kick directed at his face causing him to spit up blood. 

Jared scrambled to his feet as best he could and bull-dozed her across the room until her back hit against one of the structural pillars; his beefy hands grasping at her neck pinning her in place and choking the breath out of her. Her lips curled up into a snarl which promptly got backhanded causing her vision to spin and her head to snap to the side. Her blurry vision caught sight of a bottle of beer sitting on an empty table and she thrust her hand out to grab the neck of the bottle and swing it down to smash it brutally against Jared's head causing a splatter of blood to fly across her skin. The man crumbled to the ground wheezing for breath as he wiped at his forehead; fingers coming back with a thick stain of red. 

“I’m going to kill you, you sick fucking freak! I warned you to keep your paws off her!” she panted watching as his friends scrambled to grab their friend off the ground. 

Her hazel eyes were damned near pitch black as she launched herself forward with the shattered bottle still grasped in her fist intending to thrust the jagged glass into the man’s jugular but strong arms wrapped around her waist hauling her up off her feet. She screamed in rage struggling as Kevin pulled her away from the men who were scrambling to get the fuck out of there before Ms. Murder decided she wanted to hulk out of the bouncer’s grip. 

“Kassie relax! Hey!” Kevin shouted over her screaming as she shoved her into an empty booth; blocking her exit as she tried to get out of the booth. “He’s learned his lesson kitten, relax!” The man clamped a hand onto her shoulder to hold her down and have her meet his stare. 

She took a moment to breathe; trying to calm the murderous rage within her. She saw Alyssa’s figure creep around the corner and she almost went into a fucking rampage all over again. She saw the bruises dark and painful across her cheek and eye; her lip was split and her makeup was running down her cheeks. She looked so frail standing there holding her jacket around her frame. God only knew what that sick bastard had done to her beneath the conservative clothing she wore. 

“Aly. You okay baby?” Kassie breathed scrambling out of the other end of the half-circle booth and rushing to her friend. 

Alyssa nodded and fell into her friend’s arms. A sob left her throat as she clutched to Kassie’s waist hugging the life out of her. The woman hugged her back and looked across the room at the damage done. Tables were overturned and shattered glass was on the floor. And then there was Rob standing in the middle of it all looking around like he was looking at a murder scene. Fuck. She was totally and utterly fucked. 

She was fucking fired. Rob fucking fired her! Was it bad to feel the relief that flooded her as she stood in his office watching him rage at her? It wasn’t like she enjoyed dancing like a whore on stage for some cash to get her by. But at the same time; it was something that she could count on being a constant thing to get her past the next month's rent. If anything, she was more concerned about what it meant for Alyssa. Her friend with her abusive boyfriend. Hopefully, the man learned his lesson today. If not, Kassie wouldn’t mind taking prison time if it came to it. At least she got out of working a double shift for Chelsey and not keeping her pay. But that just meant she needed to find a new job and fast. As she stood on the sidewalk outside of Club Sin with her duffle bag filled with her few items from the dressing room she found she was lost as to where to go next. She idly wiped away the dried blood on her cheek as she looked down one side street and then the next as if choosing where to turn.  

She figured she’d just head to grab a coffee or something; get away from the bustle of the people on this street and give her time to think. Maybe by some miracle, she’ll find herself a job. She couldn’t call Corinthian to let him know what was going on because she realized he’d never given her his number. Oh well, she supposed he’d figure it out eventually when she didn’t know up for work tonight. Duffle in hand, she walked down the street until she came to a cute little coffee shop. She ordered herself a vanilla iced coffee and a bagel before heading back out into the world. There was a park somewhere nearby wasn’t there? She should sit there and relax a moment before putting herself back on that grind to finding a new job and probably a new place to stay although all things considered she couldn’t afford anything better and anything worse than what she had now would be no better than living in an abandoned warehouse. So she walked. She walked down the street enjoying the scent of earth and moist soil from the night’s previous rain they’d gotten. She saw kids playing out in the open field and some in the public park playing on slides and swings. There was a bench where a figure clad in black sat leaning with his elbows on his knees; plucking away at pieces of a load of bread while flicking it absentmindedly at a group of pigeons that cooed in appreciation as they gobbled up the crumbs. 

“I didn’t know people enjoyed feeding these vultures unless they’re old folks,” Kassie commented as she came up behind the man sitting there. 

His head turned and she was stunned at the beauty of the man’s face. Oddly familiar in the way his pale skin stretched across sharp cheekbones and pink lips pursing as if they were not too keen on having company. His eyes though looked up from below with thick black lashes and dark brows in a way that made Kassie think he was trying to ward her off with his stare alone. 

“They are pigeons. Not vultures.” his voice was soft as he corrected her; his head turning away from her

“It was a joke,” Kassie stated under her breath as she sat down on the other end of the bench leaving enough space for one more person between them. “Hey, don’t I know you from the club?” she asked turning her gaze to his which he did not meet. 

“No.” 

Okay, that was a very short answer. Kassie took a sip of the iced coffee; idly stirring the liquid sugar in her plastic cub as she thought of something else to say. She was not much of a casual conversationalist either but for some reason, she felt as if she needed to fill the silence with her words somehow. So she pressed on. Setting her things down in the space between them she leaned over to try and meet his gaze and offer a genuinely friendly smile as she spoke. 

“I’m pretty sure I have. I don’t forget faces often-” she began 

A white object from her peripheral came flying at high speeds in their direction and before she had a chance to duck or dodge the kickball a pale hand shot out in front of her gaze; long fingers curling around the ball effortlessly. Stopping it from hitting Kassie straight in the face. Her eyes wide in shock stared at the hand; absently studying those long fingers thinking they were actually nice. They reminded her of a guitarist or pianist’s hands. The mystery man slowly lowered the ball from her space and held it out as a handsome hand with chocolate skin came rushing over with a sheepish smile. 

“Shit, I’m sorry about that! Nice catch by the way!” he laughed embarrassed. “You okay miss?” he turned his brown gaze to meet Kassie’s and her smile was a little bit strained as she nodded. 

“Y-yeah. All good,” she replied.

“Y-you sure, you have a cut and a bruise on your cheek; did the ball-” the sports player began, and Kassie’s waved a hand around her face 

“I’m good, it wasn’t from the ball.” she laughed a bit sheepishly feeling the heat of the stranger’s gaze beside her on the side of her face. 

“Alright…” the young man replied as he gave a final wave of hesitation before he was rushing back to his friends with his kickball. 

Kassie dared a glance over to the pale dark-haired stranger sitting beside her to see he was staring at the bruise that bloomed dark and darker still as the hours passed on her olive skin. She tried to act casual about it as she rested her chin in her palm; fingers in an attempt to cover most of the damage done to her face as she turned her head away. 

“You should take care of that.” the man’s voice spoke softly beside her. Did he actually have concern for her despite sounding monotone as he spoke? That was a sweet thought.

“It’s fine. It’ll heal. Trust me I’ve dealt with worse than a few cuts and bruises.” she tried to laugh it off as she grabbed her bagel from the bench space between them and took a bite out of it. 

The pigeons had flown away in fright when the ball had been kicked in their direction so now that the man did not have the bird’s company to feed his attention was on her. Studying her as she chewed on her bagel. A drip of whatever sauce the bagel she was eating had on stained the corner of her lips and he watched intently as one manicured fingertip wiped it away and sucked at the digit. Something about this girl was alluring in ways that she did not seem to know she was eluding to as she sat enjoying her meal. But he did notice. He noticed the way her knee bounced slightly as one leg was crossed over the other. A habit of nerves. He noticed the way her gaze seemed to scan her surroundings in ways that made him think she was either looking for someone or watching for a threat. And he certainly noticed as she sat her bagel down onto its wrapper between them the pink ink of a tattoo on her inner forearm catching the light of the sun above them filtering through the tree branches; it was beautifully done of a branch of a sakura blossom tree. 

It was an unusual tattoo. Not one that he’d seen before on a human. It looked old, not in the sense of timing that it was placed on her skin but more of the era that the design may have once held a purpose. She seemed to notice his unblinking stare because she turned to face him and raised a brow with a faint smile. 

“Something on my face?” she asked as she wiped at her mouth. 

“Who gave you that injury?” he questioned surprising both himself and her with the curiosity that slipped through him. 

Kassie licked her bottom lip thoughtfully as she leaned her body on the back of the bench and turned her attention to her boots that were crossed at the ankles. “Just some man,” she replied shrugging. “He wasn’t happy that a woman stood up to him.” when she caught the man’s furrowed look she gave a little laugh, her fingers playing with the straw of her iced coffee.

“My friend’s boyfriend is an abusive piece of shit. It’s not the first time I’d warned him from touching her but I guess he’s such a sexist that he didn’t think I was serious about my threats.” she snorted thinking back to Jared’s face as she beat the shit out of him. 

“And he did that to you?” a pale hand rose; a single finger tracing featherlight along her bruised cheek

Kassie’s smile faltered slightly and she swallowed the nerves down. “Yes,” she said softly. “But you should have seen how bad he looked at the end of it. I got lucky.” she turned her head to look at the man. 

“Thank you, by the way. For saving me from getting my nose broken by that ball. You have amazing reflexes.” it did not slip past him that she was quick to change the subject. 

“I do not like seeing people get hurt.” came the same soft reply as the man turned his head away. 

Kassie nodded slowly. “You’re a rare species then. There aren’t a lot of men like you living here in New York.” she jested

“There are no men like me in this world.” the odd reply made Kassie turn her attention to him. Only now noticed he wore a long black coat, black shirt beneath, and black trousers. 

“You’re an odd one. How are you not hot in that?” she reached out to playfully tug at the collar of his shirt when he pulled his head away sharply in surprise. Like a startled deer or something. It made Kassie’s smile falter and her hand pulled away just as quickly. “Sorry,” she mumbled 

The man did not reply and instead rose to his feet. Fixing his coat as he did and held out the loaf of bread to her in silence. When she took it he turned his body away to head across the grass. “Thank you for the company.” 

Kassie looked a bit surprised as she watched him walk away without another word and instead headed across the green lawn to where she could see a beautiful woman standing with her arms crossed waiting patiently for his arrival. Even from this distance, Kassie could tell the woman was beautiful with chocolate skin that glowed and short ringlets of black hair wearing a black pair of jeans and a matching tank top. Heh, must be his girlfriend. Kassie mused thoughtfully as she watched the woman link arms with the handsome stranger and stroll away. Having no purpose left to sit there anymore, Kassie rose and packed up her things before heading back to hail herself a cab to get home. She could scroll for jobs hiring in the area on her phone while she binged on some snacks at home since she no longer had a job to go to tonight. She didn’t remember the last time she’d ever had a night to herself that didn’t involve her going to clubs and partying with her friends or going home with strangers. It was funny how she brought a stranger home now instead of going to one’s house.

When she finally shoved her door closed behind her upon arriving home she was surprised to see Corinthian sitting on her sofa sipping on some alcohol with the TV on to a random channel. At the sound of the door closing his head tilted to meet her gaze across the room. She moved through the room to drop her stuff inside the bedroom door. She planned on just hiding away in her room but the man’s voice spoke up with a lazy drawl.

“That was quite a show back there Darlin; Didn’t know you had such anger in yah.” 

She bit her lip and peeked around the doorframe to look at him as he craned his head to look at her with a smile. She shrugged and crossed her arms as she moved her body to lean against the doorframe. The waning light ghosted through the room casting it in a warm yellow making her realize how late she actually had been out. 

“You were there? I didn’t see you,” she commented staring at whatever talk show was on the TV

“I was up in the office with Mr. Robby.” there was a little teasing nature behind his words. “Saw the whole thing from his windows. Very impressive I must say.”

“Did he tell you I’m fired? So uh, if you need a place to stay I don’t think you’ll be able to stay here much longer; I’m going to need to move soon unless I can find a job that makes me as much or more than the club did.”

“No, you don’t.” Corinthian beckoned her over to him and she paused a moment studying him. He didn’t seem like a threat but she didn’t like the energy he was giving off. As if she could see the black smoke of shadows like poison oozing out from his very person. 

But she eventually caved and walked across the short distance to stand in between his splayed legs. As casually as this morning he leaned forward to place the glass of liquor on the coffee table behind her before his large hands gripping her waist to pull her to straddle his lap. She looked down at him with furrowed brows as he lifted a hand to brush along her bruised and cut cheek. 

“It’s a shame to mar such beautiful skin.” he sighed almost regrettably. 

Kassie shrugged as she sat back against his thighs and played with the buttons of his white dress shirt. “It’s nothing. I’ve dealt with worse,” she replied.

Why was it that anytime she was around this man she felt so weak? As if he could see all her damn faults. All the sins from her past? She hated the feeling as if he could see straight through her; hated the fact that she felt seen by someone for once even if it meant being seen in an ugly light. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about him no more Darlin. He won’t hurt anyone else again. I promise you that.” there was something sick behind his smile as he looked up at her and she felt her gut twist a bit. The taste of fear on her tongue was not something she liked in her mouth. She nodded slowly trying not to allow his intimidation to show its effect on her. 

“What did you mean a moment ago? About not having to move? Are you planning on being my sugar daddy or something?” she tried to joke; her face twisting into a small smile. 

“Just know you’re bank account won’t ever be empty again.” that was all Corinthian replied as he tapped under her chin lightly. 

She didn’t know if she liked the sound of that. It sounded ominous coming from him. “I’m still going to get me a job Cori. I can’t just sit idle and do nothing.” 

“I wasn’t expecting you to.” he flashed his pearly whites.”Now, hop up and go order yourself some takeout. I’ll be home late.” 

She climbed from his lap and watched as he rose to his feet; fixing his suit as he did and headed for the door. Huffing she got comfortable on the sofa as she watched him. “For someone who needs a place to stay Cori you aren’t around so much mister!” she called after him but he didn’t reply; his only answer was the click of the door as he shut it behind him upon his exit.

Thank you for reading chapter 2 of 'Of Silver Threads and Golden Fates'. Feel free to comment, like, and reblog! I love the interaction! Tags are open if you wish to be added for new chapter updates!

Chapter 3 >>

Tags: @lizajane2 @kpopgirlbtssvt

#Fanfiction: Of Silver Threads and Golden Fates #the sandman netflix #netflix series the sandman #netflix sandman #the sandman fic #the sandman series #the sandman fandom #the sandman #dream lord #morpheus dream #the sandman dream #dream #dream of the endless #dream x oc #dream x original character #morpheus dream of the endless #morpheus the sandman #lord morpheus #morpheus #morpheus x oc #morpheus x original character #fanfiction #tags open #tag list

[i-mybrunettelady]

For the writing asks "are you comfy?" For any of your ships or free style!

(@uselessidiotsquad )

listen... it's nyra hours... i'm sorry i can't write much else... she demands ATTENTION. also credits to you for inspo for this one bc recovery? fucking hard to write. not my best but that's okay.

-- Divinity's Reach, 1328 AE

-- cw for implied suicidal ideation

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Lady Ainsaph, but I'd like to see your daughter, if she feels well enough for it." Renira's voice is calm and even, a trained one for dealing with the aristocracy. And Lady Antonia Ainsaph is, by all accounts, a noblewoman; Renira immediately notes the expensiveness of her dress and the straightness of her posture. She doesn't follow the city's trends in their entirety, her neckline being just that much rounder than what the current fashion dictates, and her hair's done up, and, most interestingly, hairs are out of place.

It makes sense though, if her daughter's recovering from, well, almost dying in a war. Renira notes with slight disdain how clinical it all sounds in her head, as if she's making a profile on a woman who's done nothing wrong by being a good mother.

Antonia sighs and looks away. There's something vaguely Nyra-like in the way she does it, in the curl of her nose and the arch of her brow, pale where Nyra's is brown. "She is.. She's been fine this morning," she states, as neutrally as she can. "As fine as she can be at the moment. You can enter, miss Sulver, if Alys will have you."

Alys? That's new. Renira notes that too. "I fought beside her in the war," she says. And then, a layer of honesty, "I just want to check on her."

"Friends are always welcome here," Antonia says, beckoning to enter. Renira does, inwardly marveling at the decorated floors and stately portraits that hang around the walls. Of course, Duke Barradin and his kingly brother take central place at the top of a grand staircase, a firm reminder whose blood flows down Ainsaphs' veins.

It's so easy to forget Alysannyra Ainsaph descends from Ascalon's ancient kings, if only for the fact she never brings that up herself. But it's a well known fact that she is one of King Doric's many living descendants, if you know where to look. Renira looks at her own dress, pricey and elegant, and remembers a truly unremarkable Vera who couldn't boast any lineage beyond that of two absolutely random humans whose names she didn't even know.

But she's not here for old dead people. She's here for recovering patients. "Please wait here for a moment," the lady says. "I'll have a someone guide you to the guest area and please, miss, don't hesitate to help yourself to coffee or tea. I'll be back shortly." Antonia gives her a nod and goes up the marble staircase; a pretty, brunette valet appears from the corner and signals for Ren to follow.

The corridors are long and clean and once more, Renira can't shake off the strained feeling of all this excess. Vera slept with several other children, then on the cold, hard streets, while these people can afford gilded leaves in the corners of their hallways. Multiple. And butlers to guide people through them. The guestroom houses several plush chairs, a dark wooden table and a big gilded fireplace and they're insultingly comfortable when she sits in one of the chairs.

She should be used to this by now. She even looks the part. She knows better than to not, as Antonia put it, "help herself" to something. Fucking hells, she even wants to. "A cup of coffee, please," Ren says. "Make it very sweet."

The valet nods and leaves and Ren taps her heel against the leg of the chair. By the time her coffee comes, Nyra still hasn't arrived and it's only by the time Ren's drank half of it that there are steps at the door.

"Forgive the wait--" Antonia starts, but Nyra cuts her mother off.

"If you must know, getting dressed pains me," Nyra says. "I'm sure Ren understands."

Renira turns around. "I understand, Lady Ainsaph," she offers with a smile.

"See, mom? You can now leave us." Nyra looks a lot worse for wear; she looks tired, pale, there are dark circles beneath her eyes and the frown she sports isn't helping matters whatsoever. She's dressed in a white shirt, a sensible pair of pants and little else; her hair's messy and she's hardly bothered to style it. "Mom. For Gods' sake, just listen to what I'm telling you. I'll be fine. I won't fucking collapse. That was a month ago. I can walk on my own."

Antonia opens her mouth to speak but decides against it. Nyra hits her strong usual stride, and thankfully, Antonia's out of earshot when she presses her hands on the table to not fall over and groans pitifully when the action pulls on her injured shoulder.

Ren knows the type of person Nyra is. Running on ego, a fragile little thing, and when ego gets involved, things get ugly. So Ren doesn't stand up to help, not willing to get under Nyra's verbal barrage, though she frowns with concern when Nyra drops heavily on the chair, breathless.

"Can't even walk right," she hisses, looking at her hands. "Can't even walk right. I was killing Mordrem a few months ago and now I can't even take a few steps without keeling over like a fucking branch."

"Not your fault necessarily Mordremoth tried to kill you," Ren teases, though her voice is kind. "Are you comfortable?"

Nyra looks at her. A tear gathers in the corners of her eye and Renira reaches a finger to wipe it off. "Are there any news with the Pact?" Nyra asks wearily. "Is that why you're here?"

"I'm here to check on you," Renira says. "You took a pretty big blow in Maguuma. And you are Tyria's hero. What happens when the third dragon comes? And the forth? Who do we call? As your colleague, it is a concern of mine to check on you."

"And so you can put in your report on me."

"And so I can tell my superiors our savior isn't--"

Nyra grimaces. She folds her hands in fists on the table, sighing deeply. "Don't... Don't mention that, of all things. I don't... I asked for help. I'm getting treatment. Ren, please."

Ren reaches out and places her hand on Nyra's. "That's between you and me," she says softly. Nyra nods, looking down. "I tell them many things, but that? Never."

"I appreciate that," Nyra whispers, unfolding a fist. Her fingers are calloused and shaking.

Renira moves a strand of hair behind her ear and leaves it there when Nyra lowers her head down. They don't speak, but they don't have to. No words are necessary. They are not the point.

What a far cry from their first meeting back in Ebonhawke a lifetime ago.

#gw2 #inspo birb has come to town #alysannyra #renira sulver #not too pleased w/ this one??? #not sure why #but i'm posting it anyway bc i never really write about post-maguuma nyra #its very hard for me to do it #but enjoy ren and nyra being friends #cw suicidal ideation #fucking timeline inconsistencies #only visible to me bc i know my own lore #but if you look at nyra's description + the topic of convo you'll know when exactly this takes place

[drelldreams]

Goddamn Quilts: A Zaeed-centric Mass Effect AU fic

Synopsis: Zaeed is stuck in asari prison. Life gets lonely for the old merc, so he sets up a profile on an extranet prison penpal site.

A man could consider himself lucky if prison was merely boring to him. He’d been in worse institutions, certainly. He remembers that one time he got caught and thrown into Batarian prison. Zaeed has seen plenty of fucked up shit in his time, but batarian prisons take the crown. Batarians are not a race to be messed with; he knows this better than a lot of people, and if anyone gets stuck in one of their prisons, they better kill anyone in their way and get the hell out. Or bang their goddamn head against the cell’s wall as hard as they can, and hope they’re lucky enough to die from the impact.

This prison, though? It was a fucking paradise, comparatively. Guards were mostly asari - Zaeed couldn’t complain there. At least they were nice to look at, this time. He wasn’t being tortured, unless you counted having to spend all day making quilted blankets as a form of torture. Still, anyone would’ve agreed that’s far better than any fate the batarians would subject a man to.

Still, he couldn’t find peace with it. After years of being locked up in a bloody cell, having produced so many quilts it could fill up an entire store, he felt himself slowly approaching insanity. Or maybe, he already had reached insanity a long time ago. Ha. But the point was, this whole thing almost made him miss batarian prison. At least there was action. Some thrill. He could take out his anger by killing those four eyes bastards. They might have been brutal, but Zaeed knew every trick how to escape those jackasses.

