#or better yet our of being a black hole they reflect light in a fucked up and evil way. meaning they're almost opposite in color

[anglerflsh]

more of them + speculating about collectors coloring in the tags

#[.art] #black hole prince #toh oc #<-technically #anyway. fiddled with the design a bit (little crescent moon face + silly hat) #i know in canon the collectors all have the same color scheme but listen to me. they're just a little burnt #or better yet our of being a black hole they reflect light in a fucked up and evil way. meaning they're almost opposite in color #that's the best explanation i could come up with #believer in the fact that a collector's look depends on the astral body they're based on and thus that can have an impact on standard/ #/deviation from the regular collector look

[bratkook]

almost. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost, right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, baby angst, smut word count. 6.4k warnings. two idiots!!, pining, masturbation (m. and f.), use of vibrator, accidental voyeurism?,  more feelings come to light!! summary. jungkook tries to be the best wingman he could be in your new venture after your breakup. he could do it, right? note. part two of not yet, some more feelings are exposed, please don’t hate oc she is but a pendeja that doesn’t see the obvious feelings jungkook has but she has good intentions i promise<3 there will most likely be a final part,,if you guys are into it lmao okie bye

The cool summer breeze flows around you as you’re sitting under the shade, eyes focused on the chaos of runny yolk and hashbrowns that is your breakfast. Jungkook on the other hand, is focused on you. His signature yellow shades block out the sun reflecting from passing cars, concealing his eyes just enough for you to not see him blatantly staring at you while you stuff your face. 

The charmed smile he has falters slightly when you look directly at him, hashbrown lingering by your lip as you repeat his name. “Sorry, what?”

Your brows come together as you smile at his zoned out state, something you had grown fond of in the years of knowing him, always enjoying the small dazed look that graced his face whenever he was lost in his thoughts. His lips push out slightly in question, curious eyes wondering just what you could have been asking him. 

“I was saying that I think I’m giving up on crushes and love.” You say it so easily, mind made up as you grin at him before continuing to shovel hashbrowns into your mouth, only pausing to take a sip of your iced coffee. 

Jungkook tries his best to seem unaffected, nodding along in interest as he takes a steady bite of his own food. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a look around at the people surrounding you: friends having breakfast together and snapping photos, couples feeding each other food with smiles on their faces, a lone man with his dog perched on the seat across from his while he worked on his computer. You briefly wonder if all of them, even the dog, have better luck with love than you do. 

“I think I’m cursed,” you continue. “All of my exes have been assholes, and I’ve always been too blind to see it until it’s over and I’m left crying over Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.”

“Maybe you’re just looking for love in the wrong places,” Jungkook shrugs, internally screaming because he’s who you should be looking at if you wanted love. 

Not to toot his own horn, but Jungkook liked to think he was a good guy, a great boyfriend even. His previous track record of relationships could attest to that, all of them ending on mutual terms, still friendly and civil with each other. He’s almost certain if there was a Yelp page for him it would be at least 4.5 stars with comments raving about how great he is, even little anecdotal touches about how he always gave away his hoodies or offered to cook breakfast. 

He was a god damn catch, why couldn’t you see that?

“Maybe prince charming is a lot closer than you think,” he grumbles out, stabbing his omelette with a little more force than necessary, fork clanking against the plate. And when you gasp in realization he freezes, slowly looking back up at you and seeing the way your eyes widen. 

“Wait, maybe you’re right!” Your hand shoots across the table, gripping onto his forearm and it sends a shock throughout him, skin tingling at your touch. “You know that coffee shop below our building? That cute barista always puts a heart next to my name. Do you think I should ask for his number?”

Jungkook blinks once, slowly twirls his fork in his hand and blinks again before staring up at the sky, mentally asking why he couldn’t just go out and say it. “Hm, I don’t think you should.“

With a defeated sigh you retract your hand, slumping back into your seat and grabbing your iced coffee once more, stirring the straw and ice around as you nod. “True. What if he feels obligated to give it to me just because he doesn’t want to get fired in case I go all Karen on his ass.”

That wasn’t why Jungkook had said not to, but sure, that works too, so he hums along. 

“I bet he draws hearts on all the other girls cups too.” You huff, playfully wiping a tear under your eye with a smile. 

“I’ve actually—“

“You know what I—“

You both freeze mid sentence, Jungkook’s cheeks tinted a light pink as he stutters on his words, wide eyes staring at you as if he had caught himself before you cut him off. But as you’re about to tell him to go on, he waves you off and urges you to speak first. 

“I was just gonna say that maybe I should go through that wild phase people usually go through after breakups.”

He sets his silverware down on the plate and sips his water, giving you an odd look. “Wild phase? Like you wanna dye your hair red and get bangs?”

“No,” you cackle, ruffling a hand through your own hair as you picture yourself with that combination. “I should just go out and hook up with people. I feel like I’ve either been in a relationship or entirely single, so it could be fun right?”

“Uh, maybe...” he trails off, rolling his lips together in thought, not exactly fond of hearing you say that when he had felt the confession about to roll off his tongue. He takes a slow breath, trying to see this from a neutral point, the point of a supportive friend wanting to help you get over a breakup. 

“How do you go about it?”

“Me?” he chokes, pointing at his chest as if there was magically some other person you could be addressing. 

“Yes, you. Need I remind you, we share a wall between our beds.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face shows that you’re speaking of this lightly, not entirely annoyed by the fact that you had heard Jungkook during his own fair share of hook ups. 

He’s not ashamed of it, but considering he never really brought up being able to hear you, he thought you’d pretend to never hear him. It wasn’t too often that he had a girl over, the number of hookups only increasing after you got with Hajoon and loosely cut ties with Jungkook. But from what you had heard—and seen thanks to your nosey self looking through peep holes once they left—it was very rarely the same girl. 

So to you, Jungkook was a pro at the art of hookups. 

“Right, sorry,” he grimaces, a sheepish smile on his lips as he wonders just how many times his activities kept you up at night. 

“It’s fine, consider us even.” A teasing laugh follows your statement, enjoying the flustered look on his face, how his cheeks get even darker in embarrassment. Jungkook was used to the two of you talking like this, neither of you having a filter especially when it came to sexual aspects, but he hadn’t had a conversation like this since before you got with Hajoon. It would take some getting used to again. 

“So, give me the tips. Where do you find people?”

Jungkook leans back into his chair, arms stretching out on either side of him, short sleeves of his black tee bunching up and revealing more of his tattoos and the rippling of his muscles. With a small laugh he rakes his hand through his fluffy hair, giving you a small smile. “Honestly? Anywhere. I’ve gotten girl’s numbers at the gym and at coffee shops, but bars are the best bet for something quick.”

“Ugh, fuck you and your pretty privilege.” 

“What?” he guffaws, smiling wide and showing you his adorable smile as he laughs loudly, not caring about the attention he draws to your table. He doesn’t even realize how the table full of girls is now trying to discreetly stare at him, because his eyes are on you. You see it though, and it further proves your point. “What the hell is pretty privilege?”

Your wild hands gesture towards him, a look of disbelief on your face as you do so. “You! Of course girls line up to hand you their number, have you seen yourself? Pretty privilege,” you jab your fork at him in time with your final words, a smirk on your glossy lips. 

Jungkook feels his confidence grow at your casual compliment, tongue prodding at his cheek as he stares down at his food, trying not to smile too hard. You thought he was pretty, that was a win in his book. 

“C’mon,” he teases, foot gently nudging your leg underneath the table. “You could totally score someone's number. Plus there's always apps if you just wanna test the water.”

You give your plate a contemplated stare, “Sure, how hard could it be?”

Admittedly, the answer to that question was: not hard at all. You had met all your previous boyfriends in person, through mutual friends or shared classes back in college, never once dipping your toe into the world of Tinder or Bumble. Who knew all it would take was a couple of selfies and the strategic body shot to have boys circling around you like some new-age, slightly filthier version of rapunzel. 

Jungkook knew though, not at all shocked by how quickly you get a match the following day when he’s at your place. His eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, helping you beat a level in your favorite game that you had been stuck on. But the second you gasp as if you’ve won the lottery, he pauses the game entirely and gives you an odd look. 

“What?”

His answer comes in the form of your phone thrusted in his direction, lit up screen displaying your profile picture and the one of the boy you had just matched with. Jung Hoseok. Jungkook’s eyes narrow as he reads the name, trying to remember it in case he somehow had a friend in common that knew all the dirt on him. 

He has a similar pair of yellow shades on his own head, thicker black rims around them and a charming smile on his face. Jungkook chuckles to himself. Yellow shades? How original. 

“What do I say?” you question, eyes looking nervous as you wiggle the phone in his face. The small white bar beneath your match urges you to start a conversation, and coming up with the right words to say makes you overthink it all. 

“Just say hi and tack on some cute emoji. It’s not that hard,” he laughs, pushing the phone back at you. Jungkook knew you could start the message off any way you wanted and this Jung Hoseok would eat it right up. How could he not, the alluring smile in your profile photo would draw anyone in. 

“Okay, I did it.” Your phone is instantly locked and chucked aside in an attempt to be forgotten, choosing to grab the remote out of Jungkook’s hands for another distraction. It only lasts a brief second before you’re killed by the boss Jungkook was trying to defeat. 

“Really?” Jungkook huffs, yanking the remote back into his hands, needing a distraction himself. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were searching for a fuck buddy while he sat beside you. How crazy would it be if he suggested being your fuck buddy, offered to help you through this so called wild phase you were searching for. 

No. That’s not what he wants. 

Would he enjoy it? Sure. But he could already imagine how much worse his heart would hurt if his feelings came to light and yours were non-existent. That is if you’d even agree to it. 

“Relax, he’s probably thinking of what to reply.”

You make a noise of disagreement, fingers itching to unlock your device to see if it was true, slowly inching towards it until you finally grab it and go back onto the app. Jungkook just chuckles as he goes back to helping you with your game, not wanting to look at you as you giggle at your device. He could already imagine what this guy was telling you for you to turn into a giddy mess not even two minutes in. 

He tunes it all out, eyes focused on the screen, fingers gripping the remote with a little more force than needed. His concentration helps him though, finally passing the level you’ve been stuck on for the past two weeks. 

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, making a show of stretching out and sending you a smile, having it falter slightly when he sees your eyes still focused on the screen of your phone. With a frown he looks back at the television, saving the game before turning it off altogether. 

Once he gets up from the couch, making his way over to the media console to store the remotes, is when you look up at him. “You’re right, this is easy!”

Jungkook doesn’t feel the usual pride that comes with being right, but the cheerful look on your face prevents him from feeling salty. Coming back towards the couch, he sits beside you once more, facing you as he rests his elbow on the back cushion to lean on. “Told you so.”

He keeps that same smile on his face as you mention how quick Hoseok was to ask you out on a date, even as you bring up the fact that this date would be at his place, and Jungkook could decipher netflix and chill any way some greasy boy tried to conceal it. 

“I hope he knows I don’t want anything serious,” you mumble, chewing on your fingernail as you scroll through the messages. 

Jungkook could almost laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of the piranha infested water that was the great sea of Tinder. Of course this yellow sunglass wearing wannabe version of him knows you don’t want anything serious, why else would he be so quick to invite you over with the cheeky excuse to watch movies. 

All he can do is shrug as he stares at you, lips pressed together in an effort to not say something that would totally ruin everything. Instead, Jungkook does everything he can to be the best version of a wingman you could get. He tells you the ins and outs of hookups, how you should definitely not text him the minute you leave his place and tell him you had fun, don’t talk about anything super personal involving family or your work, and if he doesn’t offer to go down on you but expects a blowjob he’s a loser. 

It’s solid advice that you mentally jot down, subjecting him to further questions your mind comes up with and even asking him for help on an outfit via text the night of your hangout with Jung Hoseok. 

Jungkook stares at the photos for a little too long if he’s being honest. They weren’t spectacular selfies that you had taken much effort for, their sole purpose being showing off the outfit, but the way you look so focused as you snapped the shot had him zooming into your face and smiling like an idiot. When you double text him with a long line of question marks he snaps out of it, deciding on the second option you picked of mom jeans and a cropped shirt. Cute and casual, and definitely something Jungkook preferred, but he’d never tell you that. 

When you finally text him a thumbs up and tell him you’re on your way out he just hearts the message before locking his device and trudging to the living room. It’s not often that he wallows in self pity, spacing those days out so far he barely remembers them. But they usually went exactly like this, ordering a large meat lovers pizza with extra cheese, drinking far too many Mike’s hard lemonade—because despite how much they made his stomach hurt they were tasty so he didn’t care—and binge watching his comfort show: Modern Family. 

But even as he sulks on his couch, practically sinking into the cushions with horrible posture and a slice of pizza resting on his chest, he can’t find it in himself to chuckle at Cam and Mitch’s usual banter. He’s too busy thinking about which movie you’re currently watching, if you were watching it. Who’s Jungkook kidding though, you were totally getting your guts rearranged right now. 

Taking an aggressive bite out of the crust he frowns and raises the volume up on his television, attempting to drown the mocking voice in his head calling him a loser for not admitting to his feelings. He knew this, knew he should have said something when he wanted to at breakfast, but Jungkook was afraid that if he confessed as you were talking about hooking up, that you’d see him as taking advantage of a situation instead of being genuine. I mean who wouldn’t? You say you want something casual and suddenly he’s spilling his heart out and you’re supposed to believe he’s not some pig trying to butter you up. He didn’t want to get labeled as a creepy neighbor after the good times you’ve had. 

“So stupid,” he grumbles to himself as he takes another swig, the last drops of the alcohol hitting his tongue with a tangy aftertaste. As he sits up to place the empty bottle onto his coffee table his muscles ache, neck stiff from the unfortunate position it had been subjected to for the last three hours. With a small huff he’s rolling his shoulders, reaching for his discarded phone to see the time—and also check if you’d sent him some SOS text—but he finds nothing besides the bright numbers indicating that it was nearing midnight.

In true pity party day fashion, he doesn’t even bother cleaning up after his mess, just tossing the dirty dishes into the sink to be washed tomorrow when he would force himself to be in a better mood. Instead, he grabs a water and his phone and waddles into his bedroom. 

The moonlight illuminates the space enough for him to keep the light switch off, undressing from his crumb covered sweats and shirt, choosing to remain in his boxers as he slipped under the cold duvet. The sheets feel fresh against his hot cheeks, flush from the alcohol, cooling him down and making his body relax. 

Jungkook knows he should sleep, needing to be up early tomorrow for work, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. His buzzed brain has no qualms imagining exactly what you were doing right now, wondering if you’d be the type to act shy at a guy’s house for the first time, if you’d initiate the first move or not. Jungkook had only seen it up close once under the flash of strobe lights and the haze of alcohol, but he can still picture the soft smile on your face before you go in for a kiss, and he grumbles under his breath when he realizes that he wouldn’t be the one kissing you tonight. 

What he doesn’t know, is that you wouldn’t be the one getting kissed tonight either. The Jung Hoseok you had perceived through Tinder, assuming he was all casual and DTF with his netflix and chill suggestion, had been anything but. What you thought would be a steamy night, ended up becoming a nice dinner and comedy watched, morphing into some version of game night where you discovered he was a little too competitive than you were used to. The only action you got was a kiss to your cheek as he walked you to your car and a promise for another date. A promise you would not be keeping. 

So as Jungkook lays in bed while his thoughts turn into some fantasy of you moaning out his name, you shuffle into your bedroom and slip into your pajamas with a defeated sigh. You had already texted your best friend telling her what a bust tonight had been, deciding to just tell Jungkook all about it tomorrow because you knew he was most likely fast asleep now. And as you settle under your own covers, inches away from Jungkook with only a wall seperating you, you decide to just call it a night and pretend it never happened. 

Just as you shut your eyes, nuzzling into your pillow, you hear the first moan come from behind the wall. A small cry of despair escapes you as you bury your face into your sheets, tugging them up and over your head to block the sound of Jungkook getting some action the same night you had been left high and dry. Of course he would, assuming you’d be getting the same treatment at your date's place, why wouldn’t he take advantage of your absence and not have to muffle his partner’s moans the way he usually did. 

You’re just going to ignore it, until you hear a moan that sounds strangely like your own name. Maybe it's wishful thinking on your part, your horny brain deciding to pretend that Jungkook was calling for you instead of whoever he was with. It might be a little wrong for you to have that fantasy of your neighbor, but you aren’t blind. He’s hot, and adorably sweet, the perfect package for any girl he tried to swoon. And judging by the cries you’ve heard of lucky girls prior, you know he was good in bed. 

You’re just desperate now. That’s the excuse you tell yourself as you slowly settle onto your back, feeling your body warm up when you focus on his muffled groans, desperate and needy. As your hand slowly slides down your shirt, you shut your eyes, biting down onto your lip to muffle any sound you could make when your fingers slip underneath your pants and past your underwear. 

Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t care about his volume. His boxers are tugged down his thighs, knees bent as he slowly ruts into his sticky palm. His hand is tacky with the lube he had messily squirted on, thick cock glistening in the light coming in from his window. He can’t look away from it, mouth dropped open as he groans, imagining it was your hand tightly wrapped around him, your spit covering his cock instead of that strawberry flavored lube. 

“Ah fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back onto his soft pillows when his thumb rubs along his slit. It continues to leak beads of precum, quickly wiped away to join the mess on his cock when his hand slides back down and squeezes along his base. 

You hear that loud and clear, and when the female voice you’re expecting never follows, you realize he must be taking care of himself. It makes you feel a little less guilty now as your fingers trail along your slit, collecting the slick coating your folds before you softly circle your clit. A choked gasp fills the air at the small sensation, your body already wired after having expected to get some action tonight; it totally had nothing to do with your hot neighbor jacking off inches away from you. 

With your eyes fluttering shut, you strain your ears to make out any other noise, muffling your own groans with a hand pressed against your mouth. The bed creaks lightly underneath you as you roll your hips into your hand, getting into a smooth rhythm that makes your body buzz. 

Slowly, your imagination runs wild, and you wonder just what Jungkook was thinking of as he did this. Was he watching some porn as he did it, using his own filthy thoughts to push himself to ecstacy, or was this just something he needed to do to be able to sleep? 

“Shit, so good,” he groans out, voice raspy, but you can sense his desperation through the drywall. It’s what has you sinking a single digit into your drenched entrance, biting down onto your lower lip when you feel the glide of your walls as you start to thrust into yourself, easing in another and mewling at the slight stretch. 

Jungkook would absolutely give his left leg to know what your pussy felt like, he didn’t even care how disgusting he sounded by admitting that to himself, it was true. Blame it on the hard lemonade that made his stomach ache and his mind unfiltered, but he could almost visualize how you’d look above him, could practically feel the warmth of your core wrapped around him, dripping down his length as he fucked into you. 

He knows you’re loud in bed, never being one to conceal your cries of pleasure and he would die happy to hear his name come out of your mouth as you creamed his cock. But for now, his hand would have to do. 

His lids feel too heavy, jaw slack as the pleasure flows through his body. The wet squelch of his palm fills the room, mingling with his pants and groans, air growing thick around him. It’s been a while since Jungkook had jacked off, and even longer since he’d been able to do it shamelessly in bed without the fear of you hearing him, but now that he thought you were gone he can’t find it in himself to cover his mouth or groan into his pillows like he usually did. 

The pent up frustration fogs up his mind, cranks the lust up to 11 until his free hand is gripping his sheets beside him, bed frame creaking as his thrusts speed up. The thuds of his headboard hitting the wall come from behind you, a choked moan blending in with it, and it has you scrambling for your bedside drawer. 

The pajamas you wear get yanked off your legs and tossed aside after you grab your trusty vibrator, settling onto your back once more with huff. All it takes is a press of a button for the device to come to life, buzzing in your hand as you trail it up your thighs. A gasp escapes you when you pass it over your mound, brushing against your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper when you finally press the vibrating head directly onto your sensitive clit, legs spreading further apart as you increase the intensity. You could clearly hear the raise in Jungkook’s moans, and that's when the first irrational thought pops into your mind. 

How easy would it be for you to head over to his place and deal with both of your problems. Surely Jungkook wouldn’t have an issue with you offering to suck his dick, wouldn’t mind letting you sink down onto him if it was just a friendly favor. 

The little devil on your shoulder tells you it would be mutually beneficial, urging you to get up and walk to Jungkook’s with the vibrator still in your hand, but you can’t. This alone felt like enough of a dirty secret, a secret you’d have absolutely no problem keeping because although you feel slightly ashamed, you couldn’t deny how turned on you are. 

The flashes of all the times you’ve heard Jungkook with other people play in your mind, the screams of his name that he tried to muffle, pleas for him to go faster, the resounding smack of his palm on flesh that always left you wide eyed when you heard it. And you start to wonder if maybe you’d be into that, the feeling of his large tattooed hand connecting with your ass, gently tapping against your cheek for you to open up for his cock. 

That fantasy is like the first ember needed to start the fire inside of you, spreading uncontrollably until you’re bucking into your vibrator, teeth biting down on your lip to keep any potential moans of his name from slipping out. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, the same fire burning within him. Maybe your minds are linked telepathically, his thoughts gravitating to the same filthy fantasy you had. Jungkook was very much an ass man, knowing very well how good your butt looked in jeans from how often he stared at it, he could only imagine how good it would look as he fucked you from behind. Picturing the way it would bounce back from the force of his thrusts, eyes glued to the way you’d soak his cock, mimicking the tightness of your walls with a firm grip of his palm. 

Jungkook can sense his orgasm approaching, leaves his chest feeling tight as he pants, legs gliding along his sheets for leverage to continue fucking into his hand. You’re not far off either, vibrator set to the highest setting you can practically feel your bones rattling, free hand slipped under your shirt as you pinch at your pebbled nipples. You’re both on the brink of falling over the edge, the same question playing in your mind: where would you want Jungkook to cum?

As his moans get breathier, whiny in a way you’d never imagine them to be, you mentally decide that you’d want him to cum inside of you, wanting to see the way his cute face would twist up in pleasure as he filled you up. Jungkook hopes you would, throwing all responsible thinking aside for that sweet moment of ecstasy and the mental picture is enough to finally push him over. 

“Ah shit, baby,” he cries out in his room—thankfully having half the mind to not cry out your name as he came—eyes rolling back as his cock twitches in his palm, ribbons of cum splashing onto his stomach and chest. The warmth hits his skin, more droplets continuing to leak out as his palm milks his orgasm, stomach hiccuping and back arching from the stimulation. 

The choked moan is what has your own orgasm washing over you, your palm slapping over your mouth so hard you know you’ll feel the ache later but you don’t care. A muffled gasp blends with the buzzing of your toy, thighs tensing up as your body tingles and writhes around on your sheets. 

The only thing you can think of is Jungkook, the charming smile he’d give you when he listened to you rant about anything, his annoying habit of rolling up his sleeves to show off his muscles, the cute scowl on his face whenever you managed to beat him at Mario Kart, and the soft feeling of his alcohol coated lips on yours. It leaves you feeling warm as your orgasm flows through you, lying limp on the bed as you mewl at the sensitivity. 

When you realize your thoughts have strayed from ‘pure sexy Jungkook fantasyland’, and switched over to ‘Jeon Jungkook your adorable neighbor’, your eyes go wide, finger immediately going to turn off the vibrator. In your haste to shut it off, you click the wrong button, changing the pulsing settings and nearly screaming when the device starts to buzz erratically against your overly sensitive clit. 

With a strained gasp you yank it away from yourself, turn it off and throw it aside, horribly miscalculating the size of your bed and watching in horror as it lands on the floor with a loud thud. The complete silence from both sides makes the noise sound deafening, and all you can do is sit on your bed, half naked, and hope Jungkook is still too busy basking in his post orgasm bliss to hear the bang. 

Although the blood is still pumping in his ears, he heard the thud clearly. His heart stops in his chest as he lays there, too scared to breathe in case he’d somehow make too much noise, suddenly afraid of being too loud after he had just made a show of himself. Jungkook slowly sits himself up, grimacing at the stickiness on his stomach before pressing his ear against his headboard to try to hear anything else. 

All you want to do is yank the covers over yourself and go to sleep, pretend your horrendous date and your dirty thoughts about your friend never happened. The sobering mentality that comes after an orgasm settles into you, leaving you staring at the floor with a crease between your brows as you wonder what the hell came over you. 

When Jungkook hears nothing else, he sighs in relief, hauling himself out of bed to grab another pair of underwear before entering his bathroom to clean up. As he stares at his own reflection in the mirror, he frowns at how pathetic he feels. The throbbing headache of his earlier drinks is already starting to kick in, body now sweaty from exertion, stomach covered in his cum. 

“Such a loser,” he grumbles out, grabbing a wad of tissues to wipe away the mess on his skin before walking back out. Here he was, getting off to the thought of you, while you were out having your post-breakup wild phase. 

His hands grab his phone as he reaches his nightstand, flopping back onto the bed and unlocking the device. It’s now one in the morning, and you still hadn’t text him, which either meant you were having the time of your life, or Jungkook had to track down this Jung Hoseok. The slightly protective side of him won’t allow him to sleep until he hears back from you, fingers already typing out a message and hitting send. 

Jungkook 1:23am : you safe or am i gonna have to go all Liam Neeson on this guy?

When your phone vibrates on your nightstand you gasp, grabbing it before it could make any more noise. Seeing Jungkook’s name flash on the screen makes your blood run cold, already imagining what the text could be: calling you dirty for getting off on him, making fun of you, telling you to come ove—no stop that. 

Finally mustering up the courage, you open it up, a small laugh spilling out as you read his message, relief flooding through you as you realize that meant he thought you were still with Hoseok. 

Y/N 1:26am : oh yeah, you gonna show him your very particular set of skills? lol

Y/N 1:26am : i just got home though

Y/N 1:26am : like right now

Y/N 1:26am : still sitting in my living room

Y/N 1:27am : haha

He laughs at your string of texts, something you hear as he settles into bed. Jungkook ebbs away the small feeling of jealousy in his chest, trying to see the silver lining of this. You weren’t rushing to tell him anything about your date which meant it either went so good you wanted to keep it to yourself, or it was subpar and you wouldn’t be seeing this yellow sunglass wearing copycat again. 

Jungkook 1:29am : glad you got home safe, goodnight y/n!

Sending back a goodnight text, you lock your phone and slide deeper into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin as you stare at the ceiling. You already know the only thing you’ll be dreaming about is your cute neighbor with a bunny smile and body proportions that contradicted it. And as Jungkook lays in bed, wondering if he’ll have to push the crush aside, you’re barely coming to terms with the fact that the small glowing feeling that came with being around him might be something else. 

Every single one of your interactions gets rewinded and played back like a seamless montage, remembering just how many almost moments there was between you. The way his eyes would flash down to your lips whenever you playfully argued on your couch, hands yanking the remotes from his in a game of tug of war that left you way too close in the heat of the moment. How he’d let you braid his hair anytime you found a new youtube tutorial, his starry eyes staring at you with so much adoration it made your stomach flip, brushing it off as love for a friend. 

Then came the jokes from your friends, constantly teasing you about Jungkook, playfully saying they would try to sleep with him just because they liked the scowl on your face, and how quickly you tried to play it off. How the sweet old lady from the convenience store downstairs always assumed you were dating when you came in together, the low jab she sent when you walked in with Hajoon and she said she preferred you with Jungkook. That argument had been one of the ones that left him bolting out of your apartment with a nasty slam of the door, spewing nasty words at you, calling you blind for not seeing it and dumb for acting like you had no idea what he was talking about. 

And for the first time, you come to the sudden realization that Hajoon was right. His deep set insecurities about Jungkook had stemmed from scraps of the truth, not just from him but from you too. The amount of times you’d find a way to slide Jungkook’s name into a conversation about anything, telling him funny stories about him, too lost in thought to see that while you were giggling as you reminisce, he was staring at you in disbelief. 

The final thought that makes you want a blackhole to swallow you up, comes in the form of you, grabbing Jungkook’s face before planting a kiss on his unsuspecting lips at the club. You want to scream into your pillow as you recall it, how he had almost leaned back in to kiss you again before you had sobered him up with your dumb question rooted in revenge. 

“Oh my god, I’m such a bitch.” you whimper. Subjecting Jungkook to be your wingman, jokingly telling him he should be your fake boyfriend more often, asking him for tips with hook ups. If everyone else could see it but you, he probably thought you were purposely friendzoning him. 

The guilt piles on top of you as you start to piece together every moment that flew over your head, only making you bury yourself deeper into your sheets. It makes your heart twist, taking note of how Jungkook was always so quick to put a smile on his face despite how naive you were to it all, wondering if maybe it was too late to try to make something of this now. How many times could you call Jungkook ‘bro’ and treat him like you didn’t see him romantically, before he decided there was no hope for him anymore. 

So as you force yourself to sleep, nerves and uncertainty weighing heavy on your mind, Jungkook snores away as he dreams of the almost moments that could have been.

#heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #ficswithluv #btscreatorscorner #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #bts fics #new

[dreamingofaizawa]

Obedient (Rewritten)

Soft! Yandere! Erasermic x Chubby! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

You must be 18 years old or older to participate in this reading. If you are not, please remove yourself from the line and find another piece. Thank you.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied drugging, kidnapping, reader is way too fucking calm with the situation, Stockholm Syndrome, BDSM themes, a collar, body worship, the word Daddy once, smut, double penetration (diff. holes), anal, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare.

Word Count: 6.6 k

Author's Note: Alright. I've been wanting to rewrite this for a while now. Obedient was the very first fic I'd ever written and posted back in September, and my writing has changed A LOT since then. Reading the original, I realized there's a lot that I can change and tweak, and a lot that wasn't very clearly or well written (in my opinion). So, here it is!

You can find the original here.

Enjoy~

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“Happy birthday to me.” The words tumble loosely from your lips on a heaved breath, your fingers curled lazily around a cold glass of whiskey.

It isn’t a rare occurrence to see you perched atop a stool at the edge of the bar, nursing your third glass at 2am on a Friday night. Or rather Saturday morning. It’s one of the only places you can find solace, away from nosy coworkers and nosier acquaintances. The loneliness is soberingly blissful. You never cared much for social interaction.