This place, though? He genuinely couldn’t say he knew a way out. If he did, he would’ve been long gone, by now. The asari sure as hell knew how to keep someone locked up.

Zaeed figured it must have to do something with the fact that they’re all biotics. Gotta be paranoid with prison security if all your inmates could in theory create a biotic blast to break those bars off.

He never thought anyone would really sell him off to an asari prison. Most people wanted him either dead, or thrown into a more heinous prison like one of those batarian prisons. But maybe the whole point was to have Zaeed stuck in a prison where he might not get tortured, but he sure as hell can’t get out either and he has to spend all day making stupid quilts.

What did this guy think he was? A goddamn grandma? Well, technically, Zaeed was old enough that those Terminus System kids kept calling him grandpa, but—

That was beside the goddamn point.

He couldn’t drink. Couldn’t smoke. Couldn’t even bloody play cards with someone. No; he’d been put in solitary confinement for beating the shit out of some turian arsehole.

Visitors were allowed. Under strict supervision only, of course. But Zaeed had no one left in his life who would wanna goddamn visit him.

He could read books. Hell, he’s probably read Sarishya’s Chronicles for the fiftieth time now. But Zaeed.. He was starting to get fucking lonely in this cell.

At times, the prison shrink would visit him and ask questions, but he noted how bored she seemed by his stories. The asari seriously expected him to talk of his bloody feelings. Perhaps he should have done that at some point; but Zaeed didn’t like the smugness this woman gave off.

It took two more years until Zaeed was given a little bit of freedom. Access to a small cafeteria, which was accessible to two other prisoners. Both idiots, he found. And, he got extranet access. Restricted, of course. Goddamn heavily so. If they hadn’t been that smart, Zaeed would have used it as an opportunity to break out.

But there was still no way for him to leave this place. This place that wasn’t half bad, compared to other things he’d seen, yet it left him feeling so bloody miserable. Maybe it was the humiliation of Zaeed Massani sitting there all day, making quilts and unable to get any whisky.

He was an old man, doomed to spending the rest of his life doing the most mundane things.

Ten years ago, he wouldn’t ever have believed he’d set up a damn profile on one of those prison pen pal sites. But here he was.

g0ddamnusername

Age: Too Fucking Old

Gender: Male

Religion: Whiskey

[Conviction file: 193 items. Click to view.]

Let’s make this short. I ain’t no good man. I’ve done some nasty shit. Blown up frigates just to gain back my reputation. Sacrificed civilians to get the job done. Hell, I was gonna sacrifice dozens of refinery workers just to get bloody revenge on the guy who’s shot me in the head twenty years ago or so.

Yeah, that’s right. I’ve survived a bloody shot to the head. And yet, here I am, stuck in this shithole of asari prison, making goddamn blankets all day like a goddamn grandma!

I’m goddamn bored. And even a hardened man like me gets lonely.

If you wanna hear some real awesome battle stories, hit me up. Been a merc for decades. Getting tired of those only two idiots I can talk to.

#fic #my writing #zaeed massani #mass effect au #zaeed pov #zaeed massani fic #i automatically adapt the speech of the character when i write from their pov #zaeed in a bloody asari prison having to make goddamn blankets

[brrambleberry]

Ghost has to attend mandatory therapy, and the receptionist is about as happy to be there as he is.

*In Ghost's opinion, this is an utter waste of time. Of all the horrors and monstrous things he had done in his enlistment, one disobedience was all it took for the higher ups to send him to talk about his feelings. As if they hadn't demanded that he terminate and bury them for nearly 20 years. The other option was prison, and they knew better than to stick him in a cement casket with abusers and scum. So the next best option was to shove him through double doors he had to turn slightly sideways to enter, and into a shitty little waiting room. He walks through the parallel rows of skeletal folding chairs and right up to the tall desk. He's not quite sure who he was expecting to greet him, but it sure wasn't her.*

*A young woman sits on a swivel chair. Her black hair is teased up into a 60's updo, bordering on a mess but it looks good on her. Long sharp nails, like gleaming red apples. A cheeky diamond is inlaid where a beauty mark might sit on her upper lip, and eyes with lashes like a fan neglect him for her computer screen. A name tag reads 'Nettie'.*

Ghost *is quiet, that partly how he got his bloody name, but he knows that she knows he is there. Women generally do, they have a sixth sense for when someone of his size and nature are prowling in the shadows nearby. He's not quite sure what to do in a situation where he needs to draw attention to his own presence.*

Ghost *clears his throat*

Nettie "Yeah I see you there mate, kinda fuckin' hard to miss. Just gimme a sec, I need to flick off this email..."

Ghost *says nothing. His jaw twitches and he shifts himself to keep the exit within sight. This was ridiculous, he couldn't remember the last time he experienced something as civilian as waiting for a pesty receptionist.*

Nettie *pops a bubble with the gum she's been idly chewing. Half-heartedly pushes herself away from the desk, and unfolds her legs to stand.* "Right, why are you here then?"

Ghost *knows that she's expecting details for the appointment, but today has been a drag. The only thing that could make it better was to make it another person's problem.* "I killed someone."

Nettie "This is a service for veterans love, you're not going to win any bingos here with that. Who are you here to see?"

Ghost *shrugs and hands her the referral, a strong desire to get this over with as soon as possible.*

Nettie *clips it from his hands quickly. Popping another bubble, she raises an immaculately groomed and arched brow.* "Dr Martin eh? You must have been a very naughty boy."

Ghost *had been idly watching her mouth as it worked the gum. It was driving him a bit mad, something about it was goading. Odd woman to pick for reception, someone as cheeky and infernal as her. His glare snaps back to her eyes at her last sentence. He narrowed them, who the fuck did she think she was talking too?*

Nettie *had already moved on. She moved back to the computer and tapped away. The printer in the corner whirled awake, and she returned with warm, crisp forms printed on the stark white paper clamped to a clipboard.* "Right, I need you to fill these out, shouldn't take more then two or five minutes. I'll find you pen, well, hopefully anyway. You lot always take 'em with you, and now it's a pain in the arse to find one that isn't drier than my nan's crack. Anyway, you can use this one. Please give it back once you're done love, cuz that's my favourite. If you don't, swear on my bleedin' Louboutin's I will hunt you down and pester you till I get it back."

Ghost *takes the clipboard shoved in his direction, remaining silent and quickly scratching through boxes with ticks and answers with monosyllables. This woman is fucking loony. He slides it onto the desk surface, and speaks up for the first time.* "Here, your preferred pen, safe and sound. No need to ransom the rest of my sanity for it."

Nettie *plucks her pen back up and twirls it with a sweet grin.* "Some girls' just wanna watch the world burn, Skelly." *She ends with a playful theatrical wink. It pulls an amused huff from his chest. A corny batman reference is more reassuring than anything he would have expected in this linoleum purgatory.*

#simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #ghost cod #original character #sassy receptionist #cod fanfic #simon riley fanfic #bad fanfiction #fanfic ideas #one shot #She has a light cockney accent #Amy Winehouse vibes #I think Ghost would go for pinup hotties #call of duty

[sstan-hoe]

𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒎 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝑺𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — steve kemp x dark!fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — steve gives you stockholm syndrome and well let's just say; you gotta make sure you're his only one...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — Stockholm syndrome, eating humans, killing/murder, blood, trigger warning, 18+only, minors DNI, Steve Kemp

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — steve isn't married here because that blonde bitch can go fuck herself [nothing against blondes, they're gorgeous!], I love Noa but oh well *gif isn't mine, if you want to know when I update then follow @sstanhoe-updates and don't forget to like, reblog and comment!

You're looking up at Steve with a wide smile on your face.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"I just think you're amazing." You replied. The longer he stared at you, it felt like your heart was going to explode.

He knelt in front of you, gently placing a hand on your cheek.

"Oh dear," He smiled, "I think I've given you Stockholm syndrome."

You slowly looked around, remembering he had held you captive in his basement for months.

How could you forget that? What did this man do to you that you reacted like this?

Steve cut parts of you off, first a part of your breast, then ass –you couldn’t walk for days–, and lastly some parts of your thigh.

You've been here for months, chained up in this room that should look cozy if it wasn't for the fact that you were held captive.

But Steve, oh, he treated you so gently it was sickening at first.

Until suddenly you started to like how he treated you. There was no way to explain how you felt.

"You’re lucky you're cute…" He muttered, stepping closer to you, "you know you're my favourite, I didn’t know what it was about you."

Steve stood back up still smiling.

"Now, I know why…you're so fucked up that you fall for the guy that has you chained up in his basement." He chuckled, walking over to the

"I gotta leave for a few days, do you think you can bear that?" Steve was mocking you, but he loved that you loved him.

And just like this, he left.

When did you start loving him? What changed in that time? How could you love someone that cut you into pieces?

More and more questions flooded your head as you sat there alone with your thoughts in the empty basement.

You didn't know what time it was, how many hours had gone by, or days.

Then suddenly you heard shouting from the room beside you.

"Help me! Please…anyone!" A female voice crying for help.

Steve's newest addition.

"It's no use, nobody will hear you or find you…" you said loudly enough for her to hear.

The girl was confused for a second before she realized she wasn't alone, "who are you? How–"

You cut her off, telling her your name, "I've been here for months."

"But your family, they must be searching for you!" You chuckled at the girl's words. There were a few things Steve always made sure of; no family, relatives, or enough friends who could search for you.

"Nope no family girl, probably just like you," you stated, leaning your head against the wall.

"No…he, he told me we were just staying overnight and would go in va–" "Vacation huh, cute."

"Did you sleep with him too?" she asked, the question caught you off guard.

That woman slept with him? Steve slept with that woman?

You didn't know what came over you as pure rage took over your body. "No, no," yes, fucking yes, "we just became friends."

Steve always told you that you were special, that he only slept with you…was that why you felt like this for him?

A knock on the cell door pulled you from your thoughts. Steve cocked his head through, "honey I'm home!"

In seconds you made up your mind.

"Oh, I missed you." You smiled widely at him. Steve returned a smile and walked inside, over to you, and sat down next to you.

"How are you feelin'?" He sounded concerned, but you couldn’t make out if it was real or fake.

"Well, I've not had a surgery in maybe two weeks? I don't know, you tell me the time."

"Two and a half weeks, sweetheart," you nodded in response.

"Steve?" Your voice was small, you weren't sure if you should ask or if you wanted an answer. "Yes?"

"Have you…have you eaten me?" "Well, I ate you out," rolling your eyes as you nudged his arm with your shoulder.

"But, no. I would never eat you unless it's your pussy, you're my favourite after all." Bullshit.

"I am?" "Of course," yeah, tell that to the girl in the next room.

"However…I would be delicious wouldn't I?" a grin laced on your lips.

Steve's eyes went wide at your statement, "gosh this sounds crazy, but I would like to know what it tastes like." If his eyes could go even wider they would.

"You wanna try it?" He sounded so excited, you looked taken back before nodding unsure.

"Oh, sweetheart you're in for a treat! I will pick you up at seven, I will get you a uh..dress! It's a special occasion after all." Steve took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours.

He jumped up and was out of the cell, locking it before you could even blink.

Well, step one is complete.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

Until seven Steve came back to give you a red dress and unchained you for you to get dressed.

It fitted your body well, hugging your figure and pushing your breasts up.

The dress wasn't too tight and had long sleeves, you had to admit to yourself that you looked hot.

You heard the door open, turning around there stood Steve looking handsome as ever.

He wore a black flannel dress shirt, freshly polished shoes, and perfect trousers that rounded the outfit up.

His eyes roamed your body with a glint of hunger, but was it for you or your flesh?

"You look…stunning," be breathed out coming closer to you. "You don't look so bad yourself," you said with a shy smile.

Steve held out his hand for you to take which you did without hesitation.

"So what did you prepare for us?"

He sat you down on a barstool at the kitchen counter.

"Your favourite! Rib-Eye-Steak with creamed vegetables and rice, well but the steak is Sophie." You looked a bit shocked that he revealed the name of the woman.

He put the plates in front of you alongside a glass of water, "gotta stay hydrated," he told you.

you eyed the water warily which didn't go unnoticed by Steve, "don't worry it's not spiked." He chuckled as if it was normal.

"so, who is your new addition?" you asked as you swirled the water around in the glass.

Steve looked a bit confused as if he tried to hide it, "I heard her scream," you enlightened him. "Noa, she's from around here."

"Mhm, okay." You looked up at him with innocent eyes or how Steve would put it fuck me eyes.

"Let's eat," before I eat you out he ended the sentence in his mind.

You looked at the plate in front of you, slowly you cut a piece off sticking it on your fork. The meat looked perfectly cooked and if you didn't know you'd say it was ham, cow or turkey.

Taking a deep breath you put the meat in your mouth chewing it, Steve watching you the whole time.

To your surprise it tasted good, yes it was sick and twisted but good.

"It's…good, like actually really good," you told Steve flabbergasted. "I knew you'd like it!" again he was full of euphoria.

You continued eating and ignoring the voice inside your head that told you how wrong this was.

After you both finished eating Steve lead you to the couch. He sat you down on his lap, his hands resting on your hips.

"Stevie? Do you think I could sleep with you tonight? It's so lonely down there and I love you," you begged him knowing he couldn't resist.

"Of course sweetheart anything for you."

"Put on some music and relax while I do the dishes, you deserve a break." You put your hand on his chest to make him stay.

Steve let you, he believed that you were so smitten with him. Never in a million years would he have thought that you would have Stockholm syndrome.

Yes, he did know you were different, that there was a side in you needing to be free.

He was lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice you coming up behind him with a meat tenderizer to knock him out.

A thump could be heard as you hit Steve who fell into the cushions of the couch.

A smile graced your lips at your success.

You took his arm and dragged him to the basement and god was he heavy.

You put Steve into your cell and chained him up.

Step two is completed.

The third step was important because it decided how step four was going to go.

You went back up to get a knife from the kitchen, making your way to Noa's cell that was right next to yours.

You opened the door with a smile. Noa jumped up at the sight of you, as best as she could. "Who are you?" she promptly asked. "What don't you, remember me?"

She whispered your name barely audible for you.

"Yeah it's be bitch, and you know what? You're gonna die. Steve would have dragged it out but oh, well."

She tried to get away however unlike you she had been in surgery and Steve had cut something off that caused her unableness to walk or stand.

You rolled your eyes straddling her with the knife raised.

"That's for sleeping with him," stab.

"That's for thinking you're his favourite," stab.

"And that is for using him," stab.

You confirm to stab her four more times before leaving her to the fates.

Step three was completed.

Meanwhile Steve was waking up and realised that he was chained up, he panicked. What have you done?

From the over side of the wall he could hear whines and whimpers. Noa, he thought.

If he was honest he didn't like her that much, he slept with her because he didn't want to get attached to you, but it was too late for that now.

That was when you walked into the cell with a wide grin and clothes full of blood, thank god was the dress red.

"Missed me honey?" you asked in a sweet voice.

"Unchain me, now." You shook your head, no not until he explained himself properly.

"Why did you cheat on me!" betrayal was one of the things you hated most, "I started loving you and you go and fuck some whore!? Well, bitch is dead now."

His head shot up in rage, "what? Do you have any idea how good that meat would have been?"

Steve was angry, you didn’t want him to be angry.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance to," he mumbled to himself, his words felt like a knife twisting in your heart.

"I did this for us Steve! You and me against everyone else, I'll even get you new flesh but please don't be mad!"

You were near tears. In your life you had no one besides Steve.

The cannibal sighed, he couldn't stay mad at you because as hard as he would deny it, he loved you.

In his own sick twisted way just like you loved him. All together you were perfect for each other.

"Unchain me sweetheart, we gotta bury a body."

Slowly you walked over to him and unclipped the handcuffs. You were being careful.

Steve rubbed his wrists before standing up and coming to a hold in front of you. His warm, gentle hands cupped your cheeks.

"You're my favourite, you will always be. Noa she is nothing compared to you," his voice soft.

You loved him but betrayal would be punished.

"How sweet, but this is for cheating on me," stab.

"This is for cutting pieces of me off," stab.

The knife went through his belly without hitting any important organs, "you're the doctor, fix it."

Those were your last words before you walked back up.

"You fucking bitch, we aren't even together! If I didn't find you crazy hot then you would already be eaten up!" He shouted after you.

"I thought you only ate me out!" Your response came.

like, comment and reblog!

#steve kemp x y/n #steve kemp imagine #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp #steve kemp x you #steve kemp smut #steve kemp x dark!reader #steve kemp x female reader

[avintagekiss24]

the truth of lust woman to man.

the details;

sub!bucky barnes x black!Dom!reader.

10,347 words.

18+ ONLY, smut, Dom/sub dynamics, sex toys (a lot of sex toys lol), pegging, hand job, blow job, crying kink, slight degradation/humiliation kink, teasing, sex work, body worship, biting kink.

for @navegandoaciegas maneater challenge:

ingredients → body worship + "so fucking tight" + "you're such a pathetic little slut" + "look at you drooling all over yourself"

notes from the author;

i know i said i was gonna post on bucky's birthday, but i decided that i hated the format i had, so decided to change it 🤷🏾‍♀️. a few days late, but nonetheless, happy birthday to this man. please enjoy :)

credits;

consent/18+ banners by @maysdigitalarts / line divider by @firefly-graphics

one thing in life you must understand

the truth of lust woman to man

so open the door and you will see

there are no secrets make your move

set me free

~ michael jackson in the closet

The vibration of the phone fills the bathroom as you stand in the mirror. Fluffy white towel wrapped around your body, hair wet— ringlets bouncing with each stroke of the comb as Spotify rolls through your playlist. You’re tempted to ignore it for a while, your phone, as wash day is a beast of its own. Shampoo, rinse, shampoo again, rinse, conditioner, rinse, a five minute leave in conditioner, rinse. Comb through. A twenty minute hot oil treatment. Rinse. Comb through again. Then comes the hard part. Either let it air dry and deal with the frizz and wild, braid it and have your fingers go numb, or blow dry and straighten it which’ll take up the next two and a half hours and cuts into your Netflix time.

The phone vibrates again with the unread message.

You’re off tonight— just like every Friday night for as long as anyone can remember because it’s wash day. Everybody knows that. But your phone is vibrating anyway. It vibrates again in quick succession; another text. So you snatch it up with a huff and an eye roll, ready to cuss out whoever isn’t respecting the one boundary you have.

I know it’s Friday… but I just got back in town… really need to see you

Please

You feel bad as soon as you read his name, let alone his messages. Three dots are still bouncing on the screen as your thumbs dance across the glass.

I’ll pay extra… please extend my sincerest apologies to your hair

He’s being a shit. You can read his dry ass tone through the screen. This is his little way of apologizing for intruding on your personal time… but a boy has needs. Obviously.

Text Nat, you reply, deleting your original and kinda mean (even for you), message, You can apologize in person.

He doesn’t text back.

Blow dry and straighten it is.

A few minutes later, the phone vibrates again. A text from Nat.

I have a request for you tonight… says you’ve green lighted this? Please confirm

Confirmed— overtime rates for the entire evening

Got it. Contract to follow

You flip off vibrate, not wanting to miss another text. There’s something behind them— a little desperation, maybe? He needs you, but he’s still going to wait the time it takes to do your hair.

Gotta punish him somehow.

The swish on an incoming email fills the bathroom as you pull out your blow dryer and hair straightener. Grabbing the phone again, you click into the PDF, skim the details— overtime rates applied, extra fees for a last minute booking and personnel accommodations— then tap above your printed name just below Natasha’s signature, and turn your phone in your hands. You slide your finger across the glass, leaving behind a swift, girly signature. A few more taps and a loud swoosh later, your contract is sent back to Natasha, awaiting the signature of your client.

Within minutes, another text flashes across the screen.

All set. Yelena will meet you at the destination. Stark Towers, 1245 E. Manhattan St, Midtown Manhattan, NYC. APT 1514

You’re all too familiar with the Stark Towers apartment building. An exclusive property in the heart of New York City. Luxury apartments that never seem to come available for rent— to the general public that is— not that a few overly rich, overly confident assholes haven’t tried. No, you have to be a specific type of human to get Tony Stark to even take a second glance at your application. A certain human of the hero variety.

It’s a tall building. Looks as if it’s made completely out of glass. There’s too many floors and too many apartments for the six or seven super humans that the world knows about— makes you wonder just how much Mr. Tony Stark knows about this flying green rock and how little the puny humans actually know about the super ones... maybe there’s more. But, you don’t get paid to ask questions. You just get paid to stalk the halls of Stark Towers and make very big, very strong men lick your boots until they cry.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the very thought.

There’s a blonde standing just outside the door of the luxury apartment building, hands shoved in the pockets of her black leather jacket, the permanent scowl she dons etched on her face, “This one must be special to get you out on a Friday night.”

A small smile curves onto your lips as you step onto the curb, “Well, he’s got a big dick if that’s what you’re asking.”

Yelena scrunches her face, lip snarled as she rolls her eyes and scoffs, “This is why I hate working with you,” she holds out her hand to you, wiggles her fingers, “Wrist.”

You push up the sleeve of your own leather jacket, clearing your throat as your ponytail blows in the wind. Yelena wraps a device around your wrist, something like a fit bit but a little more high tech. Her eyes bouncing between her phone and your face as she syncs the two devices, “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you,” you smile, tossing your head a bit to make it move, “I finally pulled the trigger on that $500 straightener and tried a new shampoo. All good?”

The bracelet around your wrist dings and vibrates quick before Yelena shoves her phone into her back pocket, “Good. Let’s go.”

One good thing about Stark Towers is the anonymity of the building. Security codes get changed daily, and each door, stairwell, or elevator requires a different one. The front door is a four digit code, the elevator, a pattern. Floor fifteen is a seven digit code plus voice recognition by the one and only—

“Jarvis,” you smile gently as Yelena leans against the wall of the elevator, “It’s been a while, darling.”

“It has,” Jarvis’ smooth voice fills the metal box, “It’s nice to hear your voice again. May I have the seven digit code please?”

“0743926,” you read slowly, glancing down at the text from Nat.