At this point the bar is emptying, only a handful of bodies sticking around in the early hours. In the reflections of the rows of glass liquor bottles you see them again. Two lanky figures sitting in the corner booth at the back of the establishment. Any normal person would see them and think nothing. But you know better. When you first walked into the bar six months ago they were in that exact spot, and every time afterward they’d be there when you walked in and stayed after you left.

You, being observant as you are, always watched everything from your spot at the bar, the slightly warped images in the glass serving as your eyes for the night. It didn’t take long for you to figure the two were watching you every time you stepped inside. The blonde one always sat with his back to you, and his head would occasionally turn in the reflection. You’d alternate seats to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it only confirmed what you’d suspected.

Not that you cared enough to do anything about it.

As long as they keep their distance you’re perfectly content letting them look. And they did keep their distance. They’d never even come within 5 feet of you, seemingly happy with just lingering glances. Of course, tonight would be a different story.

You watch as their glassy reflections stand up, the distance between you and them shrinking with each of their long strides. You let your eyes fall to the amber liquid in your hands, praying they’d only pass you by on their way out. Two sets of footsteps approached, two bodies popped up on either side of you, and a deep, silky smooth voice sounded on your right.

“Mind if we take a seat?” A glance to your right revealed a rugged, yet handsome man peering down at you with his deep, tired onyx eyes. Long raven hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his chiseled jaw peppered with barely tamed scruff and a scar curved along his cheekbone. You turn to look at his friend, long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and hypnotic green eyes focused on you behind orange tinted sunglasses despite being indoors past midnight. He is handsome as well, a small mustache on his smiling lips, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline drawing you in.

You couldn’t help but feel they look familiar, somehow. You’d seen their faces before, somewhere, but you pushed that to the back of your mind for now.

It wouldn’t hurt to let them sit with you, right? They seem friendly enough, and it’s better to entertain them in case things go south should you reject their request. With a small, tired smile, you nod.

“Sure thing, fellas.” They both plop down on either side of you and the blonde immediately gets talking.

“So what’s the occasion, little listener?” Two thoughts came to mind. One, how did he know there was any occasion, two, what kind of pet name is ‘little listener’? Your confusion must have shown on your face, because the raven haired man spoke up.

“You’re pretty dolled up for a night at the bar, kitten.” Ah. So they had been watching you. You aren’t wearing anything that would normally be considered ‘dolled up’. Your tan sweater and black skirt are relatively plain, and the platform boots you’re wearing accompanied by your thigh-high socks are something you’re experimenting with.

But usually you entered the bar with a white button-up and black slacks from your job as a waitress. Today you had time to go home and pamper yourself a bit before heading to your usual drinking spot. Evidently, they noticed. You bring your glass up to your lips and gulp down the remaining liquid before entertaining the question.

“Nothing special. Call it a birthday party.” And hey, you mean it when you say it isn’t special. Your birthday only marks yet another routine year on this earth. The blonde nudges your shoulder with his own.

“I’d say that’s pretty special, sunshine!” The alcohol must be affecting you, because you chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm.

“Just another year gone by, you know?” You’re never this talkative sober. The man on your right rapped his knuckles on the bartop, the barkeep making his way over with a tired smile.

“One more glass for this pretty kitty here.” The name had your eyebrows raising.

“This one’s on me.” As the fresh glass was sat on the bartop you scoffed quietly.

“Kitty?” A deep hum came from the man.

“Well how would you describe yourself, kitten?” Somewhere in your muddled brain you warned yourself not to be self-deprecating on your 25th birthday. You didn’t listen.

“Definitely not feline. I’m short and chunky and the only thing cat-like about me is my posture and eyeliner,” you stated, matter-of-factly. As a waitress at an esteemed high-end restaurant, you had to learn to be quick on your feet, agile, and most importantly, poised. A hum comes from the blonde, a muttered ‘pretty and humble’ floating on his breath. You force a chuckle at the statement.

“Pretty is also a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.” A short silence falls between the three of you, and you take the time to study their faces. Where had you seen them before? You’re certain if you’d met them before you’d remember them, you don’t tend to forget attractive people.

They’re oddly patient as they watch the cogs in your brain turn, your eyes taking in every detail of every feature. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide when you’d finally placed their faces.

“Present Mic and Eraserhead. You’re pro heroes.” The words are quiet, nearly imperceptible as you breathe them, but they’re close enough to hear. Present Mic beams at the recognition.

“In the flesh, sunshine. But we’d prefer you use our names.” Eraserhead leans away and sticks a hand out for a handshake.

“Shouta Aizawa.” You shake his hand and turn to the blonde, who similarly has his hand held out.

“Hizashi Yamada.” You introduce yourself, a bit shaky and only slightly starstruck. What in the world are two pro heroes doing talking to you? As you regain your composure you excuse yourself to the restroom. You weren’t prepared to talk to heroes tonight. A glance in the mirror has you sobering yourself, rationalizing their strange behavior. These two are pro heroes. They were clearly only worried about your safety, a woman all alone in a bar till the earliest hours of the morning. ‘That’s why they were watching me’, you muse. You quickly fix yourself, then step back out to the two heroes.

The three of you pass another hour of time before you decide it’s time for you to head home. They offer to give you a lift, but you politely decline. You can't intrude on them any more than you already had. Hizashi insists otherwise.

“Please Sunshine? If something were to happen to you we’d never forgive ourselves!” It made sense to you. They’re pro heroes after all, it’s in their nature to worry. So you oblige to ease their anxieties.

Since Shouta hadn’t touched any alcohol, he’s driving, and you punch your address into the GPS system of their very expensive looking car. As you sit back, Hizashi holds a bottle over his head.

“Water?” You thank him and drain the bottle, realizing you’re a bit more dehydrated than you initially thought. In your semi-drunk haze you fail to notice that the bottle had already been opened, and you miss Shouta’s eyes watching you down the beverage through the rearview mirror.

It’s only five minutes later you feel drowsy, your head lolling to the side and eyelids drooping. You don’t quite register the question Hizashi asks you, and when you don’t answer he turns around to look at you.

“You seem tired, Sunshine. Take a nap, we’ll wake you up when we get there.” Your exhaustion takes hold over any rational thoughts, and with a sleepy nod, you stretch out over the backseat and let your mind slip into unconsciousness, blissfully unaware you’ll never see your apartment again.

The first thing you notice as you wake up is how stiff and sore your muscles are. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t in your clothes from last night, nor are you in your own bed. Your eyes snap open and you sit up, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a curse under your breath you scour your memory for anything, checking if you’d gone home with anyone or gotten yourself in a tight situation. The last thing you remember is being driven home by the two pros, then passing out in their backseat.

Questions began forming in your mind. ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Where had the two heroes gone?’ In an attempt to think clearer, you try crossing your legs, but your ankle is stopped short by something heavy. Throwing off the blanket, a thick metal cuff glinted in the light of the room, an equally thick chain leading somewhere over the side of the bed.

When your breathing begins to quicken, you settle your mind, refusing to panic. Willing yourself to relax, you begin to think about how you can get out of this situation. ‘Today should be Saturday. Assuming this room is part of a house, someone would most likely still be here’. With a small breath, you speak, hopefully loud enough for someone to hear you.

“H-hello? Is someone there?” It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to reach your ears, and the door opens to the last person you’re expecting to see. A ruggedly handsome Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his lips.

“Good morning, Kitty.” As endearing as the pet name is, the only emotion you feel right now is confusion. Your mind is drifting to all the fanfiction you’d read online, piecing together the events of last night like a puzzle. ‘The bottle of water was already open’. In your defense, they’re pro heroes, it’s only natural for you-- or anyone, really-- to let your guard down. A large hand on your shoulder jolts you back to reality, your eyes wide as you stare up at Shouta like a deer in headlights.

“You okay Kitten?” All you can manage as you settle your thoughts is to blink up at the man, swallowing down the lump in your throat before letting out a shaky breath.

“Let me guess. I’m home now, aren’t I?” The man stares back down at you with subtly raised eyebrows before chuckling softly.

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you.” He leaves you to your thoughts and your mind begins reeling once again. You understand this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be so willing, so obedient. You also know how boring your life has been up until now. How mundane and lonely you’d been for as long as you can remember.

You’d cut ties with your family long ago, and ‘friend’ is a very loose term. Most of the people you called friends are acquaintances at best, your antisociality and trust issues meant ‘making friends’ is not on your life agenda. Somehow you knew, deep down, you wanted something like this to happen. You longed to give up control, to let someone else string you along and take the reins and let you relax, not have to worry about anything anymore. That side of you tended to make itself known through your explorative late teen years.

You’d had romantic partners before, though once anything intimate came up they all refused to associate with you anymore. They couldn’t understand your want to give up control, your need to submit. They refused to collar you ‘like an animal’. None of your partners ever understood the weight behind such a garment. This may be your chance at the relationship you’d always craved, regardless of its twisted nature.

Then there’s the logical side, the chances of you actually escaping. As a quirkless human in the presence of two trained pro heroes (assuming Hizashi is also in on this), the likelihood of you making it out is slim to nonexistent. If you somehow manage to get out, the two could easily track you down and just as easily drag you back. So, as wrong as it seems, you don’t fight it.

Shouta returns with a tray of breakfast, setting it down on your lap after you’d adjusted yourself to lean against the headboard. As he pulls back you mumble a ‘thank you’ and begin to eat, acknowledging the pang of hunger in your belly. As weird as it seems to say ‘thank you’ to your captor, you find it could be helpful even if only a little. Being polite is automatic, but it’s also a great way to make sure you don’t end up injured, or worse, dead somewhere, so for once in a long time your manners are intended. You’d gotten halfway through your meal when Shouta speaks up.

“You’re taking this really well.” He almost seems skeptical. You peer up at him as you finish the food in your mouth.

“There isn’t much use panicking. I’d only end up hurting myself. Besides, it’s not like I can get out.” You motion to the cuff around your ankle and he gives a small chuckle.

“You’re not wrong, kitten.” He leaves to let you finish breakfast, returning ten minutes later and taking your empty tray. He comes back right after, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in hand.

“I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.” You give a small nod, acknowledging the pressure in your bladder for the first time since you woke up. Gently, he takes your wrists and locks the cuffs around them, then holds up the blindfold before going to tie it around your head.

“These are just a precaution.” Soon you feel the cuff on your ankle fall away, and Shouta’s strong arms loop under your knees and back as he lifts you off the bed.You’re both surprised and not that he can lift you with relative ease. He is a pro hero after all. It takes less than 30 seconds for him to stop and gently place you down, taking the blindfold and cuffs off.

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Once you’re done, knock and I’ll take you back to bed.” You nod and he leaves, locking the door once he’s outside. Of course it locks from the outside. You take a moment to just think about your current predicament. Currently you’re locked in the house of a pro hero, being kept against your will (sort of). Your life had just taken an unexpected turn.

You knock on the door like Shouta said, and it isn’t long before you’re back on the bed with the cuff around your ankle. As he turns to leave you stop him, and he turns back to you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Can I...draw?” You didn’t know if he’d actually let you have anything, but it was worth a shot. If you were to be cooped up here you need to keep yourself occupied. With a low hum, he leaves the room and comes back with a sketch pad, pencil, and eraser.

Days come and go with either of the pros serving you three meals a day. They begin questioning your obedience, especially Hizashi. He questioned your lack of panic and how you never seemed to try to escape. Even he knows this isn’t normal. Shouta seems less skeptical, like he’d expected less of a fight than any normal, sane person would give. When Hizashi asked questions you answered truthfully. Lying is of no use to you.

“Really, I don’t mind it here. So far my life has been pretty shitty and boring, so this turn of events is mildly appreciated. Besides, you treat me relatively well, considering I’m being held captive, so I can’t say I’m upset.” You’d guessed from both your reading and their actions that they truly believed they cared about you. The chances of them hurting you are slim, so you’re able to live with them without fear.

The cuff around your ankle came off about a week in, and Shouta gave you the freedom to roam the house, though it wasn’t without warning. He held his hand out to you, an offer to help you stand, and you took it. Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shift your weight to your feet. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn, but Shouta held you to let you stretch your legs and get comfortable walking again.

He led you out to what you assume is the dining table and sat you down, Shouta taking the seat on your right. You assume Hizashi is in the kitchen, what with the clatter and smell of food. Shouta asked what you’d been drawing, which caught you a bit off guard, but you answered anyway.

“Koi fish.” He hummed, focused on you.

“Any particular reason why?” You take a moment to think about your answer, it’s not a question you’re used to responding to.

“Well they’re gorgeous creatures. Elegant, sleek and graceful. The way they move is so mesmerizing, smooth and flawless like a flowing creek. I’ve always loved drawing koi.”

The conversation lapses into your fascination with the fish, how they somehow remind you of dragons and how the fantastical creature’s existence isn’t as far-fetched as it’s made out to be. Hizashi joins soon enough, serving dinner and listening in on the conversation.

Once you all finish eating you get comfortable on the couch, nestled between the two men. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep, their body heat lulling you into dreamland. Shouta carries you to bed, carefully laying you down and pressing a light kiss to your temple. He stands above you, admiring your features as you sleep.

You’re gorgeous to him, a goddess in your own right. He and his blonde counterpart had started watching you mainly because you were a woman, completely alone and seemingly unarmed in a bar until the earliest hours of the morning. Neither of them could tell if you were quirkless or not, and as heroes they made sure to keep an eye on you during their weekly trip to the bar should you get into any trouble.

But eventually it became a habit to look for you, and the more they looked the farther they fell. You looked as exhausted as Shouta every time you stepped through the doors, hair just beginning to lose its style and shoulders sagged. But you were so beautiful, even in your exhausted state. Hizashi was the first to mention his infatuation to Shouta, but the raven-haired man had already figured the blonde was into you.

Soon enough they began to get antsy, constantly watching you walk out the door into the dead of night all alone. You’re just too trusting of the world outside, not taking enough precautions for a woman of your caliber. They made it their mission to make sure you were safe, and one day, take you back home where they could protect you.

Now that you’re here, it’s like a dream. Even as you sleep you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. How your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your lips softly part with every breath, how your chest gently rises and falls, it all makes him stare down at you in complete awe. It takes a great deal of willpower for him to tear his eyes away from you and join Hizashi in their room.

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***3 months later***

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A couple months have passed since you’d...moved in with the two men, and you can’t say you hate it. They’ve respected your privacy, allowing you to stay in your own room and letting you bathe yourself after refusing their attempts at persuading you to join them. Honestly it’s been nice living with them.

Though, the longer you’re with them the more thoughts begin gathering and swirling in your head. Caring thoughts, how their days progress, how they’re feeling at any point in time. And needy, dirty thoughts. Any time those pop up you make it a point to push them deep down into the farthest recesses of your brain, refusing to fuel those pesky embers.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you know what’s happening, what’s been happening. You’re no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome, having done your own minimal research on the subject a few years back. You constantly tell yourself this isn’t normal, nor is it healthy, to enjoy the company of your captors. You have to remind yourself that they had taken you from everything you knew, and even though there wasn’t much for you to love, they’d taken you from that as well.

But soon enough the illogical prevailed, because despite all of that, the two have been nothing but good to you.

In no time at all the days you spend alone in the large house are the days you find yourself missing their company, hoping they’d return sooner. You managed to dig through their clothes and pick out some of their older t-shirts, and began wearing them around the house. Their lingering scents have been a comfort as you patiently wait for them to come back. They don’t seem to mind at all, so you’re content.

As time passes you get closer with them, gravitating toward them and snuggling into either of their sides, letting them wrap an arm around you and tug you into them. You began giving kisses when they left and returned, a small peck on the cheek at the door. The first time you had engaged a kiss was a shock to both of them.

You had tugged Shouta’s sleeve and when he turned you silently grabbed his collar and yanked him down, leaving a small peck on his cheek, doing the same with Hizashi. They barely had the time to react before you dashed to your room and curled under the blankets, face heated and heart pounding like some schoolgirl who had confessed to her crush and got a positive response. That night you’d received more cuddles and kisses than normal.

The kisses became routine, and before long you all slept in the same bed. Strangely enough, life began to feel somewhat normal. The house began to feel like home.

And soon enough that schoolgirl crush manifested into something dirty, something lustful and carnal. Just as much as you long to be around them, you want desperately to feel their hands on your bare skin, mapping out the curves of your body as you writhe beneath them. You crave them and their touch. But of course you still have your pride. Dropping hints would have to suffice.

Slowly, subtly, you dress lighter, more scantily. No shorts under their t-shirts that barely cover your ass, allowing the stretched collars to drop and expose the slightest peek of skin. After a shower you walk back to the room in nothing but a towel, allowing the edge to ride up your thighs. Your tactics seemed to work, their eyes glued to the newly exposed skin, soaking in your plush thighs and soft skin. Their stares make you ache, but after weeks of nothing but lingering glances you decide to toss your pride out the window.

You have dinner ready when they walk in the door, and after everyone had eaten and showered you usher them both to the couch while you sit facing them from the coffee table. Their confusion is evident on their faces, your nervous fidgeting and reluctance to look them in the eyes didn’t help. What you’re about to bring up is embarrassing to say the least, but staying silent would be a detriment to your sanity. With a steadying breath, you meet their gaze and quietly force out your seemingly ridiculous request.

“So… I enjoy being here with you,” your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt and you swallow down the lump in your throat, “and I really appreciate that you’ve given me anything I asked for-”

“No.” Shouta’s voice suddenly cuts off your sentence.

“You can’t go outside, Kitten. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable right now.” You blink dumbly at him, completely thrown off balance by his statement before you catch yourself, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

“No! Oh god, that’s not…um…. I wasn’t asking to go outside. I love being here, with you, and doing whatever but...it’s what we don’t do...that’s bothering me...just a little bit…” By now your voice is so quiet and high-pitched you wonder if they can even hear you. Hizashi, bless his heart, is just as confused as before the conversation started.

“Sunshine, you aren’t making much sense. If you think about it, there’s actually a lot we don’t do.” Shouta holds a hand up, silencing the blonde. His dark eyes drag over your body, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly rub together and you can’t meet his gaze. You squirm, the intensity in his eyes something you aren’t used to but it makes you hot all over. His hand comes down on his thigh twice.

“Come here, Kitty.” Slowly, you stand and walk to him, letting his hands grab your hips and pull you down to straddle his lap. A finger curls under your chin, angling your head to look Shouta in the eyes. A small smirk pulls the corner of his mouth, a moment of realization flashing across his face.

“Our little Kitty is getting needy ‘Zashi. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” Heat flooded your face, your embarrassment and arousal sending hot blood to your face and chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hoping they’d do something about the very horny state you’re in. Shouta’s hand moves to your hip again, lifting you and placing you in Hizashi’s lap before standing and walking away.

The blonde cooed at the surprised squeak you let out at the sudden movement, and you open your eyes to his wide grin. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. It feels nice, and you let your body melt into him and his warmth, his long fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as he tugs you closer and a pleasant haze settles over your mind.

It’s a blissful moment shared between you, and Shouta returns just as Hizashi pulls away from the kiss. They share a look you can’t place before the former raises a hand to gently stroke your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He seems conflicted, trying to mull over some sort of decision in his brain, his brows just barely drawn and jaw set. When his eyes dropped to his other hand, yours followed, to find he held a long thin black velvet box. Clearly it holds some sort of jewelry.

After a few moments he turns it to you and lifts the lid, and your heart damn near stops beating. Whether it’s from excitement or a brief flash of fear, you don’t know. These two have been watching you for much longer than just at the bar. Those few months are only the tip of the iceberg, but how they’d come to notice you would probably forever remain a mystery to you.

Right now, all that matters is that they know everything. From your failed relationships to the reason they’d all ended. They had to know, that’s the only explanation. There’s no possible way it’s pure coincidence that you now gaze down at a beautifully crafted leather collar. It’s simple, thin, black dotted sparsely with sparkling gems and a dainty metal ring centered at the front. Tentatively, you reach out and trace the leather with your fingers.

“Is this...for me?” A deep hum sounds in Shouta’s chest, and that’s answer enough for you. Shouta plucks the garment from its seat and moves behind you. The cool leather feels heavenly as he loops it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. Everything seemed to go quiet as you waited for something, anything, to solidify this moment.

Click.

You shudder out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shouta tilts your head and presses his lips to yours, looping a finger through the collar and giving a gentle tug. It makes you mewl, allowing him space to slip his tongue behind your teeth. He can see your pupils dilate when he pulls away, plush lips slick with saliva, lust invading your mind. You look so needy and desperate for them, so fucking gorgeous.

Hizashi leaves a kiss on your cheek then picks you up and places you on your feet. Both men grab either of your hands, lacing their fingers with yours, and gently pull you with them to the bedroom. Hizashi begins undressing first, and you can only let your eyes drag over his bare upper body for a moment before Shouta grabs your chin and distracts you with another kiss. This one is more passionate, heated, rough as his tongue effortlessly invades and dominates your mouth. Hizashi’s voice permeates your lust-filled haze.

“Come here, baby.” Shouta pulls away and allows you to walk over to where the blonde sits naked on the edge of the bed. He motions for you to turn around and you oblige, then he grabs your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap, your back pressed to his chest. You watch as Shouta undresses, baring his skin to you as Hizashi tasks himself with undressing you.

Your shirt is the first to be removed, a groan spilling from the blonde when he discovers you aren’t wearing a bra. He pulls you flush against his chest, peppering wet kisses down your neck and shoulders as your eyes roam over Shouta’s sculpted frame. The raven haired man makes his way over, kneeling down between your legs and reaching up to toy with your breasts, rough fingers working your nipples until they peak. Hizashi’s hands find their way down to the pouch of your stomach, grabbing at the soft pliant flesh and squishing the fat there.

You let out a low whine, feeling extremely self-conscious with his hands working at the parts of your body you hate the most. You grab at his wrists in an attempt to pull him away, but he hushes you and whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

“It’s okay, pretty baby. Let me feel you.” You will yourself to let him go, let his hands explore your body the way he wants. He keeps his hands on your belly, long fingers massaging into your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s nipping and kissing at your neck, whispering praises into your ear as he fondles all the fatty parts of you.

Shouta’s hands reach up and tug your panties down, then grip your thighs and pull them apart, exposing you to his hungry eyes. You can’t help but feel exposed, uncomfortable, as they touch and gaze at every part of yourself you had always despised. A whimper builds in your chest, tears beginning to sting your eyes and your breath shaking. Hizashi leans over and kisses your tears away as Shouta leans forward and kisses at your belly and thighs, hands working at whatever flesh he couldn’t get his lips on.

“Let us love you. All of you. You’re such a pretty kitty.” You let yourself relax, let yourself relish in the fact that these two gorgeous men are doting over your body like you’re a goddess, like they couldn’t live if they didn’t worship every one of your perfect imperfections. Though you’re far from comfortable, the initial fear subsides, allowing them full access to you.

“Good girl kitty, good girl.” Shouta whispers as he nips at your thighs, sucking little red marks into your skin. He hooks your legs over Hizashi’s, and the blonde’s fingers dip down to tease your folds, barely breaching your little hole and making you buck for more friction. A soft moan slips from your lips as he pushes two long fingers into your soaked pussy.

You rock your hips into his hand, his palm barely brushing against your clit making you mewl. Shouta focuses his attention on your breasts and belly where Hizashi left bare, kneading and kissing and licking, leaving blooming marks all over your skin. Soon you feel a knot form in your stomach, tightening and burning impossibly hot. Hizashi feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and quickens his pace, grinding his palm down against your clit hard and curling his fingers to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.

When the knot snaps you’re falling apart on Hizashi’s lap, back arched and legs shaking. You throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out, pleasure racking your body in intense waves. Hizashi keeps moving his fingers inside you, letting you ride out your high, legs trembling and toes curling with the continued stimulation.

After your release you relax back down, chest heaving with every breath. Hizashi lifts you up and lays you down on the bed, Shouta crawling up over you and kissing you sweetly. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, lining up his painfully hard erection with your throbbing pussy.

“Are you ready for me kitty?” You look up at him through your lashes and nod fervently, needing him desperately despite the sensitivity. He tugs at your collar gently.

“Use your words kitty cat. Are you ready for me?” Your eyes widen slightly and you answer without any real thought.

“Yes Daddy.” Shouta growls at the name and swears under his breath, thrusting his hips forward and bottoming out all at once. The air is punched from your lungs, the stretch around his thick length almost enough to make you cum a second time. Shouta leans down and kisses at the bruises Hizashi had left on your neck, giving you some time to adjust. It only takes a few moments for your walls to stop clamping down on him.

“I’m going to move now kitty. Relax for me.” He starts slow, groaning as he watches his length slide in and out of you.

Your warmth feels so good around his cock, and he moves faster, driving his cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Hizashi lays down next to you and puts two fingers into your mouth, your tongue sliding over them, coating them in your saliva.

He pulls them out and goes to rub your clit, leaning over and placing open mouth kisses along your collarbone, sucking new bruises onto your skin. Your legs quake with the quick building pleasure, your second orgasm creeping up fast. Suddenly both men stop their movements, Shouta pulling your body flush against him and sitting up.

Lithe, cold fingers suddenly dance around your back entrance, toying with your puckered hole. A single finger pushes in and you mewl and squirm at the new sensation. A second finger works its way in, the two digits working to stretch you gently. Soon there’s a third, and when you’re relaxed the fingers are gone and replaced by the thick head of Hizashi’s cock.

“You ready, sweet thing?” You nod and whine, a little weary but ready to be full of the two men. He slowly inches his way inside, shallow thrusts sinking him deeper until his hips are flush with your ass. Both men pepper wet kisses along your shoulders, giving you time to relax, but you don’t need it. You whine, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get them to move, and they oblige.

Their initial pace is slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as they slip in and out of you. They build up a rhythm, when one is bottomed out the other has only the tip in, and soon you’re drooling from the amount of stimulation you’re getting. Hizashi’s fingers move down to work at your clit, and just the slightest touch has you trembling. The stimulation shoves you over the edge and has you cumming hard around them, your slick dripping down your thighs. They slow their pace slightly, your holes clamping down on them and attempting to milk them dry. Hizashi’s fingers rub your clit harder, overstimulating you.

“Do you have one more for us baby? I know you can cum one more time for us.” You whine, thrashing in their arms trying to simultaneously get away and tug them closer. Tears fall down your cheeks and a familiar tension fills the pit of your stomach and Shouta leans over and bites down on your shoulder. The pain pulls you over, crying out as you clamp down on their lengths hard. Their hips stutter as they chase their own release, and they shoot rope after rope of cum into you as you ride out your own high.

They still their movements, holding you and each other close. After a few moments they pull out together, the movement making you moan and tremble. Your body goes limp and Shouta pulls you to lean against him, stroking your hair and back. You’re sobbing softly into Shouta’s shoulder, your last release washing over your body almost painfully, your bones already beginning to ache. Shouta rubs your back softly and Hizashi peppers soft kisses along your shoulders, both cooing praises in your ears.

Shouta picks you up and the three of you go over to the bathroom, where Hizashi plugs the drain and turns on the tap to fill the large tub with hot water. Shouta climbs in and sits down, still cradling you, and the slowly rising water begins to soothe you. Hizashi pulls out a tube of ointment and rubs it onto Shouta’s back, relieving the scratch marks you left on him. After tending to Shouta he unlocks your collar and sinks into the tub, leaning against you. You let the two massage you and wash you, bringing you back from the intense scene.

“You okay kitten?” Shouta rumbles into your ear, petting your hair. You nod into his shoulder and grab Hizashi’s hand, wanting to be close to the both of them. The hot water and the care of the two bring you back down to earth, and you start to feel fatigue pulling at your consciousness. Hizashi notices you drifting off and takes you from Shouta. He dries you off with a towel and locks your collar back around your neck.

“Sho, I’m going to take her to bed. When you’re ready come join us.” Shouta hums and Hizashi carries you to bed.

You lay with Hizashi and cuddle into his chest, letting him hold you and rock you as you drift off. After a few minutes you feel the bed behind you dip and look up at Shouta with half lidded eyes. He gives you a peck on the lips before nuzzling against your back. With a long, soft sigh you melt into their arms, content with the new life you’d been brought into.

#erasermic #yandere erasermic #erasermic x reader #yandere erasermic x reader #erasermic smut #erasermic mha #erasermic bnha #shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa smut #hizashi yamada #hizashi yamada x reader #hizashi yamada smut #shouta aizawa mha #shouta aizawa bnha #hizashi yamada mha #hizashi yamada bnha

[hes-writer]

Under the Table

Summary: harry eats y/n out under the table

Warnings: smut, public sex, oral, female receiving

Word Count: 2744 words

A/N: my submission to the 'sex bucket list fic challenge' hosted by @berrynarrybanana !! so many wonderful writers have participated in this and their works are out of this world ✨

___

Y/N had never been to this restaurant. The fanciness and seemingly high-end decorations should be enough explanation as to why. She stared at Harry in complete adoration as he touched the small of her back, gently pushing her forward to follow the waiter. They walked near the back of the restaurant. The waiter unlocked a door, gesturing for them to enter.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your order,’ He placed the menus on the mahogany table. The round furniture draped with black cloth, accentuating the starch white plates and crystal silverware. A bottle of wine stood to the right, candles lit in the middle of the table. They nodded at his statement.

“Gosh, H. This must be so expensive,” She glanced around the room in amazement, dazzling lights reflecting in her irises. He pulled her chair out for her like a proper gentleman.  She smiled in appreciation.

“Only the best for my girl,” He planted a kiss to her temple, settling himself on his seat. Harry tried his best to focus on reading the description of each dish but Y/N was more interesting. Her hair curtained as she faced down to read the menu. She bit her lip in thought, her stomach growling in anticipation.

“Think ‘m gonna get the steak with mash,” She stated, folding the menu closed. Harry immediately glanced down to pretend like he wasn’t just staring at her beauty, imagining dirty thoughts. Her thighs parted around his head. Her juices dripping past her clenching hole, looking for something thick and big to fill her.