“Thank you, and the additional four digit pin please?”

“1918.”

It goes quiet for a few moments, Jarvis running his specs to confirm your answers and voice, “Thank you, and your companion? May I have a name and their one time guest passcode please?”

“Yelena Belova,” she answers with a huff, pushing away from the wall, “37624. Open the door, Jarvis.”

“Ah, Ms. Belova, how lovely to see you again,” Jarvis answers, “Enjoy the evening, ladies.”

Just like that, the elevator doors slide open to floor fifteen. Yelena trails you as you move with purpose. Confident strides, setting your tone. When you reach the door, you don’t even have to knock. You hear Jarvis’ muffled voice announcing your arrival to the person inside and then heavy footsteps. Locks sliding back into the doorframe.

The door opens within seconds and you’re bathed in a warm light, “Hi baby,” you purr, when your eyes meet a pair of steel blues.

He just smirks in return, before sliding those eyes to the short blonde behind you, “Christ,”

“Nice to see you too,” Yelena fake smiles. She grabs your wrist and lifts it eye level, “This,” she points towards the sleek device around your wrist, “Is a direct link to my phone. It records every vital in the human body— heart rate, oxygen levels, body temperature, and blood pressure—,”

“Yeah, yeah,” he holds up his hand, “I got it, do we have to go through this every time?”

Yelena doesn’t miss a beat, “If her heart rate goes above one hundred and twenty five beats in any one minute time span, I’m coming through this door. If her breathing hitches for longer than twenty seconds, I’m coming through this door. Temperature play isn’t on your list of kinks, so if her’s drops even one degree—”

“Let me guess,” your client sighs, pushing the door open wider to expose his scantily clad body— only a pair of black boxer briefs covering his most intimate. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, a hint of gold glinting underneath the hallway lights, “You’re coming through my door?”

“And throwing you out of the window,” she drops your hand and digs out her phone, “She can also click one button on the bracelet or her phone and I’m snapping you in half like a twig,” she taps on her phone, starting the timer linked to Natasha’s computer, “Time starts now, and ends when I see her face again. Fingerprint, please.”

He doesn’t argue. Just places his thumb onto the screen of her phone and lets his eyes wander your frame as you push your finger onto the glass as well once he’s finished. Yelena walks off without a word— not a smile, not a second glance— leaving you and one Bucky Barnes to stare at one another.

He steps aside and you saunter in, pulling off the backpack and jacket and tossing them to the floor as you glance around his spacious bachelor pad. You turn to face him, blinking slow as your eyes search his face. Watching him as the power balance shifts on a dime. His eyes go all soft and nervous, barely able to maintain contact before those dark lashes rest on his suddenly flushed cheeks.

“Aww,” you purr, stepping up to him, cupping his cheek in your palm, “My sweet boy missed me, huh?”

Bucky nods soft, nuzzling into your touch, “It’s been too long.”

“You’re a busy boy, that’s okay,” you push your hand into his short hair, a smile tugging on your lips as his eyes flutter and lips part, a small moan in the back of his throat, “Somebody has to save the world.”

“Lucky me,” he whispers, turning his head gently to meet your fingers, to feel them.

You grab a fistful of his soft hair, yank his head back without warning, making him grunt, “Don’t think that superhero status means we still don’t have rules, baby,” you push in real close, lips brushing right up against the shell of his ear, “Greet me properly.”

The words are barely off the tip of your tongue before he’s on his knees. Large hands caressing your calf beneath your tight black jeans. Thick fingers and wide palms pushing up and around your thighs, hips, back to your ass before he leans down and kisses your combat boot. Then he looks up at you, blinking all sweet and innocent, hands gripping your hips like if he lets go he’ll fall straight through the floor.

You smile, eyes soft as you stroke his cheek and chin with the backs of your fingers, “Good boy.”

He lights up at the praise. A quick, sheepish smile. Batting his eyes as a pink blush blooms across his cheeks. So pretty. You tap him just underneath his chin to get him to stand, peering down at him through your lashes and then setting your gaze directly on him as he looms over you. Bucky still averts your eyes slightly, falling nervous after mere seconds before having to look away.

You love him like this.

So big, but so small. All at the same time.

You kiss him hard, lacing your fingers back into his hair and pulling gently. His top lip between yours as your tongue slides along the roof of his mouth. You moan into his wet mouth, push your body into his so he can feel you. To reassure him. Let him know that it’s okay. He can relax— you’re here now.

Bucky melts into you as he takes your lead, letting you control the moment— but careful to mind his manners. Even though those fingers of his are itching to touch, to grope and fondle, he keeps them by his sides. Waiting for his cue. He still loses himself in your mouth all the same. Moans into you. Hisses when you bite down on his fleshy bottom lip just a little too hard, but he shivers because it feels good.

And you love that too. How responsive this big man is. You pull away from him when you’ve had your fill— and when his cock is pressing into your thigh. A devilish smile creeps onto your face, soft but mischievous eyes batting up at him as your fingers trace the band of his boxers. A low giggle bubbling up in your throat as you walk those fingers down over the thick outline of the impressive cock print pushing against soft material.

You cup him without warning— squeeze his cock and balls hard as a sharp, quick breath chokes in his throat. The soft metal of the tips of his fingers clinking against his palm as he balls his hands by his sides.

“Oh Bucky baby,” you sigh happy, releasing your grip to slide your hand along his cock, massage that heavy sac before teasing his cockhead and the cute little wet spot that’s appeared within the last few minutes, “I hope you’re ready for me, cuz I sure have missed you,” you turn on your heel, releasing him completely from your grasp, “Come, and bring my bag.”

The loud zip of your jeans bounces off the walls of the quiet apartment as you move through the living room, past the kitchen and down the hall. The plain white cropped t-shirt covering your torso slips over your head easy, falls to the floor with a soft heap somewhere near the threshold of his bedroom (he’ll stop to pick it up because that’s what good boys do).

Once in the room, you turn on your heel, tilt your head and set your eyes on him again as he moves through the threshold. He places your bag on the bed, folds your shirt quickly and places it in the chair in the corner of his room before he tosses your leather jacket over the back. Then, he’s right back in front of you. Ready for his next orders.

You point towards the floor and he obeys without question. Head down, hands flat on his thighs, fingers spaced just so. You take a few steps toward the bed, but as you pass him can’t help but run your fingers through that soft, brown, freshly clipped hair. He moans, real little and soft, and a smile breaks onto your face as you move away from him and unzip your Christian Louboutin backpack.

A sigh pushes through your nose, a hum vibrating at the back of your throat as you unpack slowly, lining up the toys and random pieces of clothing side by side. Black mesh thigh high stockings for you. Leather harness. Glass butt plug. Nipple clamps— his favorite. A new dildo, one that as soon as you saw it when scrolling through your favorite online sex shop, you thought instantly of Bucky. The Sinnovator Rhino. Black, silver, and pink in color, nubs carved on the underside of the soft silicone. Huge— ten inches long, almost eleven inches in girth at its widest part.

Perfect for cock sluts like Bucky Barnes.

There’s a bottle of water based lube. A four-in-one misting sanitizing spray (a good Dom is a clean Dom). One hitachi wand, and an array of soft bondage rope. Pinks, blues, greens, pretty colors for a pretty boy. An expandable spreader bar, and finally, one pair of men’s thigh high stockings— red, three little white stripes at the top of each. You grab your pair of stockings and pad back over to the stoic Bucky, breathing deep but easy. Centered. You reach out, tap him on his shoulder to get him to raise his head.

“Help me get ready, baby.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You stand still, both hands on his shoulders as he sits up on his knees, his nose at your belly button. Two strong hands slip around your waist and dip inside of your jeans, pushing the thick material down over your ass, greedy fingers and palms squeezing your flesh to cop a quick feel.

The punishment is swift. His stubbly chin yanked upwards and then,  a quick slap— all fingers and really no force at all— across his face. It’s not about pain with Bucky, he’s had his fill of punches and slaps, down right beatings when he stepped out of line. No, it’s not about the pain, but the shame of not following the rules. Of disobeying a direct order. A distant call to his days with HYDRA, except, he can control it now. He can decide when he wants to toe this invisible line, when he wants the sharp retaliation. He can be a disobedient soldier, all while feeling good about it.

“You know better,” you hiss, eyes and lips hard as you point your finger in his face, “Apologize—”

“ —I’m sorry,” he interrupts quickly, big blue eyes batting up at you, chest rising and falling a little harder, a little faster, that red blush creeping through his creamy peach skin, “I’m sorry. Thank you for correcting me.”

You drag your thumb over his lips, back and forth, real slow, watching as his eyes flutter again, “Such a good boy.”

Reinforcement is also big with Bucky. Another hum whirs deep in the back of his throat as he takes a big, deep breath and rolls his shoulders. That’s something he never got back then, and something he might not ever really get used to deep down, but it’s starting to feel better. He’s getting better about it— trying harder each and every time the two of you are together to accept the words. To believe them. The tiny little hum is proof that it’s starting to work.

“All is forgiven, bunny,” you smile, “Now come on, let’s stop wasting time, shall we?”

There’s a small smile on his blushed face. His bottom lip stuck between his white teeth, the soft skin going red and white from the pressure, “Yes ma’am,” he answers quietly.

Bucky waits until your hands are back on his shoulders before he’s tugging at your black jeans again. He lifts each leg one by one, a strong hand wrapped around each naked thigh as he pulls the rough denim over each foot. Folds them up real nice and places them just to his left before he accepts the thin, sheer stockings from your fingers.

He takes his time. Lifts your right foot and rests it on his hard thigh as he bunches the expensive material in his hands before he rolls it up over your manicured toes, foot and ankle. Shimmies the black stocking up your calf, over your knee, and up to your thigh, his fingers glancing along your skin all the while. There’s a soft little rub of his palm against the back of your thigh before he adjusts the stocking on your leg, making sure it’s straight and smooth, that there’s no kinks or bunched material, and then moves on to your other leg.

The soft pad of your feet against the carpet fills the room once more as your back at the end of the bed, harness in hand. You hand it over to him, place your hands back on his wide shoulders, lift your right leg as he holds it open. The velvet lining on the inside of the leather is so soft— comforting even. Makes you take a deeper breath and close your eyes for a beat longer than a blink. This is home. This is center. This is confidence.

Bucky adjusts the straps to your hips with skill, just barely flicking his eyes up to yours to get a handle on whether or not he needs to sinch them tighter. After all the time together, he just kinda knows. He turns you in his hands and starts lacing up the back, tugging hard on the string for the ultimate tightness— corset like. When he’s finished, he turns you again, hands gripping your sides, fingers gently indenting the meat of your waist. And then, like the good little bunny he is, he drops them to his sides and bats those big, pretty blue eyes and long, dark lashes up at you.

“Ma’am?”

Your thumb finds the little dimple in his chin and another wide smile cracks his face. It makes you go all warm, the smile. There’s probably all of three people on the planet that have seen this smile, and although you’d probably never say it out loud, you’re kinda proud to be one of them. You push your chin forward, smiling soft, “Bed.”

There isn’t a shred of hesitation. Following behind him, you stop at the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath as you eye the arsenal spread out before you. The mattress dips under his weight, the toys bouncing and rolling a little as two hundred and something pounds of man positions himself around them.

“You know, baby,” you start, plucking the red stockings from their place, “Since it’s been such a long time since we’ve seen each other, I think I need to take it a little slow tonight. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Bucky hates it when you take it slow. The semi-hard breath that pushes through his nose further demonstrates his displeasure, but, he doesn’t dare say it, “Yes.”

The curt answer makes you laugh as you climb onto the bed and between his outstretched legs. You grab a small chunk of skin between your index and thumb, just on the inside of his thigh. Pinch him so hard he jumps, muscles tensing as he sounds from the sharp, instant pain, “Don’t,” you start slow, pinching harder, “be rude. Yes, what?”

“Yes ma’am,” the words rush out of his mouth in a hurry, eyes squinted, teeth grinding against teeth, “Yes ma’am!”

“You better watch that smart mouth.”

You dress him in his red stockings, fix them all nice and straight, your fingers “slipping” to his inner thighs, scratching and pinching at the tender skin— his cock twitching at each little indiscretion of your hands. Soft laughter bubbles up in your throat, little moans of satisfaction as the wet spot on his black boxers grows bigger. You push his legs up so they’re bent at the knee, his feet flat on the mattress and push them open so you can wiggle in between.

Your hands find his knees and push down his thighs, right to his hips before raking your nails back upward to the bend. They make their way back down his thighs again and to his hips, but don’t stop this time. No, those fingers and palms keep roaming, over a perfect set of abs, up to two pronounced, hard tits until they fall on either side of him, the mattress catching your weight as you lean over him to kiss that mouth.

It’s sloppy and wet, the kiss, as you grind your cunt against his cock. Real slow. Back and forth as you release his now red lips with a loud smack. You keep your face close to his, lips barely out of his reach as your hips roll against him. Bucky’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, his eyelashes settling on his reddened cheeks as you push your face into the little nook between his jaw and neck. You kiss him once, twice, three times, real quick before your tongue darts out against his skin, licking a path before you kiss him again, this time harder. Punctuating it with a deep thrust from your hips.

He hisses, body tightening, hips jerking slightly as you suck a pretty bruise into his skin. He pushes his hips upward, into the leather and the wetness of your cunt, staining his underwear further with his excitement.

Your teeth scrape across his throat while you grab his wrists and pin them up over his head. It’s ridiculous really. One little twitch of his wrist and he’d be free of your grasp— your strength absolutely no match to his— but he doesn’t even try. He just relaxes more, practically melts into the mattress and underneath your power.

A wet tongue slithers just below his ear, a quick, purposeful blow of air to dry and cool the hot, wet spot. Bucky shivers, grunts and moans while bated breaths choke up in his throat as your cunt slides over the full length of his cock, pinned against his stomach. His hips rock more. Faster, harder, as your mouth and tongue and teeth move down his chest. Through the smattering of dark hair, over the little nicks and silvery scars that litter the wide canvas.

“Fuck,” he groans, kinda garbled and strained when your lips wrap around his right nipple to suck the cute little nub and massage it with your tongue as you tighten your hands around his wrists some more, “Fuck, I—”

He’s just a mumbling mess now. Cock jumping in his tight boxers, hot droplets of precum leaking through the material. The mattress dips with his thrusting hips, snaps right back into place when he lifts, but sinks again just as quick. He’s vibrating. Body humming. Blood rushing as you sink your teeth into the side of one of those perfect tits. He’s hot all over. Whiny and desperate to cum as he squeezes his legs around you.

But it isn’t time yet.

You lean back— keep his hands pinned over his head for a second more before you push away completely and leave him humping nothing but air. He slams his fists down by his sides, swallows hard as you laugh at him, “Aww, honey,” you patronize, grabbing his cheeks and shaking his head back and forth, “Poor wittle baby, you mad at me? Huh?”

He shakes his head, but keeps his eyes closed, licking his lips as shaky breaths push between his teeth, “No ma’am.”

“No?” you purr, pushing on the inside of his knees to push those legs open wider before you fall onto your hands. You nuzzle your face against his thigh, wrap your arm around it and press your lips against the firm muscle, “Are you sure?” it’s a whisper. Eyes batting all sweet as you lean up and blow warm air against his cock.

Bucky tenses, stomach and thighs flexing as he grunts in frustration. You palm his sac, squeeze it, before you drag your hand flat along his cock, all the way to the tip and then back to his balls again.

“No ma’am,” he quips, but it’s weak and all trembly, “I’m not— ah!”

A firm, deep bite to the inside of his naked thigh steals the words right off his tongue. His legs tense up again, hips lifting from the mattress as you send your eyes up his long body. His head is torqued just a little— tipped back and rolled a tad to the side so his chin is jutted towards the ceiling. There’s little crinkles in the corners of his eyes, his lips zipped up tight as you can only imagine him grinding those perfect teeth against one another to dull the pain.

Bucky’s always been one for dramatics. The slightest little slap or scratch sends him wailing. You’re sure your love bite is nothing more than what a mosquito bite is to a Rhino. Barely a prick, if there’s really any acknowledgement of the bite at all from said Rhino— or… could he be leaning into it? The pain. After years of ignoring it, shrugging it off. Becoming numb to it all, so in actuality, after a while, he never really felt anything. Not a fist to his jaw, or a knife to his thigh. No sore bones and deep muscle bruises after rolling, kicking, punching, falling, jumping. Nothing. Just learned to not register it because what did it matter anyway?

Now he’s alive. Flesh, blood and bone. Hypersensitive and whiney. Screeching at the mere thought of your teeth in his thigh again and manicured nails digging into skin that’s now meant to feel. His eyes leak from the frustration, the pent up anxiety, the final release you’ve provided week after week for only Natatsha knows just how long. Laughter and tension and tears and relief— he’s alive. And he wants to feel it.

So you bite him again, because it is about the pain. You palm his sac, massage his heavy balls slow as you drag your wet tongue and swollen lips around the now hot skin where your teeth just were. Wrap your fingers around his thick cock and pump him through his boxers as his chest hitches. He starts to tremble, cute noises bubbling in his throat as he tries to keep calm but the white sheets below are knotted firm in his grip. Any more tension in fact, and those metal digits will rip this poor little sheet in two.

With a lingering kiss on the inside of his knee, you pull away again. Twist around on your knees to pluck the glass butt plug and cleaning spray from its place in the toy line up. You spritz it slow with the sanitizing spray, feeling sharp, eager eyes on you all the while, his impatience growing tangible. He’s breathing hard, audibly so. His poor bottom lip clamped between his teeth again, so hard that you’d be surprised if it doesn’t end up bleeding. You still take your time though, twisting and turning the plug between your fingers, seemingly eyeing every inch of the custom blown glass just to annoy him further.

“Back in a flash, buttercup,” with that, you’re off the bed and padding into the bathroom, cutting your eyes just in time to catch him taking a hard swallow, “Patience is a virtue,” you call in a sing song tone as you flip on the water and wait for it to heat.

Your facetious nature added with Bucky’s surly attitude really makes for a great evening— always has. You dip the anal toy to and fro beneath the warm water more times than necessary just to waste a little more time— to get him really yappy and rude. A few more minutes tick by as you pretend to not know where he keeps his hand towels, opening and closing drawers loudly and then finishing off the Oscar worthy act with an “Ah, here they are!”

Two blue eyes meet yours again as you lean against the door frame, right leg crossed over the left as you start to dry the plug. You lift it up into the light, rub out an imaginary spot. Turn it between your fingers, squinting and wiping like it’s the finest piece of crystal known to man and not something that’s gonna be shoved up his ass in a few minutes.

After it’s clean, and you mean clean, you skip back towards the bed and climb on top, wiggling between his legs again as you reach for the band of his boxers. Bucky lifts his hips without having to be asked as you pull them half way down his thigh, snapping the elastic band against his skin playfully.

“Alright baby boy,” you murmur, flipping the cap of the small bottle of lube, “Relax for me.”

You start with your fingers first, slathered up with the gel. Run them between his cheeks, eyes snapping towards his and a smile curling on your lips when he jumps at the contact. Index and middle fingers find his warm, tight rim, already fluttering with anticipation, and gently stroke him. Prep him up real nice and wet— getting his chest hitching and those sweet little sounds to burble through him again, his cock jumping within seconds of your touch.

With a little glob of lube on the tip of the plug, you toss the bottle behind you and push the glass between his legs, still bent at the knee and but falling further and further open as he starts to melt away again, his brain going to static and fuzz as he’s safe and warm with you again at last.

Push, push, push. Slowly, slowly, slowly. His mouth falls open, head tipping back again as his body spreads, forms around the glass toy. You flatten a palm against his knee, fingers stroking the thin, delicate skin there as you fill him up.

It isn’t enough to satisfy the whore in him, but the heel of the plug finally rests against his hot rim. You give his sac another squeeze, pump his shaft and sweep the pads of your fingers over his wet, red tip as a sweet hum vibrates in his throat. Just to get him to jump again, to gasp and shiver all sweet like, you give his cockhead a kiss, make sure your tongue barely breezes against the sensitive skin before you pull away to shimmy his boxers back up— another loud snap of the elastic band around his waist.

You nuzzle your cheek against the inside of his thigh. Press three soft kisses there as you rake your nails up and down the back of it before sitting up straight enough to grab the next piece from your arsenal before venturing up his body— a kiss here, a slippery tongue there, greedy fingers scratching, gripping, groping everywhere— until you find that broad chest once more. You push your fingers through the soft hair splashed along his tits before lightly brushing your fingers over his left nipple. Pushing up on your knees, you throw a leg over his waist to straddle him, resting every pound you have to offer on his stomach.

He can certainly take it.

Bucky keeps his eyes closed as you explore him with your hands. Flat palms gliding over pecs and shoulders, squeezing a thick bicep— tracing the singular vein that protrudes against his skin. When you lift the soft black metal arm, oh, those blue eyes pop open again. Find you quick.

He’s always been self conscious of it— since the day you met him. It wasn’t all shiny and new then. No, it was old and heavy, silver with that pesky red star. A red, jagged, thick scar joining flesh and metal that crept down into his pec and back— which made for a lot of uncomfortable nights, tossing and turning. Already strained, tired muscles burning with an old, burdensome pain. It changed him, that arm. The way he touched (or didn’t touch) things; not wanting to hurt or break anything without realizing. Altered how he moved, how he walked. A new, distinctive gait that gave him away whenever he wanted just a little anonymity. Long sleeve shirts, jackets, and gloves became his permanent wardrobe.

Don’t touch it, he warned the first time you’d met, that’s my only… thing.

The arm is a hard no?

Very hard.

Hm, ok. We’ll work on that.

And now you have that vibranium limb in your hand, the tip of his index finger between your teeth, lips wrapped around the digit as you suck lightly, taking it all deep into your mouth. The chain of the nipple clamps dangling from your fingertips click gently against his forearm as you take a second black and gold finger into your mouth.