“I’ll get the same but with a side of peas,"

“Copy cat,” She teased, filling her glass with white wine. The stain of her lipstick on the rim made him absolutely mad.

___

“What’s gotten into you? Aren’t you hungry?” Y/N asked, slicing her steak, popping a bite in her mouth. She moaned at the taste, releasing a satisfied moan and even letting her eyes roll a little. “It’s so good,”

Harry dug his blunt fingernails on his outer thighs to prevent himself from gripping her hair and fucking her into oblivion. She had no clue of her effect on him. Y/N raised a brow at him, utensils paused to wait for his answer. He glanced at his plate, clearly untouched except for the small spoonfuls he scooped of his peas. “I am,”

“Why aren’t you eating then?” She questioned, easing another forkful in her mouth.

“‘M hungry for somethin’ else,” He drawled out, suggestiveness dripping from his tongue. His lustful gaze eyeing the pucker of her lips.

She widened her eyes, freezing at his statement. “We’re in public!”

He shrugged, gesturing to the private room he had booked for them that surely was about to be handy. “And? Y’can’t tell me you don't want my head between your thighs,” He leaned back against his seat, one arm resting on the opaque table cloth draped over the table. “That you don’t want my tongue licking your cunt,” He bit his lip, watching her take a sip of her wine nervously.

“Stop it, Harry,” The waver of her voice indicated to Harry that she was being affected. Her thighs squeezing tightly for the slightest bit of friction against her core. She tucked a strand of hair, shifting uncomfortably at the growing wetness. The fabric of her satin red dress suddenly feeling too heavy on her skin. Warmth crawling up her legs despite the shortness of her dress. Despite the exposure of her cleavage from the deep cut, she couldn’t help but feel completely naked under Harry’s scrutiny.

“Don’t you?”

She heaved a deep breath, stabbing her steak in frustration for letting his words affect her so much. “No, I don’t.” She gritted her teeth, hating the way his dimple deepened with the curve of his lips upward.

“That’s a lie,” He pushed his elbows forward, making her instinctively rest her back against the seat in intimidation. “I know you’re squeezin’ your thighs right now. Wanting to feel something touch your pussy. Bet you’re wet, soaking your panties,” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, glistening his mouth and making it almost impossible not to kiss him. “Want me to go on?”

Her utensils clanged against the plate. A shot of arousal flooding her body. If she focused, she was sure that she could feel the moisture on the apex of her thighs. She wondered if it would be a good idea to tell Harry that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her scarlet dress.

“I-I,” She stuttered, “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” Her whisper was attentive as if there was an ear pressed up against the door.

“Jesus, fuck,” He seethed through his teeth, rolling his head back at the thought of her dripping on the chair. The stain of her slickness flooding between her thighs. It was enough to make his mouth water, “You’re making it hard not to drop on my knees right now,”

As much as she wanted his lips around her clit, tongue prodding between her slit; Y/N knew that this wasn’t the place to do it. She failed to stay quiet when his mouth attached to her core. He was way too good at eating her pussy. Feverishly mouthing her wet skin into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Groaning in pleasure like seeing her eyes closed in pure bliss was bringing him satisfaction. “Don’t,’

He tilted his head, saying in a mocking tone, “No?”

She shook her head, watching as he disappeared under the cloth, “What the hell is he doing?” Y/N mumbled to herself. The opaque table cloth prevented her from seeing him.  Harry crawled underneath the table, the light from the room seeping through the cloth, allowing him a great view of Y/N’s shaking legs, bouncing up and down.

“H-Harry,” His warm palms pushed her legs apart, her scent engulfing his senses. She gripped the corners of the table, keeping her eyes glued on the door directly facing her. “Nghh,” She moaned, extremely turned on, throwing caution in the wind.

He pushed her dress up, bunching the silky fabric on the tops of her thighs. Y/N was grateful that the table cloth was long. Harry pulled on her hips, asking her to move closer to the edge of the chair. He spread her thighs further, creating a little nook for himself between her legs. He nipped at the plush skin, making Y/N straighten her back.

“Oh my god,” She whispered. Mixed feelings swirled in her; the rush of being eaten out under the table in a private yet public place spiking her arousal. He gripped her calf, placing her legs over his shoulder for a better position. She tried to appear as normal as possible; not like her boyfriend was about to grace her with his talented tongue. He fisted the fabric of her dress to get it out of the way, balancing her as he traced the tip of his tongue against her slit.

“No fuckin’ panties. Tryna kill me, I swear it,” Harry growled lowly. Y/N sucked her lips into her mouth, eyeing the hinge of the door. A knock sounded from outside, the waiter probably checking in on them. He lifted the table cloth to meet her frantic eyes, “Try to stay quiet for me, yeah?”

The door opened less than a second later. The waiter entering with a tray of wine for a replacement of their empty one. “Hello there, where’s your date?“ A friendly smile directed to her.

Y/N nodded in response, a tight-lipped smile was returned, “In the bathroom,” She inconspicuously reached down to tug on Harry’s hair, warning him to not do anything. Of course, he didn’t listen.

“I’ve brought our finest selection of wine,” The waiter’s gloved hands gestured at the bottles, proceeding to explain each wine’s flavour and history. Y/N tried her best to appear present despite Harry’s warm tongue flattening to lick her deeper. Languid licks stroking her wetness from her fluttering hole to her sensitive clit, depositing the wetness under the hood. His plump lips puckering around her nub. He sucked softly, trilling his tongue.

“Which one would you like?”

Y/N’s lulled eyes snapped open, “The second one,” The waiter nodded, turning his back to uncork the bottle open. Y/N took the distraction to wet her dry lips, Harry peeking a slit from the cloth to stare at her throat bobbing as she stared at the ceiling. He smirked at the sight, dropping it to get back to work. His fingers dug on the skin of her ass planted on the chair. Heavy breathing filtering through his nose and hitting her mound as he stretched his lips to fit her whole pussy in his mouth. Y/N couldn’t help but release a whimper at the sensation.

“What was that?” The waiter turned around pouring the wine in hers and Harry’s empty glass. Harry bit her thigh as a warning to stay fucking quiet.

“Just...can’t wait to taste it,”

“Is there anything else you need?”

Y/N shook head immediately, “No, you can leave now,” Barely holding on to the moan she wanted to release. The door closed shut, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Holy shit, Har,”

“Great job, baby. I can’t wait to taste it too,” Harry tightened his wet muscle, firming the tip and using it to outline circles around her entrance. He traced the rim of her opening, gathering all the sweet juices that he had yet to savour, humming low in his throat as he swallowed it down. Groaning heavily against her core, his nose pressing into her clit in added stimulation. She wanted to scream. Her throat ached to yell out his name instead of being forced to experience this much pleasure without an outlet. Y/N wanted to see his face but she was too fucked out to reach over and hold the cloth. The mystery of not knowing his next actions heightening her anticipation, clenching her stomach with the unknown sensations. She balled her hands into a fist, slamming them against the table that had Harry chuckling

He curled his tongue inside of her, feeling each groove of her core, slicing each wall with an intimate stroke of his tongue. He dropped his legs from his shoulders. She just about shrieked when Y/N felt his middle and ring finger prodding her tight hole, petting her slit as he kissed around her body. She felt frustrated at him for taking away his tongue. She felt absolutely insane and out of control when his fingers plunged into nudge at her swollen g-spot, tapping his tongue rapidly against her button, “You’re so good to me,” She sighed, allowing her body to slouch, her thighs shaking with his abuse. She was sure that the waiter won’t be entering for a while.

“Taste so good for me,” He muttered in response, moaning at the way a clear, thick liquid attached to his bottom lip. He swiped his tongue to break the string, savouring her taste. His fingers curled up, jolting her hips along with the wave of pleasure he was providing her. Silent whimpers littered her mouth, desperate pleas of his name escaping her lips in breathy gasps. Her hand grabbed the back of his head, encouraging him to continue his actions.

Harry made out with her pussy--a full lip-smacking, tongue grazing session with his fingers toying inside of her. He pulled his fingers out of her. She hissed in response, mumbling quiet begs.

“What was that?” He asked arrogantly, instructing her to hold the cloth so that they could see each other. “Want somethin’ from me? Tell me what,”

Sweat dripped on her chest, slipping under her dress. Her eyes clenched shut as she tried to collect her heaving pants into a calm breath, “I want your tongue on me and your fingers,”

“You want my tongue, honey?”

She whined at the nickname, pushing her hips up to feel something. Anything. She was so desperate to cum that she nearly forgot where they were. Her half-eaten dinner was cold from being untouched. The meal was probably in the hundredths yet the only thing she cared about was coming undone.

“Yes, please,”

He granted her wish to stick his tongue further in her pussy until a pull at the back of his throat prevented him. He explored her center with ominous hunger, cheeks wet with spit and arousal. He pressed his face closer, a newfound determination to make her cum right under his nose. Strong strokes of his tongue planing up her nerves almost to the point of pleasurable pain. The harshness of his licks splitting her pussy around his tongue. His mouth pulled her clit, harshly sucking at the nub until it popped from his mouth. Leaning into taking it into his mouth again, humming low in his throat to push her further over the edge. Watching the engorged bundle of nerves redden with his deep sucks and trilling licks. He shook his head, dipping the tip of his tongue into her core, letting his movement prod her walls.

“C’mon, puppy. Cum for me,”

She sobbed feeling the electricity sparking. The coiling spring in her stomach tightening to the point that she could feel the heat radiating from her body. The chilling in her spine buzzed with each flick of his muscle stroking her up and down. Tiny pricks of pins and needles flickered her bum, the rough movements of her hips rubbing her ass against the coarse seat. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, white noise filling her ears. She hadn’t had the sound mind to muffle noises with her palm, leaving every cry she had to release in the open air. Luckily, Harry snaked his arm to cover her mouth just as she heaved a tortured sob. His palm getting wet with tears that exuded from her strained eyes from the force of her orgasm exploding from her center to the rest of her body.

Her fingers twitched with the need to ground herself. Toes curled in her high heels while Harry continued to prolong her orgasm with slick rubs to her clit. His fingers spreading to squeeze the nerve in between, catching the nub at its most heightened sensitivity until she had to push him away, using the tip of her heel to nudge at his torso.

Harry slipped out from under the table, knees cracking from being bent for too long. He stretched his arms over his head. He used his napkin to wipe his dripping fingers, sipping his wine while Y/N panted tiredly.

“You’re insane. I can’t believe you did that,”

He rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you almost got us caught,” He inspected the questionable stains on his maroon velvet suit, clicking his tongue as if to say ‘oh well’.

“You’re the one who kept going!” Y/N defended, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood up on shaky legs to give him a hug, burying her face in his chest. “Next time, it’s going to be you,”

Harry pushed her back by her shoulders, “Me? What do you mean?” Y/N swatted his chest in annoyance. As if he didn’t know what she meant.

She glazed her eyes over with innocence, a pout on her lips, “I dunno. Might just duck under the table and lick your cock. Maybe even suck the tip. You know how much I love your taste,”

He tensed in her arms, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “You wouldn’t,” He chuckled in denial, knowing full well that she wasn’t the type to do something as dirty as that.

“No?” She mirrored Harry’s words from earlier, tilting her head to the side. “But I wanna watch you squirm in front of everyone. Wanna feel your big cock deep in my throat and they’d have no idea that you’re letting your little girl suck you off under the table,”

The hardness in his pants nudged her lower stomach, forming a discernible bulge in his black trousers. He was not only a narcissist. Harry wasn’t one to shy away from exploring his sex life with Y/N, wanting to do anything and everything with her.  Uncomfortable blurts of precum soaking his boxers at the thought of having to act as if he wasn’t quite literally getting his dick sucked by Y/N’s heavenly mouth.

He can’t wait for their next date.

____

do y’all wanna see what happens on their next date 👀

____

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#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #the buckelist fic challenge

[goldencorecrunches]

Hello ur wangningxian fic had me fucking SCREAMING hello hello I was trying to practice driving but I was too busy YELLING anyways amazing job I'm so fucking hyped for pt 5!!!!

YOU’RE SO NICE HELP I KEEP STARING AT THIS MESSAGE ME HEART MELTIN HERE YOU GO HON -- (Part I) (Part II) (Part III) (Part IV)

--

They don't return to the table. It had been a stupid idea anyway, Wen Ning thinks; too serious, too tribunal. Wei Ying doesn't like to talk about it, like he doesn't like to talk about anything that's really fucked him up, but he knows family dinners for him growing up weren't the most comfortable affairs. Instead he and Lan Zhan budge over on the couch, though there's already enough room (there's always enough room, if it's for Wei Ying), and Wei Ying, tripping on his tiptoes the way he does when he's nervous, perches on the L-shaped edge of the cushion. The reflective vest Lan Zhan has bullied him into wearing whenever he goes out night-running dangles off one shoulder, coquetry in neon orange. 

He is too far away. 

Wen Ning extends a leg and prods at Wei Ying with his toes, making Wei Ying yelp, ticklish, and for a moment nearly smile, until Wei Ying gives in to what he clearly wants and scoots up against Wen Ning's side, the third overlapping piece in their tableau. A very wiggly tableau it will be, indeed, now that Wei Ying has joined it. They would not have it any other way. "So you guys kiss now," Wei Ying says, into the hole in the leggings over Wen Ning's thigh. Wen Ning keeps thinking he should fix that, and then forgetting. "How long has that been going on?"

"Just tonight," Wen Ning says, making his tongue go slowly. Behind him Lan Zhan makes a small noise, negative; one of his hands withdraws from Wen Ning's waist and reaches for his phone. They wait while he types, Wen Ning looking at the contrast between Wei Ying's cheek and his own black spandex, Wei Ying staring into the crack where the cushions meet the back of the couch. He seems like he's worn himself out; he curls around Wen Ning's leg like it's a stuffed toy.

It is times like this that Wen Ning is reminded of how much slighter Wei Ying is, than either himself or Lan Zhan. He imagines lifting his leg and carrying Wei Ying up atop it, like a fragile sparrow, hollow-boned, fluffed up against the cold. "Almost nine days," the lady in Lan Zhan's phone says. "When Wen Ning brought you back from the library. Kissed him then. Did not plan it. But." His fingers have stilled; Lan Zhan types with one whole hand, cradling the phone in his other, instead of with his two thumbs like everyone else. It's hopelessly endearing: our little old-fashioned man, Wei Ying calls him, and then tugs at his hair or tweaks his ear. "But you liked it? Mm. Can't blame you for that." Wen Ning can feel the flex of Wei Ying's jaw as he mumbles. A small hum like the vibration of a string starts at the top of Wen Ning's scalp and travels down through his body. The nausea has not left him, or the guilt, but Wen Ning plunges his hands into that hum and lets it fill all his corners. Now that they are speaking, it is better; though they've barely begun. The waiting was the hardest part. It's never as bad as you think it will be, he tells himself. He bites his tongue to get moisture back into his mouth. "We did- we did-, we haven't done anything between then," he says. Lan Zhan's arms tighten around him. Wen Ning leans back against him gratefully. "Um. When we went to that weird cafe with Lan Zhan's brother? That was what we were talking about." Behind him he feels Lan Zhan nod. "I wondered," Wei Ying says. He curls tighter, the movement like a brace before a leap. "Were you going to tell me?" Oh: Wen Ning's lungs have been stolen away. One of Lan Zhan's hands leaves him again, this time to reach out and press down on the top of Wei Ying's head. It's a bad angle; he has to strain, and even so he mostly gets the end of his ponytail. Wei Ying hides his face in the crook of Wen Ning's knee. Wen Ning has to blink rapidly and swallow, twice when the first time isn't enough. He's not sure what he means to say; what comes out is clumsier and more honest than he wants. "I didn't want you to feel left out. I'm sorry." Against his neck, Lan Zhan grunts agreement. He's petting the rough-chopped ends of Wei Ying's hair, the ends sticking up between his knuckles and then smoothing flat again. "Just," Wei Ying says. It's difficult to hear him, pressed as far as he is into Wen Ning's leg, but Wen Ning doesn't imagine he or Lan Zhan are right now giving him anything but their complete intent focus. "You have to tell me if you don't want me around any more, okay? That's rule, ah, rule eighty-nine of being my friend." He laughs, his shoulders twitching. Wen Ning needs to hug him so badly it's rooted his ass to the tasteful cream-colored microfiber. "Okay," he says, chokes on it. "Yeah. D-deal. Definitely want you here though. Right Lan Zhan?" "Mn," Lan Zhan rumbles emphatically. Wei Ying droops. He goes from light upon Wen Ning's knee to hundredweight, sinking like a stone in water. Somehow, Wen Ning manages to curl his leg and reach his arms and get Wei Ying bundled up against them both, his hair splaying out over Wen Ning's throat and his sharp wrists tucked up against Lan Zhan's sternum. He's still laughing, a little, and Wen Ning listens carefully in case the tears he can hear behind them start to spill over. "'S funny," he's saying. Wen Ning slings an arm over his him and wraps even closer. "I thought, hah, I thought out of all of us it would be me who would fuck up and accidentally kiss someone, but wow, Lan Zhan! Who knew you had it in you!" His body can't seem to decide whether it wants to tremble or to sag. It tries to do both, with different parts. Wen Ning looks up from under his eyelashes to see how Lan Zhan reacts to Wei Ying's implication that he'd kiss him, and sees Lan Zhan staring solemnly back at him, the same emotion reflected. He frowns and reaches to set Lan Zhan's hand on Wei Ying's hip where his has been. Lan Zhan resists him. "Like, you guys are my best friends, you know? My best friends, and I've told you this but I mean it, and if you two want to go off and kiss I'm really really happy to let you do that I don't want to get in the way and make you not want to be around me any more because I'm--" Lan Zhan is trying to communicate something to Wen Ning with a frustrated glare and the minute tilt of his chin. Wen Ning has an inkling what it is, and staunchly ignores him, because despite the warm-butter feeling spreading over him Lan Zhan is wrong. "--and I was like, to myself, what if it doesn't break everything? But obviously that's absurd, I always break everything, and--" "Wei Ying," Wen Ning says, in desperation, as Lan Zhan gives up all pretence of fighting fair and begins attempting to shove Wei Ying completely into Wen Ning's lap. He knows Wen Ning won't try to pull away when Wei Ying needs to be held, the bastard. "If you, when you, you, you, you-- kiss Lan Zhan! Please! He wants you to!" It is an uncomfortable position to be frozen in, for the beats that follow. Wei Ying's elbow is digging into the soft part under Wen Ning's ribs, and Lan Zhan's ankle is somehow twisted underneath them all. There's a heavy thud from the apartment above; as the three of them clutch at each other and stare, barely breathing, they hear harried footsteps and the muffled tones of a child being scolded. "Ooh, someone's in trouble," Wei Ying says. And then: "Wait, no. I meant. What?" Lan Zhan is glowering in abject betrayal at the wall over Wen Ning's right shoulder. His ears are slowly turning pink. "Hhhn," Wei Ying says, like a untied rubber balloon, and then-- frantically, scrambling over their tangled legs-- It is not that Wen Ning isn't jealous of what they have, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. It is rather, to be witness to so wonderful a thing feels like a privilege. When Lan Zhan's hands come up to frame Wei Ying's face, when Wei Ying's lips part, it is more than beautiful; it is necessary. Wen Ning can feel himself grinning, wide and goofy, even as he loses feeling in his calves. It's just-- it's been such a long time, and he's-- he's happy for them. He's so happy. He's...crying? "Oh," Wei Ying says, "Oh, oh, oh," and twists in a violent motion, and Wen Ning is, for the third time in his most immediate history, completely blindsided by the knowledge of a mouth over his own. I haven't brushed my teeth, he thinks, which is a nonsense thing to think, because he did brush his teeth this morning, of course, and he hasn't even started getting ready for bed yet, and also, he had Lan Zhan's tongue in his mouth not even an hour ago, and he had Lan Zhan's tongue in his mouth and now he has Wei Ying's-- He becomes dimly aware that Lan Zhan is stroking his arm, where it's curved to trap Wei Ying flush against his chest. Wen Ning makes the executive decision to panic about this later. There are too many things happening right now to keep track of freaking out. For example: the discovery that brushing the tips of his fingers over the soft skin behind Wei Ying's ear makes him gasp and shudder all over. "Lan Zhan," Wen Ning says, amazed. It's too momentous a thing to keep to himself. "Look." He does it again, and they both watch Wei Ying's eyelids flutter. It feels like there's a volcano under his skin. "M-maybe we should stop and talk ab, about this like adults," he says. It comes out breathless. He does not want to stop and talk about this like adults. "Nonononononono," Wei Ying says, hands shooting out to fasten on their shoulders. "We did talking, now is kissing, can we do more of the kissing? I like kissing. I like kissing you. Both. Both of you." His face screws up. "You might have a point. I think I might pass out? But in a good way?" Lan Zhan looks deeply alarmed. He and Wen Ning maneuver Wei Ying so he has his head between his knees, their hands meeting over the bony seam of his spine. Lan Zhan squeezes Wen Ning's fingers. The volcano turns into a horde of extremely peppy wind-up toys. Or maybe this is what butterflies feel like? "Running," Lan Zhan says, gathering the strands of Wei Ying's hair back from his face. It takes Wen Ning a moment to understand; in his defense, he's fairly certain his brain has been forcibly disconnected. "Right, um, electrolytes. And sugar." He peels himself away (Wei Ying makes a pathetic noise, which twinges at Wen Ning's heart, but he's in good hands) and nearly faceplants on the edge of the rug as pins and needles shoot up his legs. Because Lan Zhan is a good and righteous man, he has the kind of orange juice that's full-sugar, and without bits. Wen Ning pours them all glasses just to be on the safe side, and also takes the opportunity to stick his head in the freezer and think thoughts that are not about confirming his love for his two closest friends via double fellatio. When he returns Wei Ying is sitting upright, Lan Zhan's arm around him. He refuses to drink until Wen Ning is cuddled up with them. See, Wen Ning's therapist says, as he tucks himself against the long line of Lan Zhan's body, Lan Zhan's eyebrows knitted as he rewinds the movie back to the beginning of the scene the left off on. Wei Ying slaps indiscriminately across the limbs within reach when Lan Zhan reaches the right spot; he makes the whole couch rock, and Wen Ning thinks he might burst, from loving them. Not as bad as you thought, at all. So much better.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangningxian #wen ning #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my fics #YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WE GOT THERE FOLX #fic: thinking skirt au

[queenk00k]

red wine lips part 1 // rafe cameron

Warnings: alcohol, drug use, sexual content 

Word count: 2000

PART 2 NOW UPLOADED 

PART 3 NOW UPLOADED

FINAL PART NOW UPLOADED

fic idea from my ship with rafe from @socialwriter

moodboard idea from @harrysbbby

You were going to be late.

Correction: You and Rafe Cameron were going to be late, and it’s all his fault for hosting a party the night before, in what you assumed was an effort to impress you (which, by the way, didn’t work) and you were pissed.

You had overslept and Rafe, having been preoccupied with multiple bags, hadn’t slept at all.

“Rafe!” You yell. “We’re going to be late, and I will not have you turning up to this thing in anything less than a suit. Get dressed and hurry the fuck up!” You hop across the first-floor landing, pulling your heels on as you made a beeline for Rafe’s bedroom.

Not bothering to knock (when had you two had any manners towards each other anyway?), you push open the heavy wooden door to see Rafe bent over his dresser, half dressed in navy suit pants and an open white shirt. He’s surreptitiously cutting the last of the night’s supply into neat lines with his black AMEX card, tapping his foot absentmindedly.

“Keeping the party going, are we?” You ask, folding your arms across your satin clad chest.

Rafe doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he finishes what he was doing before you interrupted, snorting his line and wiping his nose as he turns around.

He smirks. “Looking good, Y/N. That dress would look better off you though.”

You roll your eyes. “Firstly, keep it in your pants, and secondly, you better not be thinking about bringing coke to the tour. We’re being classy today, Cameron,” you say, using the nickname only reserved for when you were annoyed at your long-time friend.

Rafe chuckles and starts buttoning his shirt, stepping towards you as his brows furrow in concentration. “I’ll behave.”

You look up at him incredulously.

“Promise,” he says. “I’ll just get drunk today. That’s what wine tastings are for, right?”

You figured him being drunk was the best-case scenario. At least you could guarantee the absence of Pogues – no fighting today.

“I’ll take it. Come on, we need to go. Our driver’s outside.”

You turn to leave, but Rafe grabs your wrist suddenly, holding you back. “Wait, wait.” Rafe’s blue eyes stare down at you intensely and, you’re ashamed to admit, you think they’re actually quite pretty. “I do really think you look nice today. Red’s your colour.”

There’s a brief pause as you wait for the usual sexual remark, but a beat passes without one and you’re pleasantly surprised.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you reply with a smile as you head out the door, but before you fully leave you pop your head back through the frame.

“Oh, and Rafe?”

“Mm?”

“Wear a red tie.” You wink before turning on your heel, swooping the dress behind you as you make your way downstairs.

There’s excited chatter amongst your group as your driver pulls up to the iron gates of the most prestigious winery in the Outer Banks and you gaze out the window at the vines spread out across the field.

The car comes to a stop and Rafe jumps out before you, impressing you by taking your hand and helping you step out of the vehicle onto the gravelled road. You look up at him and think to yourself how handsome he looks and, not to mention, how good you both look together in red.

You and Rafe first met as kids, when you were both left at the country club’s “kidZone” whilst your mums sipped champagne and got uncomfortably close to men who weren’t their husbands. Since then, your families were always close and you and Rafe became good friends, bonded by your love of two things: money and having a good time.

There was underlying sexual tension between the two of you since you were old enough to wear a bra and Rafe was old enough to notice, but neither of you had ever acted on it.

Sometimes the fun was left in the unknown, the untouched possibilities, the lingering gazes and suggestive comments.

“Like what you see?” Rafe teases, snapping you out of your reflective state.

You chuckle. “What if I do?” You walk away without giving Rafe a chance to reply, feeling his wandering eyes burn a hole in your back as you make sure to swing your hips in a way you know will have him distracted for the rest of the day.

Like you said – sometimes all the fun was in the chase.

Maybe this time he could catch you.

_______________________________________________________________

“So this one here is our flagship viognier – it’s a full bodied white wine, and because it’s been aged in oak like our chardonnay, it’s a very rich taste and you’ll be able to taste notes of vanilla,” the sommelier explains as he pours an annoyingly small amount of wine into your glass before moving onto Rafe’s next to you.

You notice he’s gone light on the wine as he’s serving to your group, clearly uncomfortable with the raucous group of barely legal 21-year-olds.

Rafe swirls the wine around his glass and says “how much for a bottle?”

You scoff. “You haven’t even tasted it yet. See if you like it first.”

“Don’t be so bossy, Y/N,” he replies before downing the wine in one gulp, much to the horror of your sommelier.

You quickly follow suit, taking a bit longer to savour the taste of the wine before you swallow completely. You actually enjoy this wine stuff, taking the time to learn about different types of grapes before you organised this trip for you, Rafe, Topper, Kelce and your group of girlfriends from college. You notice Rafe watching you as you tip your head back, his blue eyes following the curve of your neck, his jaw clenching as you swallow.

No prizes for guessing what he’s thinking about you swallowing instead.

After a few more glasses as you make your way down to the final bottle of wine, you feel yourself getting dizzier and your friends are speaking louder and louder until Rafe finds it necessary to bring his lips to your ear every time he wants to speak to you.

“You know, you and I….we could have some fun together,” Rafe says as he trails a finger up your thigh.

You slap his hand and move it off you, bringing your gaze to his face which is tantalizing close to yours, willing yourself not to bring your gaze to his lips which are stained ever so slightly with red.

“You said you were going to behave, Cameron,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“What, I can’t treat my princess to something I know she’s been waiting for all these years?” Rafe looks at you expectantly. 

“Your princess?”

“You been cosying up to anyone else today?” Rafe points out, fingering the collar of his suit jacket that’s been draped over your bare shoulders at some point in the afternoon.

Fuck, he’s right.

“…I was cold,” you say, witty replies be damned.

“Mmhm.”

You stare at each other for a beat, before Rafe spins in his seat (almost toppling off) and faces the bar.

“How much is a bottle of the merlot?” He asks the sommelier.

You see the guy purse his lips.

“It’s our most expensive bottle.”

Rafe scoffs. “Weird price. How much is it?”

The sommelier furrows his brows and looks around the room, his gaze falling upon Topper and Kelce who were talking animatedly, their ties hanging loose around their necks.

“Where are your parents? Maybe you should wait for them to get here and they could pick something out for you?”

Oh boy, you think. Not difficult for you to predict how Rafe was going to react to that comment.

True to form, Rafe pushes back from the table and stands up, his jaw clenched and his large frame towering over the server, who at least has the common sense to look intimidated.

“Do you know who I am, bro?”

“Don’t answer that,” you warn him with a wave of your hand. “Better to just let him tell you.”

You had seen Rafe on power trips like this in the past when his influence has been questioned. It proves troublesome when whoever he’s talking to just isn’t having it, but usually you find it pretty hot.

Rafe places his hands on the counter and leans over to look the server in the eyes.

You do him a favour by holding his tie back, so it doesn’t take a dip in the cabernet sauvignon.

“I’m Rafe Cameron. Do you know who my father is? Yeah,” Rafe says as the sommelier gulps, “Ward Cameron. We basically own this island. Do you own an island?”

The server shakes his head in defeat.

“I didn’t think so,” Rafe says, standing up straight again and shooting you a brief smirk as you take your hand off his tie.

You figure he’s grateful.

“Now, my group and I here would like 10 bottles.”

The sommelier clears his throat before replying. “Of course, sir, which 10 bottles would you like?”

Rafe chuckles as he flashes his AMEX. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I want 10 bottles of every single wine you have.”

Your painted lips curl into a smile.

It was going to be a good afternoon.

_______________________________________________________________

Before you know it, you’re sitting next to Rafe at a table in the courtyard, your leg moving dangerously closer to his, his eyes grazing over your chest intermittently.