He whimpers. Bucks his hips into your ass soft as your tongue swirls around his fingers, your free hand pushing down, then back up his long arm. A far cry from don’t touch it… and that makes you all tingly. He trusts you; and you feel like that’s hard to come by from a hundred year old killing machine.

You drop his arm, let him grab a hold of your thigh as you push your hands from his hard stomach up to his chest again, just kinda feeling his thick skin and trained muscles before you start to tease his left nipple. Rubbing it a little harder, pinching and teasing until it’s ready for a weighted clamp. You flip your eyes from his chest to his face, watching him as you tighten the grip of the clamp, moving the slider upward until his face breaks from the squeeze. His teeth grinding again, crinkles in the corners of his eyes, a hiss slips through his teeth.

Just for good measure, you push the slider up just a tick further, until his entire body tenses underneath you. That’s the sweet spot. You fix him up real pretty, get that second nipple locked into its clamp and give the silver chain a tug— just to make him squirm. His handsome face breaking again, hips rolling as the sharp pain of the clamps starts to settle with the fullness the plug in his ass provides.

He wiggles, tightening the grip he still has on your thighs, his breath starting to rush again as he grows impatient, that deep itch just barely being tickled.

Climbing off, you settle on your knees between his legs, which have now fallen flat against the mattress. You push them open a smidge, let him flex his feet and adjust as you grab yet another toy to once again push him right up against his threshold. You were sorta on the fence about making him cry tonight— it’s been a while and he’s all pent up and anxious… you like to take it a little easy on him in situations like this. But he’s definitely going to cry tonight. The sadist in you won’t have it any other way.

The soft buzz of the hitachi wand fills the room and sends a shiver right through him. You scoot back towards the edge of the bed so your feet dangle off and prop up on your elbows, your face— mouth and all— maybe an inch from his throbbing cock. Your ass in the air.

“Where to start,” you wonder aloud with a huff, “Maybe,” you sing, skimming the wand up the inside of his thigh, “Here?”

Bucky’s legs jerk, close in a little around you at the vibration as he pushes his hips down into the mattress hard when you stop just at his balls.

“Or maybe here,” you continue, placing the silicone head of the toy on his stomach, running it from hip to hip, tracing the elastic band of his underwear.

“Aht, fuck,” it’s throaty, but a little rushed. He’s falling fast, “Plea—“

“ —No? Maybe here then,”

Back to the inside of his thigh, but the left one this time. You drag it underneath his sac real fast, just barely letting him feel it before you pull it away completely. Tease him again by running it along the cock print in his nearly ruined underwear. Over the large wet spot and then back down the front of his thigh.

You pull it away again and the absence is just too much for the burly man. Bucky slams his fist into the mattress, “Please,”

Giggling, you tilt your head, place your chin in the palm of your hand, “Please what, bunny?”

“Goddamnit,”

“Aht, aht, aht,” you warn, pinching the inside of his thigh, “I warned you earlier— watch that mouth, James.”

Bucky slaps his hands over his face, rubs his eyes and cheeks hard before he drops his heavy limbs back to the mattress. He’s getting huffy. Lashes wet, cheeks a deep red, chest heavy and heaving again. His hips wiggle down into the mattress, all the more aware of that plug— filling him not nearly enough.

“You’re such a pathetic little slut, you know that?” you laugh, tickling the inside of his thigh, laughing harder when he jumps, “Can’t take two minutes of a little foreplay.”

You give into him all the same. The vibrating silicone head meets a weeping cockhead through the thin black boxers. His whole body stiffens as you hold the wand still against him, moaning all sweet and low as his cock starts jumping again. You push the wand down his length, over his drawn up balls then back up to his tip. Drag it back and forth along his stomach as he squirms— toes spreading out, drawing his legs up before stretching them out long again, fingers flexing from tight balls to flat against the mattress on either side of him.

He grows louder as the minutes tick by. Groaning and whimpering, gasping when you grab him again, lifting his cock from his stomach, squeezing and stroking as you push the wand against his mushroom head. You move it around slow, circling his sensitive tip as you keep a firm hold of him, pulling the wand away and then pressing it against him again in quick succession, jerking his cock with your hand all the while.

“Guh— g— od,” he pants, grabbing the side of the mattress with his metal hand, “I’m gonna fuckin— ugh, I’m,”

“You’re not coming unless I say so, bunny,” you smile, pushing the vibrator back down his cock, over his balls real slow, “Those are the rules.”

He grunts in response, knowing what’s coming but is too weak to stop it. Too warm and fuzzy to really want to stop it— this is what he pays for after all.

The vibrator falls next to Bucky’s side as you dig your fingers underneath the band of his boxers again. It’s a little harder to drag them down his long legs, but the minute his cock springs free you find the strength to shimmy them down his limp body. He’s shiny and wet, a deep bloom of red all over. Gorgeous.

He’s warm— hot even— when you wrap your fingers around his cock, palm his full sac with the other hand. You take a deep breath, push it out audibly as you stroke him slowly, tilting your head and batting your big brown eyes when his hips start to buck with your rhythm. A wet tongue finds his hot flesh, licks from the base of his cock all the way up, up, up to his tip, a salty plop of cum dribbling from his slit when the two meet.

You suck on the head, then take him whole before he can even realize it’s happening. Slip him right down your throat with ease (you’re a professional after all) as you find the magic wand again and press it against his taint. You hum lightly as you pull your mouth off of him to tease his slit with your flicking tongue before you swallow him up again.

Being the good little bunny Bucky Barnes is, he tempers himself. He’s used to it really, holding himself back. Keeping those pesky little demons at bay— but he’s starting to struggle. Thighs are getting shaky. Hips are faltering more and more as they roll and buck. He’s getting whiny all over again, high-pitched and almost helpless. Urgent, trembling, honeyed little moans spewing out of him as your throat massages him, lips and tongue swirl, suck and slurp on him, all while the deep vibrations of the silicone headed wand rock through him.

He freezes up suddenly, muscles tensing all over as a shaky, drawn-out moan passes through his lips, a quick gasp following. His cock jumps in your mouth out of anticipation— it’s right there. So close that you both can taste it. Flesh and metal fingers dig into the mattress, sheets all bunched up under his palms, barely withstanding the force of his grasp.

If you swirl your tongue just once. Move that vibrator a centimeter of an inch, and you’ll have a mouth and throat full of cum.

Sounds fun— for both you and Bucky.

But you didn’t say so. So, naturally…

“Fuck! Don’t—“ his voice breaks underneath the strain of a ruined orgasm. He just kinda breaks after that. As soon as you empty your mouth of him, his face contorts with the tears and sobs of his frustration. He cries openly and loudly as you click off the vibrator— like the sweet little angel he is, “I’ve— ” he begs, inhaling deep between each sob that wracks his body, “ —I’ve been so good… I n-need to… this isn’t f-fair— please, just,”

“Aww, sweetie. You’ll be okay. I promise,” you purr, moving up to perch on his stomach again.

Your lips find his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose before pecking at his mouth. Once, twice, three, four times— they’re always so soft and red when he’s all achy and sweet like this. You could just eat up every little sob and squeak and choke that pours from him, “Such a good little puppy,” you murmur, kissing him one last time before rolling off of him and planting your feet on the carpet.

There’s a body length mirror in the corner of his room, propped up by the two adjoining walls. He bought it just for you— well, for your dates. Bucky Barnes, left to his own devices, wouldn't have any mirrors, let alone one that spans nearly the entire length of the wall. What’s the point? I know what I look like. But little, soft bunny Bucky Barnes? Oh, he likes seeing himself stripped down to the barest of all that is human. Likes to watch his body lurch forward with each thrust from behind. Etches the lines and wrinkles in his skin as his face breaks from the ecstasy of your hard fuck in his mind— how it scrunches up in pain, in relief, in anticipation. All for you. All because of you.

He’s flesh, blood and bone you see. Not only does he want to feel it, he wants to see it too.

A deep breath fills your lungs. You hold it in, one, two, three seconds before pushing it out through your nose— totally content. Bucky sniffles behind you, sobs still squeaking out of him as you saunter back into the bathroom to wet another hand towel. You wring it out, move back into the room and stand at the edge of the bed. Time for what he really pays you for.

Sanitizing spray and warm hand towel in one hand, pink and black dildo in the other, you move to the mirror and start to prep. The soft spritzes of the spray seem to fill the room, drowning out Bucky’s cries. Twisting and turning the huge cock in your hand, you douse it thoroughly before you wipe at it, making sure every little nod carved into the silicone, every little nook gets the proper attention. For good measure, you traipse back into the bathroom, stick it underneath the warm water to clean the surface again before you lock the base into the silver ring of your harness. You give your cock a few good tugs to make sure it’s snug and secure. Bucky’s cranky enough— let your dick fall off while he’s trying to get off and see how well that goes.

“Alright puppy,” you coo, back at the edge of the bed, collecting some rope, “On your knees.”

His limbs are liquid. Muscles hot and sore for the constant flexing and straining from your teasing. But he manages to perch on his knees, his arms unable and unwilling to hold him up. He slumps forward, pushing the side of his blotchy red face into the sheets and mattress, his shoulders bearing most of his weight.

You push your hand down his spine, right down to his neck and give it a squeeze before moving your fingers into his hair. You smile a little when you see him visibly relax into your touch— eyes flutter closed, a soft but deep, purposed breath releasing from his mouth. He even moans a bit, feeling safe and soothed by your fingertips.

“You’re doing good, baby. Still with me?” a pathetic head shake is all you receive, “Use your words, please.”

Bucky gets all choked up, the words strangled and chopped as his eyes blur with tears again, “Good, I’m g-good,”

“We’re almost there, honey.” your voice soft and warm, fingers pulling from his hair and back up his spine real slow, “I’m gonna give you what you want bunny, but I need those hands first.”

There’s no struggle. No back talk, no pouting or huffing. Bucky just places his hands in the small of his back, crossing his left wrist over the right and flexing his fingers slow. You lift his hands gently, slipping the pink bondage rope underneath his wrists and circle it around them, starting your single column tie. Breathing easy and slow, you work the soft rope around his wrists, the tip of your cock pressed right up against his tight sac the entire time. His cock jumps every now and again, his hot hole fluttering with anticipation as he sniffles and hums with his tears.

When you’re finished, you give your handiwork a hard tug, the knot holding firm— for a regular human anyway. Bucky could snap it with a twitch of his wrist if he really wanted to, but that Bucky is suppressed entirely too deep tonight. You lean back to take a look at him, drag your nails up and down his stocking clad thighs, then up to his bare ass to give that little booty a squeeze. Finding the lube again, you squeeze a dollop onto the tip of your pink and black, ribbed for his pleasure, cock and stroke it slow, spreading the slick right down to the base before pushing some out onto the tips of your fingers.

Bucky jumps slightly when your fingers find his rim. He lets out a long, semi-focused breath as you prep him real nice, your eyes flickering towards the mirror, “Look at yourself, beautiful,” you whisper, grabbing your cock in your hand, “This is your favorite part,” your voice thick.

Wet, thick lashes flutter as he cranes his neck a little to see himself. To see you. Blue eyes peer on as you push closer to him, your thighs right up against his. You spread his ass open with both hands. Drag your pretty, fake cock from his heavy balls to his asshole— then push. Slow. Hard. Watching the mirror as Bucky’s face screws up in pleasure and pain. Deep wrinkles carve into his forehead, his mouth falling open as he squeezes those eyes shut before popping them open again, blinking furiously.

You don’t stop until his ass is flush against your harness. All ten inches— completely gone. Have you mentioned how much you love cock sluts like Bucky Barnes?

He’s all whimpery and whiney again. Huffing and choking on his own sounds. Balled fists pull lightly on the restraints around his wrists. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but tries hard, blinking fast as he groans deep, “G-od, please. Please, please,” he begs, metal fingers clinking against a metal palm, “Fuck me, please. Fuck me good.”

Fuck him good, you will.

You rock into him, the mattress starting to squeak with the weight and the movement. His body lunges forward with each stroke, his mouth falling wider and wider open as you fuck him deep. Make him take each and every inch from tip to base with each push of your hips. Your rhythm is slow, pushing him forward, pulling him back by his hips, letting him feel the girth, the carved nubs.

“So fuckin’ tight,” you purr, leveling your palm against his ass, the sharp sound slapping off the walls, “Feel good? Huh, do I feel good baby?”

He doesn’t answer, can’t really. He just nods frantically, hands still balled in the small of his back, the side of his face pressed into the mattress as groans choke up in his throat. Soon, you aren’t moving fast enough. Bucky starts pushing back into your hips, faster, harder. To the point where you stop moving all together, just let him fuck himself back onto your cock as you watch in the mirror. You spank him again, and then quickly a third time, his fair skin starting to turn a shade of red. So responsive.

“I asked you a question, soldier.”

A shiver passes through him. Bucky knows that tone, honeyed and smooth, but menacing all the same. He fucks back into you again, real slow, “Guh— god, yes.”

You snatch a fistful of hair and yank hard, “Yes, what?”

“Yes ma’am,” he whimpers, lunging forward when you snap your hips, pushing deep, deep, deep, “S’good, feels good.”

“Good boy,” your words don’t reflect your actions though. Praising him while pulling completely out of his hot hole, eyeing the wet spot on the sheets from his weeping cock. He whines, on the brink of tears again when you tap the inside of his right thigh, “Lay flat, on your tummy.”

He doesn’t waste a second. Cock pinned between his stomach and the mattress, legs spreading wide as you climb over him, throwing your legs on the outside of his while you enter him again. You flatten your body to his, tits and stomach pressed against his muscular back as you start bucking back into him, your lips just at the shell of his ear. Moans drip like honey from your mouth, the tip of your tongue flicking at his ear before you suck the lobe right into your mouth, your fingers dripping back into his hair.

There’s a wet little sound, a squeak of your silicone cock pushing into his wet asshole. Bucky buries his face into the sheets and mattress as he groans deep before taking the duvet into his mouth to muffle the noise. You pick up your pace, pushing up onto your knees and resting your hands on his back to hold your weight as you lean forward to fuck him hard. Your thighs slapping against his, adding to the filthy noises of your sex.

Then, in an instant, you slow down again. Wanting him to feel it all. Pull all the way out of him and plunge back in, Bucky’s eager hips pushing upward to help you sink in. You fall forward, kissing the back of his neck, his jaw lazy and sloppy. Purring in his ear, telling him he’s a good little boy, how happy you make him as you speed up once more.

You pull out of him again, but push off the edge of the bed, grabbing the last and final toy. You don’t even have to give him any instructions— it almost makes you laugh. He maneuvers up onto his knees and scuttles to the edge of the bed where he throws his feet on to the soft carpet, standing as you drop down to your knees. You pull the spreader bar out as far as it goes, so he can’t clamp those legs and thighs together to cop a feel before you’re ready for him too. You make quick work of it, wrapping the velcro cuffs around his ankles and giving them a quick tug before your back on your feet, sliding behind him and pushing him forward a few steps.

Eager fingers find his hips, push around to his stomach and then up to chest, just to feel him as you eye your bodies in the mirror. He’s flushed all over, his face blotchy and red, eyelashes clumped together as he breathes heavy through his open mouth. You flatten your palm over his heart, rest your nose and lips against his shoulder blade as you peak over his shoulder.

His cock is nearly purple he’s so hard. Balls hot to the touch and heavy as you roll them between your free fingers and give them a squeeze. You pump his cock a few times, the pads of your fingers teasing his cockhead and pushing away the beads of milky precum before you stick them right in your mouth, linking eyes with his as you clean them up. A soft giggle bubbling in your throat as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath at the sight.

You grab your cock with one hand, push lightly on his shoulder with the other to coax him to lean forward. You slide in easy he’s so wet and open. He keeps his eyes on your reflections in the mirror as you fuck into him again, him pushing back to meet your thrusts. Torture is on your mind, but he’s been through enough… for now. So you grab his swinging cock and start to pump him as you fuck him from behind, grab his sac with your other hand between his legs.

Bucky’s mewling in minutes, high-pitched and unrestrained as you push him to the brink. Throws his head back and lets his mouth hang as you set a brutal pace that he’s all too eager to meet. He gets louder, more desperate, right on the edge as you jerk his cock with the tunnel your palm makes, teasing that weeping slit and slutty, sensitive cockhead with feathersoft fingers. His asshole squelching from the slick lube and monster silicone cock massaging his insides and that sweet little deep spot.

“Look at you,” you coo, “Drooling all over yourself. You ready, sweet boy? You wanna cum, baby?”

He’s a mess. A shuddering, groaning, panting mess. Keening and cursing, gasping and hissing with every flick of your wrist and stab of your hips.

“That’s it, baby boy. Those are the moans I love to hear,” you continue to coax, “Come on baby, give it to me. You’ve earned it. Come on.” You put every ounce of your weight into your thrusts, wrist twisting up and down his cock as you squeeze his sac.

“I’m— fuck, i’m gonna,” Bucky stutters, voice breaking as a sob sticks in his throat, “Ma’am i— i’m gon—”

He can’t even finish the sentence. Every muscle he has tenses, body stiffening up quick before he cums. Red, hot cock jumping in your hand with each spurt, spilling to the floor. You fuck him right through it, with your hips and hand, wanting to drain that sac of every last drop. Bucky loses control, but only now, snapping the soft bondage rope in two. But you don’t stop, not until he’s shaking, twitching and tensing, sobbing when he’s overstimulated and it starts to hurt.

You anchor a hand in the center of his chest again, press your forehead into his shoulder, your pumping hand and hips finally starting to slow, “You’re such a pretty boy,” you murmur through kisses, “Such a good, good boy, bunny.”

He gets heavy. Limbs and muscles turning to goo. You pull out of him one last time, remove the cuffs from around his ankles and let him fall back onto the mattress, where he turns into a puddle of mush. Melts into the duvet and pillows and sheets. Lets the soft cocoon and soothe him as he cries again— just to get it all out.

You strip out of your harness, unsnap the hooks and let it pool around your feet. In all your nakedness, you climb back onto the mattress, over the sobbing man and curl around him, wrapping him up and pulling him into your chest. Fingertips push into his hair and scratch at his scalp as your lips find his forehead.

“Sweet, sweet, boy,” you murmur over and over again.

He nuzzles into you, his face right into your chest and tits. Throws his arms around your waist and pulls you close. Holds you tight. And he just cries. Because it feels good. Because he can. Because he’s safe, and it’s really the first time in over eighty years he’s felt anything like this. Safe. Comfortable. Vulnerable. So he cries— because he feels good.

“Your hair smells nice,” Bucky whispers after a long while, sniffling a little, eyes red and wet, lashes clumpy.

You laugh but it’s low and kinda slow as you drag your lips back and forth along his forehead, still scratching at his scalp and wiping his soft hair back and away, “Thanks baby, new shampoo.”

“I like it curly though,” he shrugs a little, “Or the braids.”

Your laughter grows, “Well excuse the fuck outta me, Barnes. I thought I called the shots around here, bud.”

“You do, I just… y’know,” you can feel him smiling into your skin, tightening his grip around your body.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure Nat adds it to your file.”

“Thank you.”

It’s heavy and light, the thank you, all at the same time. It means so much, but also nothing at all because of the timing. He could just be playing along with the joke— or thanking you for fucking him into oblivion, taking the weight of the world off his shoulders for just one night. Letting him be him. You’ll never really know which way he wants it to go.

Or maybe you do and just don’t wanna admit it. That you like being here more than you should. That you like being the one to strip him down to flesh, blood and bone.

But that’s all for another day.

“Can you stay?”

You take a breath. Let it out slow and easy. Place another kiss to his forehead and drag your free hand up and down his arm, “If you need me bunny, I’m here. You know that.”

“Let Vladimir know she’s in for a long night.”

“That’s not funny,” you giggle, fumbling around on the nightstand for your phone, “I’m telling her you said that.”

Bucky yawns, nuzzles deep into your body as he settles in, “I can take her.”

Gonna be an all nighter. I can have Bucky get you a guest pass.

Dinner too. You ok? Need me?

No ma’am. I’ll text you in the morning.

спокойной ночи

“Jarvis?” Bucky pipes up, his voice heavy and laced with sleep as he nuzzles in again.

“Mr. Barnes?”

“Set Yelena Belova up in a guest suite, please.”

“She wants dinner too,” you smile.

Bucky sighs heavily, “Whatever she orders for dinner, charge to Steve’s apartment.”

You slap his arm playfully, your laughter filling the room, “That’s not nice!”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” Jarvis’ calm voice rings through the room, “I’ll contact Ms. Belova. Have a pleasant evening.”

“We good?” Bucky asks, yawning.

“We good,” you smile, “Get some sleep, soldier. We still got a couple rounds to go.”

You feel him smile into your skin, “Yes ma’am.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x smut

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

#deckard shaw #deckard shaw x reader #female reader #fast and furious #hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw fanfiction #hobbs and shaw fanfiction #deckard shaw / reader #jason statham #jason statham imagine #smut #hobbs and shaw smut #deckard shaw reader insert #fast and furious fanfiction

[jungkxook]

—the love bug. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: spiderman!jungkook + fluff / smut

⟶ words: 20,649 (sorry)

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: every night, jungkook puts on the red mask and flings himself confidently into perilous danger; but that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit seems to fail him whenever it comes to you 

⟶ warnings: coarse language, mild violence, jungkook is really shy and cute and dumb bc he’s so smitten, also jungkook’s butt in spandex is nice, needy/clingy sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), face riding, fingering, riding, missionary, unprotected sex

⟶ disclaimer: this is a repost of a fic i had on my old blog! 

You see Jungkook every night without fail.

When the sun has set below the distant horizon and plunges the world into a formidable darkness, driving most ordinary civilians to seek shelter in their homes, he stumbles into the café tucked cozily on the corner of a busy street in Lower Manhattan. The concrete city is still very much alive in a harmonious mix of sirens and the hum of cars but is subdued, muffling under the night sky and is most susceptible at this time to misconduct. Usually, at this point of night, the café you work at is nearly empty, save for a few stragglers that huddle tiredly at certain round tables. Most times, these are students from the university you attend just around the bend, whose weary eyes peer over the laptop in front of them as they meticulously work on an essay due the next morning, only fueled by the cup of coffee next to them.