Topper is telling a story about his ex-girlfriend Sarah, who he insists he’s “completely over” (yeah right) and you’re barely listening, your eyes glazed over as you bring the crystal glass to your lips absentmindedly.

Hard to concentrate on anything when Rafe Cameron’s hand is inching closer up your thigh, pulling the satin fabric up with it until your leg is almost completely exposed to the cool afternoon air.

You’re thankful for two things.

One, the fact that you had the foresight to shave that morning.

And two, the biological blessing that was your ability to hide how completely and utterly turned on you are in that moment.

You start squirming in your seat, clearing your throat as you become increasingly aware of how flushed your cheeks feel, warmth pooling in your belly as you swallow thickly and turn to Rafe.

He looks at you expectantly and in a daring move, presses his lips to your neck softly.

Completely out of character for Rafe, it’s almost sweet and doesn’t do your state any favours as you squeeze your thighs together, wetness already starting to spread to your underwear.

Goddamnit, you think. You look up at Rafe through your long eyelashes, and bring your lips to his ear to whisper “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Rafe looks at you excitedly, and you figure it wouldn’t hurt (too much) to drag out the inevitable just that bit longer.

“Do not even think about following me,” you say as you stand up, praying your arousal hasn’t started to show on your dress. You picked a good day to wear satin, for goodness sake.

Rafe looks hurt as you walk into the ladies’ bathroom, not doubting that he will follow your wishes. He may be a sexual deviant but he’s not one to cross boundaries, especially yours.

You brace yourself on the porcelain sink, breathing heavily as you look at yourself in the mirror. You look frazzled and flushed, all because of Rafe.

You have an idea, and smirk to yourself as you prepare to leave.

You make your way out of the bathroom, walking slowly back to the group, stopping where only Rafe can see you.

You don’t have to wait long for Rafe to look up and catch your eye. It gives you some sort of satisfaction to see his face change from confusion to shock, and you know you’ve got him hooked.

You’re holding your red lace thong in your hand, winking as you stuff it discreetly into your clutch. You’ve never seen Rafe look so impressed.

Game on.

_______________________________________________________________ 

tag list my beautiful bbys: @letsgofullkook​ @stargazingstarkey​ @hoeforpankow​ @harrysbbby​ @ptersparkers​ @socialwriter​ @thatjohnd​ @ssjiara​ @jjsmentalpolaroids​ @bailspogue​ @jjmaybankx​ @jjtheangel​ @jjmeybank​ @drewstarkey​ @obx-direction-sos​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @pixelated-pogues​ @jjmbanks​ @ims0golden​ @obbx-tings​ @honeyycheek​ @softstarkey​ 

please let me know your thoughts and if you’d like a part 2!! (planning on it)

#i would love any comments/reblogs/feedback pls #im proud of this one #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

[asweetprologue]

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx​

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes. 

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment. 

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands. 

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really. 

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable. 

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade. 

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did. 

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing. 

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw. 

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost. 

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it. 

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled. 

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact. 

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed. 

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped. 

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve - 

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. 

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush. 

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,” Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.” 

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him. 

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him. 

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said. 

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was. 

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did. 

#my work #my fics #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fan fiction #fan fic #witcher fanfiction #valdomarx

[davidmann95]

So you've talked a lot about Darkseid, but what about the other New Gods?

SO THIS HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX FOR ALMOST AS LONG AS THIS BLOG’S BEEN AROUND AND I JUST FINALLY FINISHED FOURTH WORLD

Well that sure was something. My musings on some major players that I either have substantial thoughts on, or where I especially think the majority consensus/interpretation has subsequently gotten them wrong (a state Kirby is well aware of, because a HUGE part of “Even Gods Can Die!” is him being frustrated at subsequent handlings of the characters even by 1984 mucking things up):

Orion: Perhaps the most hard-done by as a result of Kirby never being able to fully finish Fourth World as he had imagined it, as his character arc ends on a cliffhanger for a decade and is forced into a rapid completion later. When he emerges, while a warrior born he’s also every bit the classical, magnificent hero you expect to see in a superhero comic to try and overshadow his inner demons, while by the end of New Gods he’s embraced not only his true face (the OTHER face, as his father would put it) in the fight against Apokolips but the murderous, sadistic rage that is his birthright, reveling in inflicting agony and very much the berserker others have since portrayed him as. Surely as much a product of his trauma from a childhood on Apokolips (a detail frequently glossed over) and a sense of being unwanted as anything genetic, it’s ultimately unconditional love for him as he truly is in Hunger Dogs that lets him overcome his fear that he can’t be anything but a monstrous tool in service of better people than himself, and embrace ‘the tomorrow overture’. Even his anger has its righteous if tragic place as a primal force of upheaval: “It defies time! It stands firm against the hammers of change! It mocks life and defies death!” I won’t get to it for awhile yet, but very curious what Simonson does with him.

Lightray: Rules! He’s the closest the New Gods have to a traditional superhero, and it’s in that capacity that while a lousy warrior next to Orion (Kalibak thinks little of his attempt at fighting him, mockingly deeming him a “callow little killer”), his strength is in transformation: he makes himself light, he turns a tormented weapon into the glory boat, a machine armed against the New Gods into a weapon against Darkseid, Orion from a man alone into a friend. He’s not a warrior, but he’s the one who makes a better world worth waging war for and who might one day make such war unnecessary. Also he and Orion have definitely fucked.

Mister Miracle: Not WILDLY off the mark since, but it’s interesting that as I expect a result of JLI he’s been written so often since as an everymanish, relatable, bordering-on-comedic figure, when under Kirby he was very much the archetypal good guy. One often committed to freeing others as he had been freed himself, in the likes of Ted Brown and Shilo Norman, an avenue I’m surprised hasn’t been explored more often from what I’ve seen. Also worth noting: Darkseid declared the moment he got his hands on the kid that Granny would be twice as hard on him as others, and that it would eventually drive the boy away and let the war resume. Which not only indicates Darkseid’s understanding of the subtlety needed in control, but would seem to take Scott’s rebellion out of his own hands…except that at the moment of his escape Darkseid still offered him a choice, implored the boy to allow him to “complete the destruction of Scott Free – so you may live with the majesty that is the power of DARKSEID!” And instead he turned his back on his god and chose to be what he is.

Barda: Shockingly, great as she’s been since, her background is often severely mischaracterized. The shorthand is “love saved her and turned her from a servant of evil to a champion of good!”, but that’s…while not entirely wrong, a bad way of presenting it. When she leaves Apokolips initially, even after she starts hanging out with Scott Free and Oberson after having helped the former escape years earlier, she still believes in Darkseid. She fights and hates her former allies not because she’s turned against his vision of the universe (this is in fact a major aspect often overlooked - under Kirby Darkseid’s agents don’t simply fear him, they sincerely believe in him and his vision of how the universe works) but because she sees them as loathsome, brutish executors of his grand design. In short, she doesn’t think it’s the system that’s the problem, but a bunch of bad apples. It’s her experience with freedom and simple pleasures and life on Earth, her lingering guilt over the death of her friend Auralie as eventually manifested in her protection and training of Shiloh Norman, and yes, her eventual realized love for Scott, that brings her around to realizing she truly desires a life beyond what Darkseid can offer.

Forever People: Okay I actually don’t have a ton to say about the Forever People, though I do think they’re underrated and underutilized. Naive and in over their heads as the frequently are they’re also the best of their peers, believing in freedom and transformation and the potential of those around them to become better - their defining moment for me is when they reassure Sonny Sumo that having the power of the Anti-Life Equation doesn’t make him a monster. “Where we come from the Anti-Life Equation is one of many others–almost as awesome!! But they merely exist!! It’s we who live!!”

Metron: The big figure I haven’t really been able to crack. Machinery as not necessarily cold mechanization but extensions of ourselves and our souls, and able to nourish them in turn, is a big aspect of Fourth World, but Metron as the embodiment of mechanization and knowledge feels like not just an outsider as he’s framed but one who never quite became whatever Kirby had in mind for him, making his crucial role at the end of Hunger Dogs a bit of a non-sequitur for me. I’d be curious to hear what other people think.

Desaad: God Desaad’s been made boring. Not that he isn’t fairly one-dimensional under Kirby too, but his craft and awful glee as the god of torture isn’t just in strapping people to tables and poking them with unpleasant tools, it’s in manipulating their emotions and agonies to a fever pitch - he should be such an unsettling figure, and instead he’s a simpering helpless toady.

Highfather: Not a perfect figure, given how he’s framed with the likes of Fastbak, and the Forever People, and the Pact, willing to deploy fear as a weapon in the name of peace as Darkseid will use chaos in the name of a larger order, but always trying - as with Darkseid, an imperfect vessel of what he represents, but capable of growth and realization as a leader.

Steppenwolf/Heggra: Essential to understanding The Pact, they’re the old ways of the world and war, petty despots and warrior-kings, supplanted by fascism in Darkseid.

Darkseid: So I’ve discussed Darkseid before in terms of his broad use and ideas, but the very specific ways Kirby presented him have their own dimensions. In the world of superheroes he’s larger-than-life and often such in here too, but in rare moments, and by the end entirely as all artifice is stripped away? Kirby’s Darkseid is a profoundly human figure. He recognizes the irony that the Forever People believe in letting all be who they are, for that very need to fulfill himself is why he must pursue conquest (“And of course - that’s the pity of it!”). While he thinks to himself “Oh, how heroes LOVE to flaunt their nobility in the face of death! Yet THEY know better than most that war is but the COLD game of the BUTCHER!” he too believes in “Boldness! Risk! The raw meat of existence!” even as he consigns himself to the role of puppetmaster rather than warrior. He does or so he tells himself “no more than what HAS to be done!!” rather than indulging in cruelty for its own sake. He dresses up in ridiculous costumes for his schemes, he gets sarcastic, he recognizes honor and respects worthy foes, he feels love, he craves the laughter of a friend, he fears the obsolesce of his preferred way of doing things, he tells himself that should he achieve omnipotence others will find “eternal shelter”. He’s a person, one capable of a range of emotions, but he is the TIGER FORCE AT THE CORE OF ALL THINGS regardless…not because he is a mythic unstoppable force, but because every day he rises and believes in himself over all others, because there is a black hole within him that he can only hope dominance might fill regardless of what pain he finds in the process. But as Mister Miracle’s battle with the Lump foretold, when left truly alone over a world that is himself he will be only within “a self-made prison”, reflections of his own fear and agony.

#New Gods #Fourth World #Kirby #Orion #Lightray #Mister Miracle #Barda #Forever People #Metron #Desaad #Highfather #Darkseid #Opinion

[ka-za-ri]

Personal Assistant Pt. 4

Oh hey there. I’m surprised you’re still here. I guess it’s time for some more kinky smut. If you’ve been waiting for demon sex, here it is! *Will Smith poses* Can I get a Hell yeah! If you’re into that? Taglist at the end

Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 5: here Part 6: here Part 7: here Crossposted on Ao3: here

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader Wordcount: 4,800 ish Genre: Filthy fucking. Tags: Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Toys, body worship, demon sex, knotting, floor sex, brief cunnilingus Summary: After getting your numbers back up, it's time to discuss a pay raise and maybe grace you with some new knowledge.

Pay Raise

Humans only ever believed what they saw; and Lucifer planned to make you a believer. 

The problematic tendencies you had fallen into were quickly corrected. Through sheer force of your willpower alone, you managed to bring your numbers back up within a month and a half. It was no easy task as Lucifer still loved to start his weekends with a little after work rendezvous. So, drastic changes needed to be made quickly to keep him satisfied. While on the clock, you were laser focused, pushing back every lewd thought you had, letting your body react while your mind worked. You needed to separate and compartmentalize work from pleasure. If Lucifer could do it, you could do it too.  Seeing your improvement come about so quickly had him pleasantly surprised and the discussion of a proper pay raise needed to be had. 

He had gone in and scheduled another meeting with him at the end of the day a couple months after your performance review. Like the last time, it would take  up the last couple of hours you had on the clock and you expected it to last a few hours past that as well. Surprisingly, he had sent you an email just as you started to wrap up your work to remind you of your meeting. When you opened it up and saw the message, you couldn’t help but smile a little. It was so him.

Make sure you’re properly prepared for the meeting and be on time. 

To anyone else, the words on your screen would seem like a mundane reminder to bring something to write with and to be punctual for your meeting. However, everything Lucifer did had a purpose and you knew the underlying meaning of his succinct message. Understanding what you had to do, you rushed the last bit of work you had to accomplish. He wanted you to be prepared and that meant that you needed a few extra minutes before the meeting to ensure both your holes were empty and ready to be used as he saw fit. 

You stared at the bathroom mirror, face warm from seeing your most intimate parts reflected in it while you pulled the toys of the day out. You carefully washed them with warm water, even if it was getting dangerously close to the appointed time, it would be a shame if you couldn’t properly care for the precious gifts Lucifer graced you with. Everything he handed you felt sacred, and to disrespect him by not ritualistically washing and drying your toys after use left you feeling guilty. If you arrived a little late because of that, you hoped he would show mercy. Likely not… but it’s not that bad to get punished...

When you stepped back out onto the main office space, you noticed that it was significantly darker than usual. Normally, the room would be glowing a warm orange from the setting sun as the day drew to a close. However, during the time you were in the bathroom, he had drawn all the shades to block out the light. A gray gloom fell over the two of you and you suddenly felt an inkling of fear crawl up your spine. 

He was staring off into the distance, facing the windows as if he was watching the city. But, with the shades down, he was really looking at nothing. He seemed to be deep in thought while he waited for you to arrive. 

Today would be the ultimate  test of your trust in him. 

“I’m here for the 3 o’clock meeting, Lucifer.” You spoke up after the silence between the two of you grew too heavy for you to bear. 

“Right on time. Take a seat.” He didn’t turn to see you, his gaze and demeanor rather distant. 

The fear you felt earlier came back. Your mind raced, wondering if you had disappointed him somehow. The somber mood only made you worry that he was gearing up for the ‘you’re fired’ talk. The last time a meeting like this happened, you had found yourself sitting on his cock for hours while he rattled on about reports. You could only pray that this meeting would somehow have the same outcome. 

“My apologies for the darkness. I’ve had a bit of a headache and the light makes it worse.” He explained, finally putting your worries at ease and he moved to his seat at his desk. “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all. I hope you’ll overcome it quickly.” You smiled softly, glad to know that he was still susceptible to the typical aches and pains of a normal human. Even if he seemed to be a supernatural being at times with how composed he was, you knew he was still human deep down. “What would you like to talk about?” 

“Numbers.” Lucifer stated plainly, pulling out your file. “It’s been a rather busy month for you, has it not? I would like to check in.” 

“Well, you know how it is during this time of the year. Everyone is trying to get all the supplies they need for school and orders are flying off the shelves faster than some of our facilities can fulfill them.” 

He nodded, writing something down on a separate notebook he kept at the side of his desk while you spoke. “Yes, the hiring and training set up a few months prior helped; but, nothing really prepared us to experience such growth in such a short amount of time.” 

“It was an unexpected spike, but if I remember correctly, marketing has also been working on expanding the network of advertisements on all platforms. Your reach is a lot larger than it ever has been.” 