Though you’ve seen Jungkook plenty of times around the campus of your school, he never once enters the café for the sole purpose of late night studying or writing. Instead, as you come to find over the course of many strange nights, Jungkook stumbles in through the doors sometime after 9 p.m., always with one strap of his backpack thrown over his shoulder. He always looks dishevelled, exhausted, as if he has spent the evening running all over the city of New York; and then he plops himself down into a seat by the window, burying his head in his folded arms that lean on the top of the table. Most times he orders a coffee and though he downs it the fastest you’ve ever seen, he is still somehow able to fall asleep at the table. Sometimes, he hardly ever touches the coffee and lets it grow cold as it rests next to him but he always, without a doubt, falls asleep next to it.

You never wake him. Usually, when you work the late night shifts, you are alone for a handful of hours until your next coworker arrives for their shift. You don’t mind the company anyway, even if he sleeps for most of the night. It’s comforting to at least see he’s resting, though you find yourself snickering to yourself as you watch the snoring boy when it’s just you and him alone in the café. Though you have grown up with Jungkook as your next door neighbour as a child, have attended the same schools and been in most classes together from elementary all the way to your freshman year of college now, and have watched one another mature and change, you have never really exactly gotten to know Jungkook as well as you’d like. Typically, your conversations are short and friendly, ranging from you taking his order at the café and spotting him around campus and asking if he knew the answer to a question for the homework assigned to the class you share with him.

This night isn’t any different.

You’ve become eager, always anticipating when Jungkook will walk through the doors of the café and make himself at home as he routinely does. However, just before 9 p.m. on a Thursday night, when the small bell above the door rings to signal a new arrival, you are immediately disappointed to find that it is not Jungkook. Instead, it is a crude muscular man not much older than you with tattoos that litter his arms and a star inked into the left side of his neck. The sight of him causes you to groan inwardly, forces you to straighten your back a little more, hold your chin a little higher. Most nights the café may be occupied by university students, but other nights you are forced to deal with tasteless strangers that try to intimidate you but instead give you an agonising headache.

You have seen this man before, have remembered the star tattoo and the scar just above his right eyebrow. He has come into the café before and has been the source of trouble more often than not. As the man approaches the counter in an imperious stride this time, you notice the smirk that tugs at his lips and feel the foreboding shudder that runs down your spine.

“Evenin’,” You greet. “Can I get you anything?”

The man’s eyes flicker to the menu above the counter, as if he is pondering what to order. He looks back down at you and then leans against the counter, closing the distance between him and you causing you to take a step back.

“How are you doing tonight, sweetheart?” he asks. “Been awhile, huh? Did you miss me?”

Forcing a fixed smile on your face, you reply shortly with, “I’ve been well. Can I get you anything?”

Apparently, the way you repeat your question in a firm manner doesn’t act as well of a hint as you had hoped for the man. He’s smirking wickedly, clearly enjoying the strain he puts you through.

“I know what you can get me, sweetheart,” he drawls. “When do you get off? Maybe we can meet round back and I can show you what a real man is like.”

“No thanks.”

“Playing hard to get, hm?” he muses. “I wonder what else that pretty little mouth of yours can do.”

Though you are appalled, you swallow your nerves and narrow your eyes into a glare. It can tell you to kindly fuck off, you grimace to yourself. Instead, you turn your back to him, pretending to occupy yourself with cleaning the counter as you mumble blankly, “Not interested.”

The man chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s just a little fun━”

“She said she’s not interested.”

The familiar voice that interrupts the man causes your heart to leap blithely in your chest and makes you realize you have been so caught up with the man by the counter that you hardly noticed the way the bell rings a second time as the newcomer enters the shop. Standing just behind the man is Jungkook, whose carob hair sticks out in messy tufts and weary eyes are laced with an underlying menace. The man looks from you to Jungkook and must assume the confrontation isn’t worth a fight. The smug smile remains on his face even as he shrugs, muttering something along the lines of, “Whatever, man. I was just trying to have some fun.”

Whether or not Jungkook has scared him away, the man relents and retreats to the door of the café, disappearing outside once more. As soon as the door shuts behind him, you come to realize that you are now alone in the café with Jungkook with nothing but the sound of the flat screen t.v that hangs in a corner behind the counter, faintly playing on the news channel.

“You okay?” he asks, catching your attention. “He didn’t do anything, did he?”

“Oh, no. No, I’m fine,” You say. “Thanks for that, by the way. Though I could’ve handled it myself.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I don’t doubt that but it’s nice to get a little help sometimes.”

You smile up at the boy who towers above you and, despite the fatigue that droops his eyes, his pink lips still unfurl into a wide, radiant grin that brightens his face.

“How long are you here for tonight?” he asks.

“Till close. Then I have to head home and put together a powerpoint for psych,” You yawn as if to emphasize your boredom. “What can I get you? The usual?”

Jungkook looks at you as if you are his saving grace. The smile stretches further across his cheeks as he nods. “Please?”

“Will do. Sit tight, I’ll be right over.”

You spin around from behind the counter, almost immediately jumping to work as you rummage through the shelves. When you’re finished making his order that consists solely of a medium black coffee with two sugars and turn back around to face him, you find him seated at a table off to the side, not far from the counter. His backpack lays discarded on the ground by his feet and his elbow rests on top of the surface of the table, his chin nestled in the palm of his hand; his eyes are fixated on the television screen hanging just ahead and, for once upon entering the café past dusk, he doesn’t lack a sense of emotion. Instead, his brows knit in concern as he is engrossed by whatever is happening on the news.

As you approach his table with his coffee in your hand, you crane your neck to look up at the screen and what has seemingly caught his interest. On one side of the screen is a female news reporter in a pink blouse and gray blazer; on the second half of the screen, you see a familiar flash of striking red and blue that swings from building to building from an, albeit, shaky recording from a passerby’s phone.

“And in other news,” The woman who speaks has a strong, smooth voice as she stares ahead at the camera with a rather sour look, “the masked mystery man, otherwise known as Spider-Man, was spotted earlier this morning when he put a stop to a robbery in an apartment in Queens just before noon. Though most would argue that Spider-Man is New York’s very own masked hero, the New York City Police Department are still searching for the identity of whom they call a vigilante, saying he is causing mayhem in━”

“Some guy, huh?” You muse pensively, sliding the coffee onto the counter next to Jungkook. “This spider guy or whatever.”

The boy in front of you glances down meekly at the coffee and back up at you. His eyes flicker to the screen hanging in the corner once more. “You mean Spider-Man?”

Nodding, you say, “Yeah. He comes out of nowhere two years ago and now he’s everywhere. What do you think of him helping with all this dangerous crime stuff?”

“Ah, well, that’s his thing,” Jungkook says, shrugging. “If he couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t be helping solve a lot of the city’s crimes. I think he’s pretty cool, y’know, for a masked guy. I definitely don’t think he’s a vigilante or━ or a criminal.”

“You talk about him as if you know him,” You giggle.

Jungkook’s eyes widen for a split second and then he’s furiously shaking his head. “Know him? No, no, of course not! I’m just a… Just a big fan ━ and an even bigger fan of Iron Man.”

He picks up the coffee next to him and lifts it to his mouth for a quick sip, nearly burning his tongue but swallowing his curses.

“I like him,” You confess at long last. “He’s interesting. I think he’s just what we need at a time like this.”

Just then, the bell above the door rings once more and a small group of friends wander into the shop, each carrying backpacks and heavy textbooks. They sit at a table off in the corner and you sigh as you look back down at Jungkook.

“That’s my cue,” You say. “Gotta go, but have a good night, okay? And, Jungkook? You really should get some more sleep.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond but you are already turning away and so he sits back in his seat, defeated once more. He watches as you stride happily to the group of friends sitting at a table to take their order, your hair bouncing slightly under the fluorescent lights. He folds his arms over the top of his table and buries his head in them, though he sneaks one last glance up at you. Despite his eyes itching with sleep, he pries them open just a second longer to watch you smile as you speak with the students and it is the last thing he sees before he slips off into a light and contented sleep.

As you step out into the cool, early Autumn night and shut the door of the café behind you to lock it, the single thought most prominent in your mind is sleep.

You’re exhausted, but the homework still waiting to be completed in your home is the only thing that pushes you to stay awake. You hurry to fish the store keys out of your coat pocket and, with a euphonious chime, use them to lock the front door, ignoring the way the cold breeze nips at your cheeks. You grasp the collar of your coat tighter around your body and then hike the strap of your own bag further up your shoulder as you turn to walk away.

Jungkook had fallen asleep as per usual after your short conversation with him and then vanished an hour some time before you closed, waving a final farewell to you. The rest of your night had been rather slow, with only two more customers entering the café until each person left to venture back out into the cold and leave you alone. To finally be freed from the confinements of the café has you breathing in the crisp air in a deep breath. Exhaling placidly, you cross the street and begin making your way toward your one bedroom apartment which is only a fifteen minute walk away from both the café and your school.

You aren’t quite sure how long you have been walking for when you begin to notice the sound of footsteps behind you. In fact, if you had been listening more intently since the second you left the café, you would be able to recall the fact that these same heavy footsteps had been following along behind you since then. You don’t necessarily see the problem at hand just yet, thinking it to be just another innocent passerby who is coincidentally walking the same way as you. After all, New York City has a tremendously huge population.

You take a left, turning the corner of the street to continue along the path to your home. The only light that illuminates the way are the silvery wisps from the moon that hangs high in the night sky and the flickering street lamps that you pass occasionally. You take another left and strain your ears and hear the sound of footsteps again. Maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was just a random passerby, but most cities weren’t foreign to that of strange stalkers. Holding your breath, you slowly glance over your shoulder at the figure who has been following you and spot a man just a few paces away, the hood of his sweater drawn over his head.

You immediately turn back around, eyes wide as panic begins to settle in. You take another left, then a right, cross the street and retrace your steps back towards the café and each time you hear the heavy footsteps; each time they quicken in pace as does yours. You hadn’t even realized how briskly you were walking until you glance over your shoulder for a second time and see the man once more. Suddenly, you turn a sharp corner and race ahead before coming across an empty and darkened alleyway. You slip into its shadows, your heart hammering wildly against your chest and in your ears, and continue to walk until the brick wall at the very end of the alleyway comes into view. A dead end.

You turn back around and begin walking forward before freezing suddenly. If you go back out there, that man could still be lurking; if you stay in the alleyway, you could hide until you think it’s safe. Your eyes flicker around for something to cower behind and just before you notice the dumpster off to the side, you see a shadow in the corner of your eye. Turning around, you come face-to-face with the hooded man who is all but blocking your path to freedom. Except now, you’re able to stare into his face past the silhouette that his hood draws on his features. Now, you can see the star tattoo on his neck, the scar above his right eyebrow and an image of the man from the café only hours ago flashes across your eyes.

“You,” You gasp. “What do you want from me?”

Behind his hood, you can see him smirk slyly. “I just want to chat to you, babe. What are you doing all by yourself out here?”

Your eyes narrow into a scrutinizing glare. You step forward to walk around him but he grabs onto you, his arm snaking around your waist as he drawls, “Not so fast. I’ve been meaning to get you alone like this.”

Just as you open your mouth to shout out for help, the noise of sudden scuffling in the alley causes the man to stop. It comes with the rustling of the wind and could have easily been mistaken for the sound of a trash can falling over or paper tumbling loosely but it is also unmistakable the sound of footsteps. The man must notice something before you do as he squints further into the alleyway, muttering a small, “What the hell━”

“Come on, dude, that’s seriously no way to treat a girl!”

The foreign voice that drifts into the alleyway seems to startle not only yourself, but the man in front of you. His grip loosens on you slightly as he cranes his neck to look amongst the shadows.

“Well, anyone, for that matter.”

The stranger’s voice is youthful, most likely belonging to a boy around your age. It is oddly calm and nonchalant despite the situation that is unfolding before him, and then he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. As your eyes flicker open, you follow the source of the sound towards the blocked end of the alleyway still veiled by the darkness. Had this person always been there or had they really materialized out of thin air?

“Who’s there?” The man in front of you grunts. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“And why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” The voice retaliates. He pauses as if he is waiting for an answer and then he is speaking up again. “Let me guess. You’re gonna tell me to screw off or something right? God, you guys are always so predictable and yet you never make it any easier for me.”

The man scowls, his hand drops from your throat as he turns to the looming darkness and hisses gruffly, “Mind your own business, punk━”

Before he can carry on, something flings out of the darkness and lands on the man’s face in a blink of an eye. He immediately lets go of you, grunting in confusion and flailing his arms about. As you drop to the ground, you subsequently bang your head hard against the brick wall and groan in pain, though you’re able to catch a glimpse of what the man is trying so desperately to claw off his face before your vision goes blurry. It is something thin and wispy, made of silver glistening strands that resembles, oddly enough, a spider’s web. As the man fumbles into the darkness, arms swinging clenched fists wildly about.

“Over here!” The boy taunts. “Missed me again! You know, you’re not very good at this.”

You struggle to climb to your feet, clutching your head in agony as you squint into the darkness. From where you are, you can only see the man fumbling around uselessly, the other figure still concealed by the darkness. As you attempt to get a better look, you hear the boy grunt in pain and catch sight of the man just after he had swung his fist into this person’s face, while his other hand had successfully been able to finally rip the mesh off his face.

“Okay, ow, that hurt,” The boy admits.

But before he or the man can continue on, you’re springing forward, mustering all your strength and courage into one impromptu movement. You grab your bag that had been discarded on the ground, heavy with a few school textbooks you had brought with you; you clutch it tightly, race up behind the man, and swing it hard at his head. His actions come to a sudden halt, he staggers forward, and immediately collapses to the ground, unconscious. Then finally, plunged into the darkness of the alleyway, you slowly look up to face the eye of your helper and are met, instead, with a flash of red and blue.

Standing before you, adorned head to toe in a tight suit is none other than the mysterious masked vigilante. He’s much taller in person than you expected, and much more muscular too, though with his face hidden beyond a mask, you can’t say much else about him. Instead, you gasp as you stare up at him in astonishment.

“Hey, nice hit!” he says, an apparent grin in his voice. “That was pretty awesome━”

“It’s you!” You exclaim.

“Me?” He seems confused at first but then he’s straightening up. “Oh, right, right. It’s me! Just, uh, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Rescuing damsels in distress is kinda my thing.”

Your amusement for the mysterious hero is quick to fade, however, in wake of the throbbing pain on your head. It makes you aware of the fact that your knees have since grown weak, your mind spinning. When you take a step forward, you are suddenly faint and stumble over your feet, tripping to the ground. Before you can hit the pavement, the boy swoops forward and into view, catching you swiftly in his arms and holding you up.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he says. “Oh man, we gotta get you home. Can you tell me where you live?”

You can feel your lips moving in response, most likely informing him foolishly of the apartment complex you live in. Though this boy has been noted on performing acts of bravery and fighting against crime, he’s still a stranger ━ and, even more warily so, a complete enigma. There was no reason to trust him, despite him helping you only minutes ago, but in that moment you are weak and exhausted. In the very next second, you find yourself slipping off into a deep and tranquil slumber.

When you awaken the next morning, you are first greeted to the bright light of the sun that licks at your cheeks and warms your face. You note the soft plush of the mattress under you, the soft breeze that ruffles your hair, and when you pry your eyes open, you find yourself laying on the bed in your room; your window opened. Just when you begin to think the night before was all just some elaborate dream, you feel the slight tinge of pain in the back of your head and, despite it all ━ despite the pain and despite the memory strange man who had followed you ━ you smile softly at the thought of the boy in red and blue.

The next time you see Jungkook is on that Thursday.

Truthfully, you’ve been eager to find him around campus if only to tell him about your encounter with New York’s masked hero. You hadn’t told many people, safe for your closest friends, though you’re keen to see Jungkook’s reaction as you’ve learned he’s a fan of this spider guy. Wednesday is the only day you have a class with him and so as soon as the boring lecture for your anthropology class is finished, you spot him striding casually out the door and catch up to him just as he’s walking down the smooth pavement of the campus sidewalk.

Word, however, seems to spread fast amongst the friends in your year and whereas you only told one of your friends on that previous Friday about your encounter in the alleyway, Jungkook has already heard the story through misconstrued words at least a dozen times, through whisperings of people that aren’t even your friends. It’s a novelty, apparently, to witness something like this strange masked man. But, naturally, Jungkook is rather surprised when he hears your familiar dulcet voice calling his name.

“Jungkook!”

He whirls around to face you and smiles as he sees your figure walking towards him, adorned in leggings and a baggy school shirt to match the evening’s warm weather. You’re smiling at him, almost as radiantly as the sun that it almost quite literally blinds him as he doesn’t seem to notice the other girl walking just in front of him. He bumps into her before he can step out of the way and hastily apologizes before turning back to you only to see you giggling.

“What can I do for you on this fine evening?” he asks as you approach.

“I’ve been meaning to find you since Friday,” You say. “You’ll never believe what happened on Thursday.”

“I’ve been hearing it all week since then.”

“You have? Who told you?”

This causes Jungkook to chuckle lightly. He hikes the usual one strap of his backpack further up his shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “Y/N, everyone’s been talking about it. I guess no one can keep their mouth shut anymore. So tell me: what was this Spider-Man guy like?”

A small smile stretches across your face at the name, your teeth instinctively biting down on your lower lip in an attempt to hide in. Was it just Jungkook or did he see the slightest of pink pinch at your cheeks? When you look back up at him, your eyes are shimmering.

“Honestly?” You reply sheepishly. “I think I’m crushing on him pretty hard.”

Jungkook nearly chokes. When he speaks next, his voice is slightly higher than usual, so he clamps his mouth shut, clears his throat, and tries again. “You don’t say? He must be a real charmer then. Do you, uh, even know him well enough to crush on him?”

“It’s strange,” You remark. “You’re right ━ I don’t even know him and yet I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since then. I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh?”

“What even happened?” Jungkook asks.

“Remember that guy you scared away Thursday night? I got into some trouble with him━ but don’t worry!” You throw in the last few words when you see Jungkook’s brows scrunch in concern. “Spider-Man came before anything could happen. He saved me. I owe him my life at this point.”

Jungkook notes the dreamlike tone in your voice and when he glances down at you, you’re smiling blissfully down at your scuffed Converse shoes. It’s mesmerizing to see you so content and jubilant, beaming like the sun once more that hangs in the clear cerulean blue sky. He inhales a deep breath of fresh air, smells the wafting nodes of freshly ground coffee somewhere in the distance, and exhales slowly.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he looks over at you once more and asks, “Hey, um, so for that anthro project we have to do ━ I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to be partners for it?”

Your eyes light up at the proposition and you nod enthusiastically. “Sure thing. I’d love that, actually. Maybe we can meet up this Sunday to plan everything out and see who’s doing what?”

“Hey, Y/N!”

Just then, you hear the familiar sound of your friend calling your name. You glance ahead where your eyes land on a group of girls sitting on a nearby bench and you wave at them. They gesture you over and you skip ahead a few paces, turning to look at Jungkook. He smiles as he nods.

“Sorry,” You apologize sheepishly. “But Sunday at the café at noon?”

“Sounds like a date.” Jungkook reddens suddenly at the way he words his thoughts and stammers to correct himself. “Not a date! Work date. Uh━”

“It’s a date,” You giggle. “See you!”

Then you’re rushing off to join your friends, leaving Jungkook alone once more. He sighs in your wake, shakes his head at himself, and grudgingly walks away.

That night you can hardly sleep.

You blame it on the stress that comes with being a student, constantly under the strain of a multitude of assignments and upcoming tests. When the clock strikes half past one in the morning just as you are finishing typing up the last sentence of a seven page essay on your laptop (seated at your desk, where you have been for the past few hours), you decide you need a break before you go absolutely insane. Shrugging on a simple cardigan, you tiptoe out of your room, down the corridor to the elevator, ignoring the way your joints that have stiffened in place stretch in a satisfying pop. You’re stumbling out and onto the roof of your apartment building in no less than five minutes, emerging out into the open night.

It isn’t terribly cold and, after inhaling a deep breath of the refreshing air, you sigh in relief and you walk to the concrete barrier at the very edge of the roof and lean against it. Gazing out at the vibrant and lively concrete and glass buildings and skyscrapers alike that build the city of New York, with each window illuminated by a warm glow of light, seems to give you a sense of peace. You can hear the hum of cars, a distant sound of sirens, the occasional honk, and the thump of bass from somewhere in the distance to your left, all amassing into the rhythmic pulse of the city; across from you, in the building complex on the other side of the street, you can see silhouetted figures of perhaps caffeinated students or late night lovers. The sky is empty, blank and dull as it stretches on over the entirety of the city, but you can see the moon, brightly shining in all its glory, bold and proud amongst the artificial light.

A slight breeze disrupts the stillness of the roof, rustles your hair, followed by the looming feeling of not being alone. You hear the sound of footsteps landing softly on the ground and turn around slowly, casting your gaze across the seemingly empty rooftop. But you see it ━ or rather, him ━ in the shadows near the door a bit further off. It’s strange how calm you are in the moment but the presence doesn’t exactly feel intimidating to you ━ especially when you notice the flash of red and blue.

“You again?” You ask humorously.

“Sorry if I scared you.” The voice that carries with the wind towards you is familiar, youthful. “Definitely not my intention.”

“I’m not scared,” You say. “If I can recall amongst your many gritty crime fighting, you saved a cat stuck in a tree a while back.”

The boy chuckles. “Ah, well, just all a part of the job.”

“What are you doing here?” You take a step toward him and hear him retreat further into the darkness.

“Well, you’re probably going to call me weird and insane,” he says, “but I just wanted to check on you. You were pretty out of it when I dropped you off at your place.”

“You’re not stalking me now, are you?”

“No way!” he says. “I was just, y’know, in the neighbourhood. I was actually about to call it a night when I passed your apartment and then I saw you up here. Must be fate, huh?”

“Fate sure is weird,” You muse pensively, pursing your lips. You pause, squinting your eyes into the darkness. “Thanks, by the way. For helping me that night and bringing me back. Is there anyway I can repay you?”

“Repay me? Oh, no, no!” he says. “That’s not what this is all about, I promise. What I do is for the city and for the people. I can sleep better at night knowing thugs like that guy are being taken care of properly.”

“That’s a pretty commendable thing to do,” You say. “You gotta be pretty brave to put yourself in danger each night.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

There’s a smirk in his voice that stretches his words into a confident and smug drawl. You, in turn, smile bashfully. You look down at your shoes and then back up at the shadows.

“Can you step out of the dark?” You ask. “I want to see you.”

“Ah, but then that’ll ruin the mystique,” he points out. “And where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head at him, pearly white teeth gnawing down on your lower lip to hide the smile that tugs at your mouth. You pull your cardigan tighter around your torso, ignoring the distant sound of a wailing siren.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” he says. “I have to go but it was a pleasure meeting you━ uh, what was your name again?”

“I never told you,” You say. “And if I do, it’ll ruin the mystique, won’t it? Where’s the fun in that?”

He laughs into the night, a sound so genuine and amiable. “Fair enough. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, despite the terrible circumstances. Try to stay out of trouble, okay? And get some sleep!”

You can hear him moving, as if preparing to leave. You step forward, mouth opening to stop him, but then he is gone, the sound of feet leaping into the air the last thing you hear from him. By the time you rush to the other side of the roof and look around frantically for any sight of him, you spot the mysterious vigilante as a tiny speck soaring from building to building. You smile as you watch him disappear amongst the horizon, bleeding into the glow of lights until he is gone, becoming one with the city altogether.

The days pass in a very typical blur.

Sunday comes and goes much too fast where both you and Jungkook work diligently for a few hours at the café before the rest of the week goes by. You hardly see Jungkook except for at night, as always past 9 p.m., when he stumbles wearily into the café and plops down in his usual seat. And, with the days passing as usual, there are still the consistent reports of sightings of this mysterious Spider-Man. Though you seem to go about your routinely oblivious days, you are all Jungkook is able to think about. You are all he usually thinks about these days, anyway, and all he is thinking about that very Wednesday when he’s supposed to be hanging out with Taehyung.

It isn’t uncommon to see Jungkook with Taehyung around campus. They have, after all, been best friends since the moment they met in their small daycare they attended together. Taehyung is more than accustomed with Jungkook’s habits and knows the boy in and out, including every secret and every crush he’s ever had (which, for the most part, has been you). That Thursday afternoon they are both sitting at the park just across from campus where most students from the school spend their time. Jungkook’s perched on the edge of the large concrete water fountain in the middle of the bustling meadow, with Taehyung reclining on his back, basking in the sun with a bag of chips on his stomach. They both spot you walking by with a friend and wave at Jungkook which causes Taehyung to roll his eyes.

“Dude,” he sighs, exasperated. “Just ask her out already. She already said she’s crushing on you.”

Jungkook looks down at his friend and shakes his head. “No, she said she’s crushing on Spider-Man. Not me.”

Taehyung, who was in the middle of shoving a handful of chips in his mouth, stops suddenly. He pushes himself up, nearly dropping the bag of chips, eyes wide as he stares at Jungkook in utter disbelief.

“Are you kidding me, dude?” He asks incredulously. “You’re the same person, you idiot.”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Jungkook explains calmly. “As far as she knows, Spider-Man is this cool dude and I’m just… I’m just me. Jungkook. Boring and not charming.”

“So then tell her the truth,” Taehyung says. “Y’know, use yourself as your own wingman.”

As he shoves another handful of chips into his mouth, Jungkook shakes his head once more. He’s already thought of this idea plenty of times before but it’s not as easy as it seems. The responsibility that comes with putting on that mask each night is followed by even greater risks for the people he’s around. Telling you the truth could only end in one way, anyway.

“I can’t do that,” Jungkook says. “What if I tell her and she’s let down?”

Taehyung would shake his head disapprovingly at his friend this time and mumble something along the lines of, “You think too much.”

And while that may be true in Jungkook’s case, Taehyung just wouldn’t understand. There is a reason Taehyung is the only person who knows about Jungkook’s secret and he is already endangering the life of his friend. To tell anyone else would only result in a much more terrible outcome for not only the people around him, but Jungkook himself. Still, though, as Jungkook settles back on the edge of the fountain and looks in the direction of the path you had vanished along, there is an inkling of a voice in the back of his mind that nags him, urges him, to tell you.

Jungkook sighs. He finds it ironic that anytime he puts on the red mask and flings himself into perilous danger, he is always confident, never once wavering, and yet when he is just himself, just another mundane passerby, that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit suddenly pales in comparison.

If only he could be so brave without that mask.

On Friday evening well into the night when what little stars you can see in the polluted sky begins to blend with the glowing light from building windows as far as the eye can see you find yourself at an overcrowded and clamorous party. You had been more than content with spending the start of your weekend not working but, upon entering the party, you find yourself not nearly enjoying the time as well as you had hoped you would. You’ve long since lost sight of your friends and the guy standing in the corner of the living room who had been eyeing you for most of the night had most certainly not helped with your mood ━ and, if anything, turned you off from drinking.

Albeit still slightly buzzed from the few drinks you had earlier been bestowed in the quintessential red solo cup that defines every high school and college party you’ve been to, you stumble out onto the balcony of one of the rooms for a breath of fresh air and are startled to find you aren’t alone when you spot the figure of a young man leaning against the railing.

“Oh, shit, sorry. Didn’t know anyone was out here━”

As the figure turns around, you are relieved and thrilled to see it’s Jungkook. You stop yourself, clamping your mouth shut, and smile up at him with a dainty hand on your hip. A look of recognition dawns on his face at the sight of you, his own lips tugging into a friendly grin.

“That’s okay,” he says. “Feel free to join me on the balcony of escaped party attendees ━ because I assume that’s what you’re doing? Escaping?”

You push yourself forward to the railing, standing beside him as he turns back around to face the city. “I just needed a break from it all. You? I gotta say I’m pleasantly surprised to see you here.”

He flashes you a sheepish smile, resting his arms atop the railing and leaning forward. “Exactly. Parties aren’t really my scene. My friend, Taehyung, dragged me out here but this balcony seems to be my favourite place.”

“Well, if it means anything,” You tell him, “I’m glad you came.”

When you look at Jungkook, you find him already gazing at you, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. His carob eyes crinkle with the smile on his face and he finds himself still staring at you even long after you have turned away to stare up at the sky. It’s a surprisingly warm night, though you silently thank yourself for throwing on the denim jacket you’re wearing earlier in the day whenever a cool breeze breaks through the city.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” You say after a while. “That we can’t see the stars from the city. That’s why I like camping. Star-gazing and watching the sunrise are two of my favourite things. It kind of keeps me humble in a way.”

“That’s an interesting way of thinking about that,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes I get so carried away by being in the city; it’s kind of nice just to slow things down once in a while.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way,” You crane your neck to cast a steady gaze across the towering buildings in the near distance. “The city can be pretty beautiful, too, though.”

“You think so?”

“Of course,” Your eyes twinkle playfully at a sudden thought that seems to warm your face. “And some of the people help make it beautiful. Like that spider guy. What he’s doing for the city is incredible.”

“Ah, right. Spider-Man.” The words leave Jungkook in a small exhale. “You must really like him, huh?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I can name a few. Like the police.”

“They’re just scared of him because he’s doing their job better than they ever could.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. He shakes his head as he looks down at his clasped hands and the calluses on his fingers from past tribulations. It’s silent again, in which time the thump of bass from the party ensuing behind you two fills the air, followed by a burst of vigorous chanting and cheering from within.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks suddenly, his voice timid.

“Go ahead.”

Jungkook pauses, thinking. He seems to struggle with forming his thoughts into words as he remains silent for a second too long. “Okay, let’s say I know this person really important to me, and let’s say I have this thing ━ this equally as important thing ━ that I really want to tell them. The thing is, I can’t just do that because if I do, I’m afraid that this person will be let down. What do you think I should do?”

You’re quiet as you ponder his words, looking pensively down at the city below.

“Well,” You hum slowly, “what’s the point in hiding behind a fake front the whole time? It’s kind of like hiding behind a mask your whole life, right? And I think life is too short for that because, before you know it, it’ll be too late. What if you don’t tell this person and you end up regretting it for the rest of your life? I don’t know. Sometimes I think that you just meet the right person in life who’s worth that risk.”

Jungkook turns to look at you and suddenly your eyes meet in a steady, thoughtful gaze. His own stare softens at whatever sort of thoughts flood his mind and you wonder if his eyes have always been that shimmering. His tousled dark brown locks flitter slightly in the breeze, his pink lips parted ever so slightly. You open your mouth to speak, uttering his name in a euphonious whisper.

“Jungkook, I━”

But your voice is cut off abruptly by the influx sound of wailing sirens down below that convey some sort of grim situation unfolding somewhere in the formidable darkness of the night. Both you and Jungkook press yourselves over the railing, squinting down at the crowded streets below just in time to see a flash of blinking red lights and a mass of both police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks. From somewhere in the background from within the party, you can hear a voice exclaiming, “Dude, there’s a fire around the corner from here! The whole street is blocked off.”

“No way. What the hell happened?” Another voice asks.

You exchange a wary glance with Jungkook before slipping back into the party. A small group has formed around the t.v. in the living room, on which is playing the local news and showcasing a burning apartment building, the vicious orange flames of which billow out of opened windows and all but consume the top floor as clouds of gray and black smoke invade the night sky. There’s a reporter talking fast into the camera, describing in detail what had happened to the building on a nearby street, but your eyes can only stay fixated on the monstrous flames. You don’t realize Taehyung has somehow found both you and his friend and is standing behind the other boy, watching the news unfold before him. Unbeknownst to you, his stare flickers nervously to Jungkook and then━

“Shit,” Jungkook curses suddenly. “I gotta go.”

You turn to look at him curiously. “Go where? It’s midnight on a Friday.”

“I completely forgot I had to pick my aunt up from the subway,” he says. “She works the late night shifts and I can’t let her walk alone in the dark like this. I’ll see you both later! Let me know what happens with the fire.”

Taehyung, who seems more than accustomed to Jungkook’s abrupt pardon of his presence, nods. “Will do.”

The boy is already a few feet away from you, rushing toward the front door of the room, but you stop him before he can slip out of your reach entirely.

“Wait, Jungkook!” You call out. He spins around to look at you almost immediately, a look of panic on his face. “Don’t forget we have to meet up at the library on Sunday to work on the project.”

“Got it,” he says, raising his two forefingers to his forehead in a mock salute. He turns back around and begins bounding towards the door, giving you two one last wave. “See you later!”

The door slams shut behind him and the party, despite the group crowded around the t.v., carries on in a cacophonous sound of drunken yelling and dumb music, completely and utterly oblivious. You let out a sigh as you turn back to the t.v., noting Taehyung’s presence still beside you. He takes a satisfying sip of whatever beverage is occupying the red cup in his hand and nods.

“That’s Jungkook for you,” he says. His voice is a tired sigh, dispirited almost, as he thinks of the boy that has been his friend since freshman year of highschool. Just before he turns away, you hear him muttering, “Always putting others before him.”

You don’t see Jungkook that Sunday.

Whether or not he had entirely blown you off or had simply forgotten, you wait and wait in complete silence in the school library for nearly three hours as every call and every text you send to his phone goes otherwise unnoticed or ignored. It is entirely unlike Jungkook to completely vanish and though you want to be mad, you are more disappointed than anything else. You spend your time at a table by yourself, books and papers sprawled out before you, as you try to work diligently on the last piece of writing you need for the assignment to be complete whilst trying to not let your eyes wander to the time on the clock hanging on the wall opposite you but to no avail.

In a corner above the front desk, you see a t.v. propped on the wall that plays the silent image of the news as they recall the events from that Friday at the burning building. Fortunately, that spider guy had arrived before any casualties could happen and you watch, for the third time since Friday, as the recording footage shows the red and blue hero swinging defiantly into the wall of fire and pulling various residents from the fire. A duo of girls sitting next to you croons dreamily over the masked man, especially as they witness him emerging from the fire with a small and unscathed Corgi dog in his hands that, you admit, is rather admirable.

On Wednesday night, you find yourself stuck in the sparkling confinements of the café bound to the six hour shift you were in the midst of completing. It’s surprisingly busy for a day in the middle of the week, though you assume that’s only because each customer is in a rush to seek refuge from the surprisingly cold evening. You hadn’t even been thinking about Jungkook when he makes himself known in the café some time after 9 p.m. You hear the bell ring above the door, feel a short gust of shocking wind, before it shuts behind him. When you look up instinctively to greet the newcomer and lay your eyes on the boy, your words fall short.

You watch as he stumbles forward, his feet practically dragging behind him in worn up Converse shoes. He looks exhausted ━ even more so than usual ━ and judging by his dishevelled hair and crumpled clothes and the way he seems to walk in a daze as if he is in another world, you assume he hasn’t slept in a while. He still hauls his backpack with one strap slung over his shoulder that he drops lazily to the ground beside a table before he plops himself down into the seat with a groan in one swift motion. What’s most strange are the blossoming bruises on his neck and the fresh cut on the highest point of his left cheekbone.

You hate that you’re so weak for that boy; that even though he completely ignored you, you still pity him. Wondering what sorts of trouble he’s been finding himself in lately, you pour him a cup of steaming black coffee and walk towards his table. He hardly even notices you as his head is buried in his folded arms atop the table, though he peeks up past his bangs when you slide the coffee beside him.

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” You hum.

His eyes brighten at the sight of you and he pushes himself up, raking a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. “Y/N━”

“Where were you, Jungkook?” You ask sternly, suddenly. “On Sunday? I waited for you for over three hours. I called you and texted you and you completely ignored me. You could have at least gotten back to me. I had to finish the rest of the assignment by myself.”

His brow creases with concern, his stare softening apologetically. He leans forward, suddenly helpless.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I━I didn’t mean to━ Something came up.”

“Whatever, Jungkook,” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can’t stay and chat but I’ll have you know I already handed the assignment in online. You’re welcome. Oh, and the coffee’s on the house. You look like crap.”

You spin on your heel and march away to help another customer before Jungkook can even try to talk to you. He watches as you slip from his grasp, a frown scrunching up your face that is forced to soften as you approach another table. He collapses against his chair and groans inwardly, rubbing his hand over his aching and swollen face. He knows you’re mad at him but he can’t quite tell if you’ll stay like that for long. He doesn’t blame you anyway, but he couldn’t just tell you where he had gone or what had happened. Could he?

It’s much to his dismay that you don’t talk to him the next day, or on Tuesday, or on Wednesday, or on Thursday. He tries to find you around campus but he is always too late and, instead, finds you slipping away from him each time. He pops into the café a few nights and though you work both nights, it’s still much too busy to actually talk to you and so he, doing what he does best, falls asleep at the table as he silently broods. Whether or not it’s your anger purposely driving you further from him or simply life intervening, Jungkook wants nothing more than to apologize ━ if he can even get close enough to you to do so.

Finding yourself on the rooftop of your apartment building isn’t uncommon. Most of your free time is spent up there, either watching the night sky or gazing at the busy city under a cerulean blue sky and golden sun. That Friday night is no different. With no homework and no social gathering to devote yourself to, you sneak off to the roof and position yourself in just a spot where you can see the towering buildings of each borough in each direction you cast your gaze. You would have been content falling asleep up there, with nothing but the sound of the distant hum of cars to lull you and the view of the moon and window lights that act as the metropolis’s stars.

You all but lose track of time, unaware of whether or not you have been there for minutes or hours but you don’t entirely mind. You would be lying, too, if you denied that there was some sort of inkling of hope in you that hoped maybe you would see him again. That is why when you hear the soft plop of feet dropping to the ground moments later, you are not at all startled by the sudden presence, though you are astounded by his arrival, as if on cue. You don’t even need him to speak to know who it is and when you feel the smile ghost along your lips, there is a moment of pause where you question your own sanity for being so happy to see this masked and mysterious man. But he isn’t at all a mystery at this point when you feel as if you’ve acquainted yourself with him well enough.

“You shouldn’t be out here all alone,” The voice that drifts through the shadows of the roof is familiar, gentle. “It’s dark. Who knows who could come up here?”

“Yeah,” You snort. “Wouldn’t want any strangers sneaking up on me ━ or masked vigilantes who seem to be following me.”

You turn to look at him but are greeted with nothing except emptiness. He lingers somewhere in the darkness and you squint your eyes, desperately trying to spot him. He laughs, the sound so silvery and smooth like honey.

“Someone’s following you?” he replies tauntingly. “Do I have to deal with them again?”

“Why are you always hiding in the dark?”

The sudden question seems to cause him to hesitate. It’s silent before you hear his voice wander over to you.

“To add to the mystique?” he says.

“Now that’s suspicious. Maybe I should call the police on you.”

“They would never be able to catch me.”

“Someone’s cocky,” You take a step toward the darkness, in the direction of the sound of his voice. “Did the fame get to you already?”

You hear him take a step back from you and it, subsequently, causes you to linger. You wait before stubbornly pushing yourself forward once more.

“What fame? People want to lock me up.”

“And most people are in love with you. I overheard a few girls gushing over you saving that dog from that burning building the other day,” You giggle. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“Ah, well,” You can hear the grin in his voice, can see the silhouette of his figure not too far from you, “I gotta admit the attention is pretty nice. But no one knows who I am without this mask so it doesn’t really matter.”

“How does that make you feel?”

One step forward, another backward. You pause; at this rate, you’ll have chased him all the way to the other side of the roof.

“I don’t mind. It keeps me humble,” he replies. “But it also stops me a lot of the time, y’know? With this mask on, I feel invincible; with it off, I feel useless. But someone pretty important to me once told me that life is too short to constantly hide behind a mask.”

A wide, genuine smile stretches across your face. You take another step forward and this time he stands still. From where you are, you can see the tall and lean figure, adorned in the signature tight red and blue suit.

“That’s pretty smart of them to say.”

“She is pretty admirable. Much braver than I could ever be without this mask.”

He turns around from you before you can reach him. You watch as he casually strides forward a few paces to the barrier behind him, which he props his hands against to lean on. He seems to be lost in thought, perhaps struggling with some sort of inner turmoil. You tiptoe in suit, cautious as you approach him. You can see the muscles that strain from beneath his suit, the heave and fall of his chest.

“Can I know your name?” Your voice is a gentle whisper that carries to him with the wind. “Your real name?”

When he turns around to face you once more, you’re standing only a few feet away from him. You take another step forward, closing the short distance between the two of you and are made aware of how much taller he really is. The way he towers over you is almost comforting, familiar, that no emotionless red mask could cause you to stray. He’s so much more different up close in that suit. He hesitates before he forces himself to speak.

“I think,” he pauses. He swallows thickly, attempting to subdue the quickening race of his heart as he clamps his fingers into his sweaty palms. “I think you already know my name.”

This seems to pique your interest. Quirking a brow and cocking your head to the side, you stare up at the masked face that gazes back down at you. You aren’t entirely sure what compels you to do so, as it could be a complete disaster and not at all what you are expecting, but you slowly, so very slowly, reach up with your hands to grasp gingerly at his face. The red fabric beneath your fingertips is soft and as your digits brush lightly over his covered cheekbones, he hardly moves. For some reason, you can feel your heart hammering against your feeble chest, can hear it in your ears in tandem with the sound of passing traffic down below. His heart is beating just as fast, though he thinks it nearly stops when he feels your fingers begin to gently pull at the neck of his mask, sliding it upward.

The first poke of tanned skin has your heart quickening, your breath hitching in your throat. You tug the mask the rest of the way off and, finally, step back to look at the mysterious masked hero known as Spider-Man.

Jungkook.

It’s Jungkook.

The familiar boy stands before you, his hair a disheveled mess from the mask, his doe eyes even wider now in timid fear as he looks down at you. Everything is him, from his luscious pink lips, to the freckle on his neck, the piercings in his ears, that tiny scar he’s had since he was a child on his cheek. The city lights and moon illuminate him from behind and he seems nervous as he anticipates a reaction but you are much too busy admiring him. Your fingers trace delicately over the fresh scar on his face that he had brandished at the café only a few nights ago. A breath of satisfaction slips past your parted lips and then you’re laughing silently to yourself.

The boy looks dumbfounded at first, and then he quirks a brow. “What’s so funny?”

“I knew it,” You shake your head at nothing in particular, or perhaps the way you continue to giggle.

Jungkook suddenly looks shocked, though he instantly seems to relax. He studies the smile that stretches across your cheeks in awe, brightening your face in all its glory. “How did you know?”

“Well, you’re not exactly that smooth, Jungkook,” You grin. “The late nights coming into the café, always scratched up and always tired as if you’ve ran all over the city; always getting jumpy when you hear police sirens ━ like the night at the party. Not to mention that one time at the café when the news was on and they were talking about a robbery at the bank and hostages being held and you ran right out of there only for Spider-Man to show up on the scene minutes later. It’s all very suspicious, don’t you think?”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him, a joyous sound of content. He leans against the palm of your hand that is cradling the side of his face with the scar.

“Right,” he sighs. “All very suspicious.”

His stare locks with yours in a steady gaze and neither of you can turn away. His eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky, lingering with it a sense of hope and content. He is mesmerizing, with the city he devotes his time to saving in the horizon beyond him. It’s near impossible to look away, but why would you want to? It happens much like a blink of an eye, a frail beat of your heart; it comes with the passing of a car whizzing by on the streets down below and is as much startling as the sudden breeze that sends chills down your spine.

He begins to lean forward ━ or maybe that was you? Your eyes flutter shut, your anticipation held with a deep breath, until finally your lips meet with his though you hardly have time to relish in it. Almost as soon as your lips touch, he’s pulling away quickly. He doesn’t move too far and his mouth lingers just over yours. His eyes remain fixated on the curl of your lips for a moment too long before he rips them away to meet your hazy gaze.

“Wait,” he hums. “You━ You said you were crushing on Spider-Man. Does that mean you knew this whole time and━ and like me?”

The question is so like Jungkook; so innocent and silly and genuine that it causes a sweet giggle to bubble at your lips. He’s always been so oblivious to these kinds of things and so maybe that’s what pushes you to kiss him next. Your lips lock for a second time and, though it is just as fleeting, you note with joy the softness of his mouth as it folds over yours. You part from him with a breathless gasp, your nose brushing lightly against his as a smile stretches across your face.

“What do you think, bugboy?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, a playful taunt that makes Jungkook smile wide.

He kisses you this time, slow and passionate as if attempting to pour every single one of his emotions and thoughts for you into the single intimate action. His hands grasp at either side of your face, carefully pulling you closer to him to deepen the kiss and you, instinctively, melt against his broad chest. Your fingers trail up the lean muscle of his arms to twine in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging with yearning. His hands fall to your waist, enveloping you in his body, and when he parts from you, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Can I show you something?”

You nod. His eyes light up and then he’s jumping up onto the cement barrier behind him, turning around to look at you. You gasp from the sudden movement, your stomach churning unpleasantly at the sight of him quite literally standing on the edge of a building only to remind yourself he’s Spider-Man. He’s done plenty more reckless things than this. He holds his hand out, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

There’s no hesitation as you answer him with another firm nod. “Of course. Always.”

“Then take my hand,” he says. “I’ll never do anything to harm you, you know that.”

You do know that. Jungkook wouldn’t hurt a fly; he’s too good and precious for the world you live in and he says yes far too often to people who most likely don’t deserve it, but he knows when to stand up for not only himself but others as well. You are just one of the few he cares for wholeheartedly and you know that.

You reach out carefully and place your hand in his surprisingly cold and large ones. His fingers wrap around yours as he helps you up onto the barrier, holding you closely toward him.

You take a deep breath, shut your eyes, and put every ounce of your trust into this single, courageous boy ━ and you let yourself fall with him.

You’re roused awake by the sound of light tapping against your bedroom window.

It startles you at first, causing you to jolt upright into a sitting position as you look around frantically at your empty and dark room; the only light comes from the city life and the moon outside, shedding a warm glow onto the floor before it. For a moment, you think you had just dreamt the noise but then you hear it again, low and near. You crane your neck to look and first see a shadow but, as the figure shifts into view, you’re able to see the familiar young man in red and blue. Your heart leaps in your chest and suddenly you’re scrambling off your feet, throwing yourself at the window to throw it open.

The night Jungkook had admitted to being Spider-Man and jumped up onto the edge of the roof, holding his hand out to you in a silent question of trust, he leaves you with a night that you swear you will cherish forever. Wary of where he will go but entirely consenting of his spontaneity, he surprises you by carrying you throughout the city, swinging from building to building in an extraordinary feat that feels as if you’re flying; and, as if that hadn’t been a big enough thrilling shock, he brings you to the very top of the Empire State Building, just under the antenna. No one is there and no one can see you and, with Jungkook under the brightening sky with the view of New York stretching out into the horizon before you, you feel as if you have the whole world in the very palm of your hand.

You sit with Jungkook that night, talking, not talking, listening intently to him as he recounts the tale of how he had turned into the masked hero with his peculiar powers, and watching the sunrise from beyond the very tops of buildings and skyscrapers. There are no words to describe the breathtaking view from one of the highest points in the city, watching as the golden sun peaks over the horizon and sets the city ablaze in saturated warm hues of orange, pink, and purple, mingling together in one impressionistic masterpiece that could put even the greatest of painters to shame. The light reflects against the glass panes of windows in a mirage similar to flickering flames that never scathe the city, but instead seem to enhance the beauty it holds.

You never want the night to end but eventually it does and, when he returns you to your bedroom window with one parting kiss, it and Jungkook’s lips are all you can dream about.

A week has passed since then, in which time you’ve done nothing but find yourself growing closer with Jungkook. He’s all you’ve been able to think about these days. So, to hear him and see him at your window is enough to make butterflies form in the very pit of your stomach. You see him sitting on the fire escape just outside your window, leaning against the building looking even more exhausted than usual. Another fresh cut lines his cheek in a stripe of red though he doesn’t seem to mind much for it as he dozes off slightly. You push open the window, startling him awake, and poke your head outside. A weary smile tugs at his lips at the sight of you.

“Well, this is romantic,” You stifle the giggle that bubbles at your mouth. “Thank you for not throwing rocks at my window, Romeo. To what do I owe this pleasure of seeing you at two in the morning?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks sheepishly. “I just wanted to see you.”

His response earns a shy smile stretching across your face. “No, you didn’t wake me,” You say with a shake of your head (though the way you comb your fingers through your mused hair tells him otherwise). “What happened to your face, Jungkook?”

He reaches up to his face, as if momentarily forgetting the cut, winces, and then drops his hand from his face. He grins wolfishly, attempting to shrug it off. “Oh, this little thing? It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I just got caught up in a little fight but I’m fine. I swear. You really should see the other guy.”

The smug tone in his voice as he rambles on makes you stare at him in amusement. You sigh as you take a step back, saying, “Come inside. I’ll clean that for you.”

“Well, if you insist.”

He smirks as he pulls himself through the window and into your room. His eyes wander around the four walls, noting the decor that lines it, the shelves with all your personal trinkets and belongings, the clothes littered on the floor, and the empty take-out box of Chinese food that rests atop your desk. There’s a soft aroma of something sweet that smells like you ━ possibly a perfume or a soap or shampoo? ━ and it makes Jungkook’s head spin pleasantly. He asks about your day and then sits on the bed and, as you tell him about your boring classes as you rummage around your bathroom for something to clean his wound with, he smiles.

He finds your room comforting ━ or maybe he just finds your presence comforting. Either way, over time you find that this would only be a common occurrence throughout the next month. He startles you the first few times he shows up but then you begin to stay awake a little longer, waiting eagerly by the window as you wait for him to arrive. Most times he’s bruised or has small and fresh cuts, of which you either hand him an ice packet or clean the cut; sometimes he isn’t even hurt and instead claims simply that he just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. But each time he listens to you and your day, asking about yourself rather than him and no matter how hard you try to pry information out of him about what had possibly happened to him throughout his night, he swiftly brushes it off. You don’t mind either way ━ you just want to see him as much as you can, anyway.

There is one night, however, where things seem to go entirely different.

You’re curled up in bed reading a book when you hear the light tapping on your window. You’ve come to leave the window pried open slightly as you wait for him, but even so he still takes the time to knock to signal his arrival. You instantly climb to your feet, wandering over to the window and tossing it open with a flourish. As Jungkook climbs in through the small space, you note the tight suit he’s wearing is slashed at the top of his arm and both the skin underneath it and on his face is bruised and cut; other than that, and judging by the cheeky smile on his face, he seems to be ok.

You shake your head at him, smiling gingerly as you muse, “Who’s the damsel in distress now, bugboy?”

Jungkook smirks, prodding your sides with his fingers and causing you to squirm as you walk past him. “There’s no shame in needing a little help every once and awhile, right? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Sit down,” You tell him, winking up at him. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Minutes later you return to sit by his side on the bed, cleaning his cuts as per usual and, while he has a frozen packet of peas pressed to his bruised and sore shoulder, you are busying yourself by sewing the cut in his suit with blue thread you had found in your room. In the midst of your work, perhaps you press too generously down on his recent wound, as he winces slightly and shifts on top of your bed. You crane your neck to look up at him, studying him curiously. He seems to notice your stare and quirks a brow as he looks down at you.

“What’s up?”

Your fingers stop their work on his suit and, remembering where the cut had broken his skin just slightly underneath the tear, brush lightly over the tender flesh covered in gauze. “Does it hurt?”

Jungkook shakes his head, sitting up a little straighter. “Hurt? No, no, of course not. It just, uh━ It isn’t the most pleasant. But this isn’t the worst I’ve been after a night in the suit so I can handle it.”

Your eyes study his battered face in some sort of admiration, albeit mixed with timid nervousness. What sort of things had he encountered, had he been through, that he won’t tell you?

“Are you ever afraid?” You ask gently.

“No way,” he shakes his head, but not before you spot the confident grin he flashes you. “It’s honestly nothing I can’t handle by now. It’s not so bad, either. It’s kinda weird. I mean, ever since getting bitten, I’ve found the healing process is a whole lot faster.”

Maybe he notices the lingering uneasiness in your eyes, the way you seem to doubt him. He reaches out with his fingers to gingerly brush against the side of your face in a swift flourish as he tilts your head a little higher. He smiles something warm that makes your heart melt as you lean your face against the palm of his calloused hand. To avoid the prying stare he gives you, you smile lightly and shake your head, attempting to change the subject.

“Dunno, bugboy. Are there any perks to this job?”

Jungkook snorts as you finish sewing his suit. As you discard the needle and leftover thread, he says, “There are. Like, for instance, knowing the city is a little safer. Then there’s the fact that Spider-Man seems to have a lot of admirers…”

“I thought you said it doesn’t matter anyway because no one knows who you are.”

“Well, there is you,” he says. “And I gotta say you’re a pretty good perk.”

A blush tinges your cheeks as you sit across from him. Your eyes flicker down the suit that adorns him and you try to bite back the lighthearted snicker that bubbles at your chest. “I was gonna say a perk is this tight suit. At least, for me it is. Your ass has never looked more fantastic.”

Jungkook suddenly bursts out into laughter, throwing his head back. When he looks back at you, his hand finds the side of your face once more and pulls you towards him. With your lips hovering just over his, he mumbles something, anything, just for the sake of responding despite already being lost in you.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then you’re kissing him.

You’ve come to find that Jungkook’s lips are entirely irresistible and the more you kiss him, the more you wonder why you hadn’t confessed to him earlier. He’s gentle as he lets his lips fold over yours, mouth dancing with mouth in a passionate yearning. But there’s a certain type of underlying insatiable hunger that seems to wash over both you and him and fast. Your fingers rake up the side of his face and tangle in his messy locks and soon he’s pulling you onto the bed, onto him. You instinctively straddle his lap, craning your neck so as to deepen the kiss, never once breaking apart for air. But something seems to happen, something that startles Jungkook so deeply. Perhaps it’s the way you grasp his hair a little tighter, the way he heard you gasp when he bites down gently on the side of your jaw, the way your hips fit over his; or perhaps it’s the way you tug off your shirt in an attempt to get closer to him, displaying to him the plain white bra you’re wearing that all culminate into something more. He knows where this is going, you know where this is going ━ and though Jungkook would want nothing more than to carry on, he’s reminded of a terrifying and prominent thought that has always haunted him the moment he made that mask.

You feel the way he tenses beneath you and, in the next quick second, he’s pulling apart from you and you, so dazed and lost, gasping for air, stare down at him dumbfounded.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?” You ask. “Did I hurt you? Is your arm okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says weakly.

You grin as you press another kiss to his throat, mumbling into his neck, “Good, then let’s━”

“No.”

“What?”

You sit back on his lap suddenly, staring at him with a flushed face. Your hair is mussed messily, a red bruise blossoms on your jawline that Jungkook had graced you with, and one strap of your bra hangs daintily over your shoulder and Jungkook can’t help but notice how utterly sexy you look. He groans inwardly, tearing his gaze to look up at you. He swallows thickly, wincing at the bright and innocent twinkle in your eyes.

“We━” he pauses and then says, “We can’t do this.”

You quirk a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says slowly, carefully, “we can’t do this. I’m━ I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking but I should have stopped this sooner.”

“Stop what?” Your voice is weak, small. You know what he’s referring to but you don’t want to believe it just yet.

Fuck, I can’t do this, Jungkook curses to himself. If he had just stayed away from you from the beginning, this wouldn’t even be happening. He wouldn’t be about to hurt you or himself.

“Us,” he whispers. “There can’t be an us, Y/N.”

Your brows knit together in confusion but your eyes are wide with fear. “What are you talking about? How can there not be an us? I thought━ I thought you wanted this.”

When he hesitates to respond, you’re quick to slide off of his lap, standing to your feet. Suddenly you’re panicking, embarrassed. He sees the way your lips are pulled tightly in a thin line, the way you rake your hands through your hair, mumbling, “Oh my god,” as you search for a shirt. Jungkook springs to his feet, grasping onto your waist but you easily slither out of his reach, clutching your shirt to your chest. To you, you think you have just made a fool of yourself, nearly striping naked for a boy who apparently doesn’t want you. Jungkook knows this is what you’re thinking and it pains him so.

“No, no, I do,” he says. “I do want this! I just can’t do it.”

“And why not?” You snap hotly. “You’re not making any sense. Either you do or you don’t want us to be a thing.”

“It’s not that simple━”

“It sure seems like it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Any explanation would be better than none,” You say firmly, “and simultaneously making me look like an idiot for looking so eager.”

Jungkook sighs heavily. He takes a step back from you, running both hands frustratedly through his hair, letting the muscles in his biceps flex as he does so. When he looks back at you, he’s solemn.

“There can’t be an us because I’m just gonna put you in danger this way,” he says. “People are out there looking for me! Not just the police, but hardcore criminals, gangs, thugs, murderers. If they find me, or if they find out that you’re close to me or know me, they’ll hurt you too. I can’t have that, Y/N.”

“But I can handle it,” You insist.

“I can’t,” Jungkook’s voice is stern, set in place. “I can’t have that on my conscience, knowing that if you get hurt, it’s because of me. That’s all I ever worry about, from the second that I put this mask on. No one knows about me being Spider-Man and I kept it that way for a reason. Don’t you think I could have flaunted that I was this supposed super cool new hero? I didn’t do that because of you; because of the people that I’m close to.”

“I don’t care,” Your voice is feeble, cracking. “I don’t care if I get hurt. If you can handle it, then so can I! I just want to be with you, Jungkook. I━ I love you━”

Jungkook hears the words you blurt out quickly but he doesn’t seem to necessarily register them at once. A stiff silence settles in the room between the two of you, an undeniable form of the point of no return, except you don’t regret the words you say. You mean them wholeheartedly because you have always admired and loved Jungkook, from the little boy next door to this young hero before you. You stare at him shyly, albeit unwavering. A panic washes over him, drains his face of any colour, and suddenly it feels as if he can’t breathe, his chest concaving in on his shrill heart. As the words begin to register in his mind, he can only sorrowfully gaze at you; but the lack of silence has your confidence paling and soon you’re looking away, shaking your head. A pained expression paints your features and though it hurts Jungkook more than any other wound that has been inflicted upon him in fights on the street prior to this, he knows he has to do this.

You already know his answer before he even speaks it. When he does say the final words that leave you in such an excruciating and unbearable pain, he has already fled, grabbing his mask and escaping out of the window, escaping from you, and into the heart of the city. When he’s gone and you’re alone in the thick silence do his words finally return to you and are the cause of the broken heart you are forced to nurse through muddled tears over the aimless days to come:

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

You don’t see Jungkook the next day or the day after that.

In fact, you don’t see him for three entire weeks. He stops showing up at the café late at night, stops attending the classes he has with you (or maybe he just blends well into the other somber looking faces), stops visiting your window in the early morning hours. Autumn bleeds numbly into the beginning shock of cold that is winter and, though there is no snow yet, you still feel the wrath of the frigid season. And, with the sudden loss of Jungkook, comes the abrupt and unwarranted disappearance of Spider-Man. Maybe it is your fault, maybe it is Jungkook’s fault. Either way, the masked enigma vanishes without a trace after your argument with Jungkook and the city’s crime, now freed from the vigilant watchful eyes of New York’s hero, spikes.

It feels almost as if the city has swallowed him whole or as if he has dropped off the face of the earth and the only thing to remember him by is the sudden havoc that ensues the city. The only thing you have to even know if Jungkook is still alive are the occasional updates from Taehyung who comes to befriend you if only to mention Jungkook every once and awhile just for the sake of easing your worried mind. You’re not so much mad as you are upset, but you care entirely more for his own wellbeing and to not hear from him causes you agony.

There is only one brisk moment in which you encounter Jungkook and it comes simply from a happenstance. You are not at all expecting to see him and nor is he expecting to see you. Rather, you are seated on a wooden bench in the park just beside your school on a day graced with a strange warmth for winter. Wrapped in a scarf and knit hat, you are flipping through the pages of a book for one of your classes when a figure stands before you, momentarily blocking the sun’s light from your view. As you glance up at the shadow cast over you, you are genuinely surprised to find Jungkook standing there. He looks, perhaps, even more so dishevelled than usual, his hair and attire all one negligent mess as if he couldn’t even find the strength to care for himself. Dark circles line his sunken eyes which stare down at you sorrowfully.

“Y/N… Can I talk to you?”

Your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you can’t turn away from him. For a moment, you fear that you will cave into him but then you are reminded of your broken heart. It’s what causes you to act in such haste, shaking your head up at him as you shut your book and shove it into your bag. You stand to your feet and brush past him and he, so caught up in your rejection of him and the own twinge of pain he feels in his heart, lingers by the bench. Then, he is walking after you, his footsteps swiftly catching him up to you.

“Y/N. Y/N, wait! Please, just let me━”

Jungkook breaks out into a sudden jog and only stops when he is standing in front of you. With your path blocked, you, too, come to a halt if only for the benefit of the doubt. He desperately tries to meet your eyes but you look past him, arms folded over your chest.

“Let me talk to you,” he begs. “Away from here. Just you and me. I can explain everything. I━”

“You had your chance, Jungkook,” You quip dryly. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I wasn’t━ I didn’t mean to━” he tries, but is interrupted once more by your strained voice.

“You left me.” Now you are staring at him and Jungkook wishes that you hadn’t even bothered to give him the chance. Once full of shimmering admiration, your eyes are only glossed over with a pained disappointment. “I told you I loved you and you left me. You made me look so stupid and I━ No. No, I’m not doing this right now.”

You push yourself forward, walking carefully around him. He watches as you storm away, shaking your head to yourself. With one last despairing attempt, he calls out to you once more.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I let you down. I know. I’m a failure.”

You stop. Your back is turned to him before you force yourself to look over at him and he foolishly thinks that maybe you’ll give him a chance to properly explain himself. Instead━

“You’re not a failure, Jungkook,” You tell him firmly. “I just━ I need to be alone right now. But don’t leave them. Don’t let them down. The city needs you.”

Jungkook flinches. He wants to call out to you again and pull you back to him, explain everything that is on his mind, but he can’t. Instead, he is forced to watch you walk away from him until you disappear amongst the crowd and even then he doesn’t move. He knows you’re disappointed with him.

He knows the whole city is disappointed with him ━ but the only person he wants to impress is you and he fears he’s ruined his only chance to.

You hardly seem to sleep at night anymore, instead too caught up in the thoughts that plague your dreams. Instead of going to the roof as you usually do when you can’t sleep, you find yourself lying helplessly in your bed, staring up at the empty night sky through your window. One night, as you’re dozing off on your bed, your eyes blinking wearily as they try to focus on the shimmering moon, you begin to hear a noise. It’s similar to a light tapping, though it drowns out in the sound of a siren from somewhere down below. At first you believe you have just dreamt it but then you hear a loud thud, slightly muffled from somewhere outside your window. It jolts you awake, has you pushing yourself up into a sitting position, and glancing around your room for any sign of something that may have fallen in there before noticing a flash of movement from the corner of your eye.

Red and blue.

Interest piques your drowsy mind at the thought of it being Jungkook but why would he be returning to you now? You would have been entirely set on begrudgingly flopping back down onto your bed and turning your back to him had you not felt that dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong. You can’t hear his voice and when you turn to get a better look, you find him standing on the fire escape just outside your window, slumped dangerously against the wall with his back to you. It is that dreaded feeling that pushes you out of your bed, drags you to your window which you lightly throw open, only to be met with a sight that leaves you in horrific shock.

Jungkook is adorned in his usual tight red and blue suit, though his mask is off and gives you a clear view of his weary face, now muted in colour, that your eyes land on first. His eyes are shut, his head rests against the brick wall of the building, and his skin is marked with dirt and grime, bruises and dried blood. As your eyes trail lower, following the curve of his arms to his hands that cradle his side, you finally spot the large wound from beneath his fingertips on the left of his abdomen, shimmering a bright crimson red. Immediately your heart sinks to your stomach as you gasp loudly.

“Oh my god! Jungkook!”

Shimmying your way through the window to get closer to the boy hardly has him stirring. Your hands come out to grasp at his face, forcing him from his slouched position.

“Jungkook, can you hear me? What the hell happened?”

His eyes flicker open momentarily at the touch of your warm fingers and he musters a small smirk, the corners of his lips lifting up just slightly.

“It’s just a scratch,” he mumbles hoarsely. “You should definitely see the other guy now.”

“You’re an idiot,” You grumble, your eyebrows knitting into a frown. “Why are you here? You should have gone to the hospital! I’m taking you right now━”

“No, no,” he protests stubbornly. He shifts his weight and immediately flinches from the pain. “No, you can’t. I’ll be okay. I just━ I need some time to rest.”

A deep sigh exhales past your parted lips at the mention of what had happened the night he fled so suddenly. Instead, you brush off the memory and give him a small shake of your head. “Here, stop talking. Let me help you get inside and I’ll see what I can do for you. This is gonna hurt a bit but can you move?”

Jungkook nods. As you wrap your arm carefully around his waist to shift him over to the window, he sucks in a deep breath and pushes himself forward. You try to help as he stiffly climbs in through the small window, grunting in pain as he does so, and then stumbling into your room and bumping into your desk next to the window, knocking a few trinkets down. As he leans dangerously against your now skewed desk, you hurry through the window and help him to his feet, pulling him over to your bed.

Despite the way he had left you so suddenly days ago, there is no air of stiffness in the room. The only thing that surrounds the two of you is a melancholic silence as you rummage around your room for the medkit you knew you had stowed away eons ago. For the most part, Jungkook patches himself up, downing a couple of painkillers, cleaning his wound in his abdomen and stitching it closed with a steady hand that has evidently done this before. You sit across from him in your desk chair, watching him intently as he sits on your bed, having shrugged off the top part of his suit and leaving his torso exposed. Other than the blood and dirt that cakes his golden skin, you take note of the toned muscles that make his abs and the way they flex in tandem with every time he winces as he tugs at his wound.

When he’s done, the silence is still unmoving. Jungkook wants to speak but his throat is dry and any time he dares open his mouth to say something, anything, he immediately recoils. It’s only when you’re helping him into your bathroom so he can take a shower does he finally gather the courage he needed all this time without his mask on. Before you can turn to walk away on him, he catches your attention by calling your name. When he speaks next, his voice is faint, terrified.

“I’m sorry.”

He gulps when you turn to look up at him and suddenly he’s made aware of the fact that the two of you are cramped so closely together in your small bathroom. It makes the shame he feels more prominent as he looks you in the eyes.

“You were the first person I could think of when this happened,” he says. “I━ I know I have no right to be here after what I did to you but I just needed someone. I needed you.”

Your heart flutters at his words though you hide this feeble act by turning away from him. “It’s whatever, Jungkook,” He hears you mumble faintly, your back to him. “Anything I can do to help.”

He wants to say something more but he hesitates again. He watches as you take a deep breath, the heave of your shoulders under a heavy weight, before you ultimately walk out of the door and shut it behind you, leaving it slightly ajar. You linger in your bedroom, standing in front of your window as you gaze out, absentmindedly gnawing on your lower lip as you fold your arms tighter around your torso. You hear the shower switch on, let the calming sound of falling water wash over you, and shut your eyes momentarily. You can still see the light from the bathroom pouring out into the darkness of your room from the angled door, and can see the steam start to cloud the mirror.

There’s something so indistinctly intimate about having him in your shower in the next room over after days of avoiding one another. You have every right to be enraged and upset with him and yet you aren’t. You can’t bring yourself to ever hate the boy in the room over. You understand why he left so abruptly and it makes sense but now, in that moment in time, with nothing but a wall dividing you two, there is a certain type of craving you can’t subdue. A craving and a yearning to be closer to him; to tell him how you feel before, if even, he decides to flee in the morning after.

You blame it on your stubbornness that pushes you forward. Really, it seems to happen in such a haze, a rush of adrenaline. One moment, you’re standing by the window; in the next moment, you’re by the bathroom door, your fingers clutching the handle. As you push it open, you can only see a misty silhouette of Jungkook’s figure from beyond the steamed glass doors of the shower. Your heart is hammering against your chest as you walk to the shower, slowly kicking off your shorts as you go.

Jungkook must hear you as you make your way into the bathroom because as soon as you carefully slide open the glass door, he’s already staring at you with a lack of surprise, noting the baggy t-shirt you wear and the way his heart flips when he imagines you in a similar shirt of his. You only meet his curious eyes, noting the water that trickles down his toned and glistening body and flattens his usual unkempt hair into his lashes. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and suddenly he looks remorseful. It’s almost as if he can read your mind and anticipates every second you take to just step inside, his eyes beckoning you to come. It’s not like he cares; in fact, he wants you next to him. God, he just wants you so bad.

Steady hands find the hem of your baggy white t-shirt that you lift up and over your head, exposing the smooth expanse of your bare stomach and the perk of your bare breasts. You shimmy out of your baby pink underwear and, suddenly, you’re standing completely vulnerable before him and yet this is all he wants and all you want. You step inside the shower, closing the distance between you and him even more until you’re right in front of him, letting the warm water pour down onto you. It’s become stifling hot in that little space and there’s only a split moment where you fear you’ve made a mistake before you feel Jungkook’s hand come up to gently hold the side of your face. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, his eyes gazing into yours, and then he’s kissing you.

It’s a soft kiss, one where he takes his time to thoroughly enjoy it, first kissing your upper lip, then your lower lip in some sort of sensual manner that leaves chills running down your spine. He leaves a trail of warm and wet kisses from your jawline to your neck, nuzzling his nose against your throat as your breath catches. His hands fall to grasp at your hips, yanking you toward him and you so easily comply, melting completely into his broad chest and immediately feeling a sense of warmth as if you’ve always belonged there, wrapped up in his strong arms.

“You’re blushing,” he remarks gently, making you realize he’s pulled apart from you to study your face. His fingers brush away the hair that falls into your eyes and he smiles. “You’re blushing now after you walked in on me naked? God, you’re so cute.”

You whine something in protest, burying your face in his neck and he laughs. His fingers tickle at your sides, causing you to squirm in his grip, and when you look at him again, his stare is tender and fond.

“Come here,” he mumbles.

You let him pull you into another kiss that has your head spinning. His tongue grazes your lower lip, teeth slightly nibbling down on the flesh in a way that jolts your heart. As your hands snake up his chest to wind with the hair at the nape of his neck, your own mouth parts open, letting his tongue twine with yours in a heated kiss. He can feel everything against his own body, from the perk of your breasts to the slope of your hips. His hands slide down to rest upon your lower back and the way he pulls you flush against him, letting you brush against his firm cock, makes your head spin again. It’s what wills you to start grinding your hips against his in a slow pattern that has his breath hitching in his throat, his fingers digging tighter into your skin.

“You’re driving me insane,” his voice is husky as he speaks, smooth as it filters through your ears.

You can’t help but smirk against his mouth. “Likewise.”

“How about we get out of here?” he asks. “The bed seems a hell of a lot more comfortable.”

You nod eagerly, mumbling a small, “Please,” against his luscious lips, too reluctant to pull away. He seems to have trouble, too, as he remains in his spot, even long after he reaches down to turn the water off, his lips still locked with yours. Granted, it gives you time to dry off before he’s hoisting you up with ease, instinctively letting your legs wrap around him. A thought abruptly pops into your head and causes you to gasp, your lips parting from his with a significant pop.

“Jungkook!” You scold. “Be careful! Did you forget about the gaping wound in your side or?”

“I’m fine,” he assures, already swiftly carrying you out of the bathroom and into your room.

“I don’t care what your magical radioactive spider bite does for you,” You retort. “I don’t want to somehow hurt you.”

He laughs in response, a sound that reverberates against his chest and your own torso. He’s already standing by the bed when he carefully lowers you down onto it. He crawls over you, instantly towering over your body as he leans down to chase your lips. In one quick movement, you hook your leg around his waist and, using your hands, shift him over until he’s on his back and you’re cradling his hips. He seems surprised at first, his stare flickering from the navel of your stomach to the soft buds of your breasts. Past the valley of your chest, his eyes fall once more upon yours and he smiles breathlessly, his hair sticking up in tufts.

“Really?”

Your eyes fall to the stitched wound on his side covered in gauze and your fingers brush against it delicately, following the natural curve of his abs. “I’m serious, bugboy. You may be this notorious, unstoppable force out there, but to me you’ll always be Jungkook.”

He pouts. “That doesn’t sound as cool as being Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man is cool.”

“See? Even you think so. This is why I never told you ━ everyone thinks Spider-Man is cooler than Jungkook.”

A roll of your eyes has him smirking, though the smile is quick to falter when you begin to grind your hips against his, feeling his firm member poke at your thigh. His jaw drops open slightly at the sudden contact, his brows knitting together in slick concentration as his eyes fall to your glistening soft core.

“You didn’t let me finish,” You breathe steadily. “Spider-Man is cool, but Jungkook is cooler. You’ve always been strong and dauntless to me. You’ve always been a hero to me.”

“God,” he moans, “you’re making it really hard to focus on how cute you’re being when I can already feel how wet you are.”

The giggle that slips past your lips only further proves his point. His head rolls back against the pillows beneath him as you continue to slowly grind against him.

“Do you want me to stop?” You taunt.

“No, no,” he gasps. “Holy shit, no. We can save the mushy talk for afterwards, right? Please?”

You nod briskly, gulping for air as you feel the burning sensation between your thighs. Your fingers dance down the front of your stomach to the bundle of nerves that you rub at carefully. Jungkook watches intensely as you pleasure yourself before him, feels his own cock hardening at the sight of your fingers gracefully rubbing patterns into your clit, coating your digits with your leaking cum. He writhes beneath you, desperately aware of his own need for you, but god help him if he doesn’t finish watching or helping you get off. He swallows thickly, loosening his dry throat.

“Well, if you’re gonna make me sit here then,” he says, “can you at least let me help?”

“I’m listening.”

“Good,” he grins. “Then come sit on my face.”

He says it so confidently that it has you stuttering in your pace. Your eyes flicker down to his mischievously twinkling eyes and the way he bites on his lower lip. You hardly hesitate at his command, pushing yourself off of his crotch and shuffling yourself forward, tossing one knee over his head so that he’s seated nicely between your thighs. His hands remain on your hips to keep you steady as you wiggle around until you’re comfortable. He plants a kiss on the inside of your thigh, murmuring, “I’ll take good care of you, baby. Sit back and relax.”

You do as you're told, letting him pull you carefully down to his face and feeling as he leaves a trail of kisses along the inside of your thigh. When his mouth is hovering just over your core, you can feel his warm breath fanning against you and hum in delight, waiting eagerly for his every move. He nudges you closer and closer until you feel that one fell sweep of his tongue against your core, warm and slick as it grazes your folds, immediately sending a shock of white hot pleasure surging through your body. A shocked moan emits from your parted lips in a sound similar to, “Ooh,” that has Jungkook smirking against you.

Suddenly, all you can focus on is him and the way his tongue works so expertly against you, kitten licking at your core until you’re dripping wet in a lewd combination of saliva and your own succulence. You nearly lose your balance the moment he makes contact with you and, with each passing second of immense pleasure, it makes it more difficult to hold on. Your thighs shamelessly squeeze shut (though Jungkook grips lightly onto one of your thighs to shift you apart) and when you feel yourself wobble, breathless and dizzy from the feeling of hot fire burning at your core, your hands fly out to grasp at Jungkook’s carob locks, silky to the touch as they slide out from the seams of your fingers. Admittedly, having Jungkook’s face buried beneath your thighs is a ridiculously hot sight that only spurs your blatant spiral into a panting mess.

“Jungkook━ F━Fuck━ Oh my god━”

The moan that leaves you is throaty, guttural and Jungkook swears he’s never heard anything sexier. Watching you writhe helplessly above him is all that he needs. As his tongue licks firmly at your clit, he can’t help but reach down to his own hard dick. His fingers wrap delicately around his shaft and he pumps himself slowly, groaning into your womanhood at the thought of your delicious and hot walls wrapped around him. He shuts his eyes as he works in a smooth rhythm against both him and yourself, imagining what it would be like to just have you anyway he wants, imagining your own reactions similar to the ones you’re making now.

“Ah, shit━” You gasp suddenly. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good━”

God, there you go again. His palm squeezes harder against his member at your breathy moans and he swears you’re driving him absolutely mad. To him, this feels so surreal. He’s dreamed of this; he’s dreamed and wanted nothing more innocent than to just fucking hold your hand and yet here you are in such a compromising position with him and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world. The best part about it all is that you make him feel this much bliss, this dizzy, when he’s simply just around you. Fuck, he’s so in love with you.

Your fingers clutch a little tighter at his roots and his eyes snap open. He stares up at your frazzled mess and, with his free hand, presses his fingers against your core in areas that his tongue has yet not reached. He coats his digits in your glistening arousal and coaxed with such ease he’s able to push them past your folds, earning another beautiful moan from you. He curls his finger inside you, stretching your core, flicks his tongue a little harder at your clit, squeezes his own hand tighter around his cock as he desperately jacks himself off to this, to you. He pumps his finger in and out of you in tandem with his own hand around his length, hearing your sweet whimpers and choked moans.

He must curl his finger just right inside of you or maybe it’s the way your sensitive clit begins to throb with each lick he takes or maybe it’s when he joins his tongue with his finger in a dangerous duo but then you jut your hips forward ever so slightly and jerk them back. He’s eating you out with such vigour, such hard passion that you can feel his chin and his nose brush against your core and each contact has you gasping. He pulls apart just enough when he feels you jerk your hips backward again and you’re so caught up in the pure ecstasy that has overcome you that you hardly realize until you hear him speaking, muttering faintly against your folds, “C’mon, baby. Ride my face. Cum for me.”

His only response is a weak sputtering as you try to gasp for air. You don’t need to be told twice at this point as you feel as if you’re chasing after your high. You unabashedly begin rocking your hips against his mouth and fingers. He tilts his head just right so that his nose burrows into your clit, his tongue and digit slipping further within your walls that clench around the thought of having something of girth like Jungkook’s length inside you. Jungkook’s own hand slacks at his pace around his member, his fingers reaching up to dig into your waist and thighs to hold you in place as you continuously rock against him. You’re so close, you can feel the familiar tension start to form in the very pit of your stomach.

“F━Fuck!” You cry. “Jung━kook━ I’m━”

Your voice breaks off into frail croaks, your hands flying out to grab onto the sturdy frame of your bed in front of you as you feel your high approach. Jungkook pulls you harder against his face, letting you grind against him as he burrows into you, completely ravaging you with his mouth until you feel your release take hold of you. It shakes you to the bone, causes you to writhe in pleasure above him as you come to a halt, emitting a loud moan of his name as your hot release leaks onto his chin, coating his mouth in your shimmering cum.

“Fuck, fuck━ Jungkook!” Your nails dig into the bed frame, your teeth sinking into your lower lip and muffling your dulcet moans.

He laps at your core, licking away every last drop of your succulence until your hips twitch away from the sensitivity you feel. When he finally pulls apart from you, he stares up at you from between your thighs with an amused smirk, his hair messily mused from your doing. You muster a faint smile in return as you pant heavily, attempting to calm your shrill heart and he beckons you over. You blissfully clamber back down his torso, once more straddling his hips as you curl up into his chest, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his lips. You feel him smile against your own mouth and it’s something so gentle, so ardent, that it warms your heart.

“That was so fucking hot,” he mumbles between kisses. “Round two?”

Giggling, you part from him momentarily only to reconnect your lips to his jawline, nibbling on the soft skin there. “How about I let you have a turn?”

He quirks a brow in curiosity though he already knows your intentions as your hand flutters down his stomach. He can’t help the moan that slips past his lips as he feels your soft hands grasp firmly at his hardened cock. He feels as if he could practically melt in your hands or explode at any moment and you hadn’t even done anything. His hips instinctively buck into your fist but he shakes his head. He sits up suddenly, startling you in your spot though his hands come out to grasp at your face and hold you in place as he kisses you feverishly.

“How about,” he breathes, nipping at your lower lip, “you let me make love to you right here, right now.”

For a moment, you become carried away with the taste of his lips mingled with your wet arousal that fades away fast. You return the kiss with such zeal, too reluctant to part from him just yet, that when you muster the nerve to lean away, you’re panting heavily.

“Not so fast, bugboy,” You taunt. “I still want you to rest.”

You give him a little nudge backward and he obediently follows your wordless command, plopping back against the pillows of your bed as he looks up at you, his hands resting on your upper thighs.

“I don’t know if you can consider sex as resting,” he points out playfully, a wry grin plastered on his face.

He watches as you smile, the rapid heave and fall of your chest, as you wiggle around until you’re comfortable again on his lap and have lifted your hips off of him. Your hand wraps around his shaft once more and you pump him once, twice, in slow motions as you spread the leaking cum from his throbbing head along his shaft. His jaw drops open at the feeling, eyebrows knitting together, and his fingers dig a little too harshly into your skin accidentally but you don’t at all mind ━ not when you’re able to see such a beautiful reaction from him as he comes undone before you.

Seconds pass of bated breath as you lower yourself slowly, carefully, to his cock. You run the tip of his length along your folds and up to your clit, rubbing small patterns against it that has both of you whimpering lowly. You coat him in your leaking arousal and then lower yourself onto him, finally connecting the two of your bodies as one.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts.

Jungkook seriously feels as if he’s about to explode ━ literally. You’ve only just sat on him and he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself together long enough before he feels his sweet release. You’re just so warm and wet, so deliciously wet, that he slides easily into your walls that hug him just right. His mind is spinning, and even more so when he feels you stop halfway and lift your hips again. You drop them to the same level and then back again, repeating this process until you drop your hips fully, flush with his.

“Oooh, Jungkook, hmm,” Your fingers dig into his abdomen at the feeling of being so damn full. You can practically feel him throbbing and your own walls clench and release around him as you adjust to his size.

“Move━” he chokes out. “Move, please━ holy shit━”

And you do. You grind against him, rolling your hips around his firm cock as the fire continues to burn between your legs. You raise your hips languidly and drop them back down again and again until you’ve adopted some fluid rhythm, being so easily coaxed by your own cum.

“Like this?” You gasp.

He nods absentmindedly, swallowing thickly. “Fuck yes, just like that, baby.” His head rolls back against the pillows, the vein in his neck straining, “You feel so━ so fucking good.”

“Tell me,” You breathe.

Jungkook finds it hard to concentrate when his eyes fall on you. He watches as your breasts move in tandem as you ride him, the glistening arousal on your folds that coat his length that he watches disappear into you each time. He greedily reaches out as he’s lost in his own thoughts, his hand cupping your plush breast in a firm hold, his thumb brushing against your perked nipple. Your back arches in response, leaning closer to his warm hand, as he focuses on the tightness that is your core.

“Warm,” he moans. “So, so fucking wet ━ oh my god, you’re dripping, baby. Shit, you feel so perfect around my cock.”

You cry out his name, quickening your pace as you chase your high. Your strides are relentless, desperately searching for a sweet release and Jungkook feels the same. He’s held it in this long ━ he isn’t so sure he can hold himself together for much longer. He can’t take it anymore. Just as he feels you slowing down from exhaustion, he sits up once more, his strong arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you tight against his chest. Your own arms slide around his neck and you lean forward to crash your lips against his as you roll your hips steadily against his now. The new angle has him hitting a spot in you that shakes you to the core, has stars forming in your eyes.

You bite down hard on his lower lip accidentally as you try to conceal the loud moan that bubbles at your lips. Jungkook only smirks in response, especially when you shamelessly let those strangled moans out. As you sink lower onto him, Jungkook thrusts his hips upward to meet yours halfway, earning a sharp gasp from you. He tightens his hold on you and continues to thrust up into you again and again, so hard and so fast that it makes you writhe with pleasure above him. You can feel him stretching you wide each time, can feel your sticky arousal begin to trickle down his cock and your thighs.

So much for making sure he doesn’t hurt himself again ━ his thrusts are pure animalistic, hasty and needy, though all either of you care about in that moment is feeling that sweet release. You collapse entirely against Jungkook’s arms, letting him take hold of you as his hips smack against your ass. When you finally feel your second high of the night approach, your reaction feels near explosive. He thrusts again and again and you choke out somewhere between the sound of skin against skin and heavy breathing, “J━Jungkook━ Fuck! I’m close━”

He growls in response, eager to push you to yours as he chases for his. Another thrust and, holy shit, there. He hits a spot in you once, twice, and over and over again that just feels so incredibly good that you can’t help but unravel in his arms. It takes you by surprise, washing over you an immense cloud of bliss as white-hot pleasure blinds you, starting from your core and spiralling out to every edge of your body until your toes are curling. You cry out his name in a beautiful harmonious sound as your cum leaks profusely from you and coats him just right.

Fuck this ━ he doesn’t care anymore that you want him to rest. He needs to feel his own release now. So he grabs you securely and then he’s twisting you around, shoving you onto your back as he pushes his hips into you. You’re writhing beneath him, your back arching until your warm and sweaty chest is pressed against his. Your fucked out expression that stares back up at him but with such tired and loving eyes only spurs him on further (that, and the way you’re clenching so nicely around him). It’s completely messy but he’s so close. Another hard slap of his hips and then he’s finally coming undone. He pulls out of you fast, his hand coming down to grab at his cock as he pumps himself, thickly coated with your juices.

He cums moments later with a deep, rough moan, releasing onto your stomach in ivory beads that paint you his. His hand slacks around his softening length and then he, so spent and slightly sore from his wound (only slightly, he swears), collapses against you. The room suddenly falls silent, safe for the heavy panting and the shrill beating of your hearts that you both try to tame. His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your arms wrap around him to lazily twine his hair with your fingers. It’s nice to just lay there like that, enveloped in each other's arms, basking in the heavenly glow of euphoria. He kisses your neck then, soft and simple, and litters kisses down your throat to your collarbones and then back up again to your lips.

When he parts from you, his eyes remain locked on your mouth until he forces himself to look away and up at you. You’re smiling at him and it’s the type of genuine, albeit exhausted, smile that always warms his insides and makes him feel at ease. Tracing the curve of your lips with his index finger, he hums thoughtfully to himself.

“I lied about before,” he says sheepishly. When you quirk a brow at him, he continues. “I lied about before when you asked me if I’m ever afraid when I go out at night. I’m always afraid. Part of why I wear that mask is so the people I’m up against don’t see me wimping out. But, god, when I’m with you, I feel invincible.”

He watches as a light blush pinches at your cheeks, your fingers reaching up to softly graze his cheek.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers. “I love you. I always have and I swear you make me stronger. I don’t know what it is. I think I just want to fight harder for you. I know I was a dick for leaving that night but I know we can make this work. I just need you to believe in me, too.”

Your eyes, littered with stardust, stare into his as if he is the entire world. “I’m strong, too, Jungkook. I don’t always need protection.”

“I know that,” he chuckles.

“Good. Then get back down here and kiss me again, bugboy.”

Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t hesitate to lean down to press his lips lovingly to yours. He melts against your chest and he is content if every night is like this, in each other’s arms. As he deepens the kiss, he hears you whisper against his lips, “I love you, too, bugboy,” and it is all he needs to feel as if he has the world in his very palm.

Jungkook has always been afraid. He is afraid of not living to see the next day, afraid of losing you or his family or friends but every shred of fear fades away when he’s with you. As the city continues to breathe from beyond the brick walls of your apartment and as the sun begins to rise from the very heart of the metropolis along the horizon, Jungkook is certain that he and you together are invincible.

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