“And even with all this new work, you managed to bring your numbers up as I had asked you to. Very good.” He pointed out the improved data and compared the past two months to the time he had last spoken to you about your dip in performance.”Now that you’re on top of things, I expect you to stay there. You’re on track to keeping those numbers up and I’d like to see you stay diligent, even when things get slower.” He paused, letting you take in the information before he moved to the next point he wanted to get to. “I’m very proud to see that you’ve kept up with everything despite the sudden growth and spike in work. It might be time for a pay raise, don’t you think?”

You blinked, not expecting to have this kind of talk until you had been with the company for at least a year and a half. To have it brought up just a little over six months in your tenure felt too short; yet the pride you felt from meeting his expectations overrode any discomfort you had. “I’m happy with whatever decision you make.” You said truthfully. 

“Well, with higher pay comes higher expectations. Do you think you can live up to them?” 

“Guide me, and I’ll do whatever it is you need.” you replied confidently. It didn’t matter if the request pertained to work or your after hour services. You were willing to go to Hell and back for this man. Normally, you would have been alarmed to be this loyal to someone you had only met half a year ago; but having spent so much time around him, you knew you could count on him no matter what decision he made. 

“Do you trust me?” The question felt a little odd, but not entirely out of place.

“Absolutely.” 

He gauged your reaction, searching for any fault in your confidence. Your heart beat fast as the silence stretched on and he tested the waters even further. Finally he broke eye contact with you and got up from his desk, he beckoned you to follow him to a larger, emptier space. “If you trust me as you say you do, then do not be afraid.” 

You struggled to understand what he was saying. For a moment you felt like you couldn’t see properly, Lucifer’s entire being seemed to disappear behind a haze and shift dramatically. Blinking rapidly to try to fix whatever was going on with your eyes; you tried to get a better look at him again. Once your vision cleared, Lucifer’s image was no longer the one you were used to seeing on a day to day basis. Yelping in surprise, you fell back, trying to comprehend what just happened. 

“Do not be afraid.” 

“I’m not… I’m not scared.” you stuttered. This image, this version of him was familiar to you. As shocking as it was to see now, there was a sense of familiarity. You knew this version of him as an illusion; but, for many times as you blinked, he remained the same. The great horns that crowned his head and the massive wings that surrounded him didn’t go away no matter how hard you rubbed your eyes and shook your head in disbelief. 

You thought back to the night you signed your contract, how you had sworn you saw something in the reflection of the window. That red glint in his eyes you had thought was a trick of the light was actually natural. What you thought had been an illusion had been his true form all along. 

Even his clothes had changed to fit this form of his. He was swathed in a long black and red tailcoat that fit snugly over the tailored suit he wore. The embroidered design on the coat and at his collar made your heart flutter. It matched the necklace he had given you months prior. The red that lined the coat and the capelet on his shoulders were an exact match to the lipstick you wore. All along, signs of his true self had been all around you and you hadn’t noticed a thing.

Everything clicked at once in your brain. His name, the contract, the sway he had over you. You had willingly made a deal to work with the devil himself. That realization should have had you screaming for mercy and for a return of your soul; yet that thought never crossed your mind. All you could think of was just how magnificent he was. 

You wanted to get up, but your body seemed to lack the strength to hold you upright. He stood still, watching your every move. Even if you claimed you weren’t scared, your body wouldn’t stop shaking in the wake of his demonic form. He waited patiently for you to gather your wits, knowing how shocked you must be to realize this reality. Lucifer was almost ashamed that he had shown his true form to you without much warning. However; there was no delicate way to go about it, and there were needs that he wanted to sate which could only be accomplished in his true form. 

“This… this is all real…” You breathed, finally at least getting enough strength back to get on your knees. “I’m not dreaming?” 

He stepped closer to you so you could clutch onto his clothes and pull yourself back up. “Does it feel real to you?” He asked softly, his gaze never leaving you as you struggled like a newly born lamb to stand again.

“Very real.” You determined once you were back on your feet and able to gaze directly into his eyes. He’s beautiful. Carefully, you reached up to touch his face, stroking his soft skin and his silky hair. The familiarity of his warm skin under your fingers brought a calm over your body. Still, it was hard to believe and your touches tracked upwards towards his horns. “May I?” You asked tentatively before you touched them. 

“You may.” He permitted, tilting his head to the side so you could properly touch them. You gently ran your hand through the ribbed texture of the hard horns, marveling at their sheen and how smooth they were. It was easy to be entranced by the unique curved shape they formed and you spent several minutes mindlessly tracing them from where they sprouted from his skull to their pointed tips. He stayed perfectly still for you the whole time, letting you soak it all in. Carefully standing on tiptoe, you placed a soft kiss on them, leaving red lipstick marks across them. He subdued a shudder, but let you continu, allowing you to explore him in a rare show of vulnerability. 

“May I…” You started to ask again, distracted by his wings which fluttered softly whenever your touches tickled his senses just right. You reached out to them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked. 

“You may.” he said softly, giving you permission to walk around him and caress the dark feathers. The ensemble he wore was so cleverly made, allowing his wings full range of motion while also being easy to remove thanks to some carefully hidden buckles and ties which nestled at the base of each pair of his wings. You traced the line his spine made, barely brushing past the feathery appendages. You couldn’t see his expression from where you were, but you could feel his muscles tense. Lucifer didn’t stop you though, letting you carry on and examine his body as you needed. 

Your fingers traced the feathers, amazed at how they shimmered in the dim light, refracting bits of green and gold whenever they fluttered. The right at the base, the softest black down sprouted from his skin and flowed into the wings. Burying your fingers there, you sighed in content, loving the velvety texture of the small feathers as they tickled your hand. Lucifer visibly shivered, the base of his wings were particularly sensitive. The way you caressed them so gently sent jolts of pleasure right to his groin. He couldn’t stop you though, not when you were stroking those sensitive spots so innocently in your inspection of his demon form. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin the moment with his growing hard on. You heard him take deep breaths, calming his body as he stayed still for you. 

You circled around to him again, wide-eyed and blushing. He trusted you enough to show you this. Out of all the people in the world, you were the one privileged with the knowledge of what your boss truly looked like. 

“Are you afraid?” he asked once you were in front of him. 

“No…” You answered softly, placing a hesitant kiss on your lips. “You’re beautiful.” 

He liked your answer, responding to your kiss and deepening it. Lucifer pulled your close, his hand resting at the back of your head and keeping you flush against him. You could feel his hard cock press against your thigh and the intimacy of the moment was heightened. The kisses you shared were uncharacteristically soft, as if he was holding back his real desires from you. You were so used to him simply taking anything he wanted from you that the gentleness had your mind swimming in the most pleasant way. “If… I may…” You said breathlessly once the kisses broke. You placed your finger on the clasps that held his capelet in place, and patiently waited for his permission. 

“Yes, you may.” 

You smiled softly; there was nothing but adoration in your eyes as you worked his clothes off of him. The capelet fell away with little effort. The buttons to his tailcoat came next. He assisted you in undoing the buckles and ties at his back. Once those were undone, the rest of the garment came off with ease. All the ornate accessories he wore were carefully removed and placed on the desk. Everything you touched was sacred. Everything your hand passed was blessed to be in his presence and you were the one privileged enough to have the pleasure of taking it off of him. 

Each piece of clothing landed on the floor in a pile next to the two of you. After the long coat came his gloves which hid long, red nails underneath. You blushed when you noticed that once again, it was the same shade of red you wore every day on your lips. You made quick work of the skin tight undershirt he wore; the last thing that stood before you and his bare skin. Once that joined the rest of his clothes on the floor, you were free to explore him again as you wished. 

You didn’t even ask permission this time. It was the first time he had ever allowed you to remove this many clothes off of him. The treat of seeing his whole torso bare and framed by those magnificent black wings of his was practically a religious experience. You couldn’t help but want to kiss every inch of his skin. Your hand traced the toned muscles of his abs, trailing up to his chest where his nipples were. Keeping eye contact with him, you ran your tongue across them, watching how hard it was for him to keep his composure the whole time. You wanted to spend every second he allowed worshiping the perfect specimen in front of you. Taking his nipple in between your teeth, you swiped your tongue across it, gaining a hiss which turned into a soft moan. He laced his hands into your hair, encouraging you to keep going. Your hand joined your tongue at his chest, pinching and teasing his other nipple.

Your free hand moved down lower to the bulge at his pants and stroked him through the fabric. You would get there in due time; but your focus was on what was already revealed and you hadn’t had enough of that yet. Kissing across his chest, you sucked at his other nipple, moaning softly against his skin, you let the vibrations from that noise aide in pleasuring him. “Very good…” He murmured softly, his hands still laced in your hair and tugging at it slightly. “You may continue…” 

At his request, you knelt down, coming face to face with his crotch and you swallowed. He stopped you before you got to working his belt off of him. “I… I will have changed there too.” he warned. 

“I will not be afraid.” You reassured, deftly unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the side. You took your time in undoing the button and the zipper. The anticipation of what he was hiding was making you wet. How would it feel to be filled with this version of Lucifer? How would your pussy like his demon cock? You licked your lips unconsciously as you pulled the zipper down and revealed the outline of his cock pressed up against his boxers. Seeing the tantalizing silhouette of what was to come made you eagerly pull the rest of his pants off and tossing it on top of the ever growing pile of clothes. In a moment of awkward maneuvering when you struggled to get his pants past his ankles, Lucifer also assisted you in taking off his socks and shoes. 

He only had his boxers left before he was completely nude. Even if you were excited to see what his cock looked like, you wanted to still show appreciation to what you had unveiled. Kissing up his thighs, you breathed deeply to take in his scent. His unique musk hadn’t changed at all. He was still the Lucifer you knew and trusted. Lovingly, you nuzzled the massive package he sported at his crotch. A bead of precum soaked through the fabric and you lapped at it Getting a taste of him, you smiled to yourself, noticing that his unique flavor was also the same as it had always been. 

Embracing his thighs, you hungrily groped his clothed ass while you licked up and down his shaft through the fabric of his boxers. Your saliva wet the fabric, enhancing the outline of his cock even more, molding it to every ridge and bump. By the time you were ready to take off his boxers, it was soaked by your drool and a mixture of his cum. 

Getting to the final reveal of his cock was better than you had ever expected. It was a magnificent thing. Long and hard, it curved upwards with deep ridges running all along the length. At the base, an impressive muscular knot bulged and pulsed which then seamlessly lead down to his balls. You couldn’t help but trace your finger along every detail, marveling at it and fantasizing about taking it all in you. Part of you wanted to also run your tongue across his length, but his hand in your hair stopped you before you could take the tapered tip into your mouth. Above you, you heard Lucifer hiss in pleasure, thrusting into your touches, just as eager as you were to get to the best part of the evening. “No. Not this time.” He said firmly; and you obliged, only touching him with your fingers until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

The pile of clothes you made served to be an excellent cushion against the cold floor. He laid you on top, smiling devilishly now that you had your fill. “Now… it’s my turn.” He said. “May I?” 

“Yes… You may.” You said, already lifting your skirt up and spreading your legs wide for him. 

It took no effort at all for his sharp nails to cut through the thin fabric of your panties. Truthfully, he wanted to rip all your clothes off of you; but then that would make your journey back home rather problematic. So, he had to settle for the pleasure of tearing your panties to shreds, exposing your soaking pussy to the cool air. It was his turn to lick his lips and savor the beautiful sight before him. 

Dipping down between your legs, he licked at your labia, lapping up your essence and taking in your unique scent. The feeling of his hot tongue playing at your sensitive folds was mind blowing and your hands flew to his head between your legs, gripping the horns hard to encourage him to go further. You could hear him chuckle, his body shaking slightly in the action and he complied, if only a little bit. He pressed the flat of his tongue across your slit, parting it open to freely lap at your juices and stopped to swirl the tip of his tongue at your clit making your whine and grip at his horns even harder. 

You didn’t realize just how strong your grip on his horns had been until he had to pry your aching fingers off of them as soon as he was satisfied with tasting you. “Are you afraid?” He asked, pulling away from you to line the tip of his cock at your entrance. Just feeling the tip part your lips had you quivering in anticipation. 

“No.” You reassured him. “I want you… all of you.” 

He took his time entering you, wanting you to feel every detail of his cock as it slid into you. You arched your back, already writhing in pleasure at the first inch. He filled you in a way you never felt before. No human cock or toy could ever replicate the sensations he was giving you.You could feel everything, every curve and ridge of his glorious dick as he entered you. The girth of it was perfect, stretching you full while the length and curvature of his cock rubbed against your g-spot with every inch that entered you. “You will have all of me… soon.” He promised. “But first. Let’s see how you handle me like this.” 

His pace was slow at first, making sure not to hurt you as you became accustomed to being fucked by his demonic cock. Every pass was a new experience in sensations. You clawed fruitlessly at the tiles on the floor as you gasped his name with every thrust he gave you. This had to be what it felt like to be in heaven. If you could choose a god to pray to, it would be Lucifer and his cock would be the temple you worshiped at. 

You could still tell he was being careful with you; and that wouldn’t do. As much as you appreciated this soft side of him, you knew the control he craved. “Take… Take me.” You begged. “Use me as you like…” 

At your request, something in him snapped and the languid pace he first set was broken in favor of a rougher and faster one. A pace that could satisfy a demon. Your insides clenched and fluttered erratically, not sure how to take the brutal fucking he was giving you. As your mind short-circuited, you vaguely felt him lift your leg up, propping it on his shoulder to get better leverage. 

And that was the moment you saw stars. Every trust was pure bliss, you were cumming uncontrollably around his cock, spasming and begging for more at the same time. His sharp nails dug into your flesh, adding yet another layer of sensations for you to experience. The top of his hard knot caught at your entrance with the new angle and you could feel your cunt stretch out even more to accept him. 

Tears streamed freely down your face as you lost count of how many times his cock had made you orgasm. Yet you still hadn’t felt his knot buried in you yet. “Lucifer… please.. I want all of you…” You whined. You weren’t sure how many more times you could cum before you passed out. At least before that happened, you wanted to experience fully accepting him. 

He slowed down to almost a full stop and let you take a few deep breaths. As you calmed your body down from the high of so many orgasms back to back, he pushed further into you. You had thought the incessant stretch you felt from the top of his knot when he was fucking you would be the worst of it; but you were sorely mistaken. “Keep breathing... “ he said, coaching you into slow, even breaths while he continued to cram his whole length into you. “In and out… just like that… You will have all of me soon.” 

He reached up to your face, brushing stray strands of hair away, watching your expression change from one of strained discomfort to one of pleasure as his knot finally slipped all the way into you, snug and tight at your entrance. “Very good…” He praised, kissing you softly and letting your mind process what you had just done. 

Looking down, seeing your pussy stuffed so full with his cock, his knot pulsed in need and he slowly rutted into you, his eyelids fluttering at being engulfed in your heat. The image of your cunt stretched and strained around his massive member for the first time would be burned into his memory forever. As soon as he felt your body fully relax into the experience, he started to rut into you harder, rocking back and forth in short burst, making you scream his name while he chased his release that was so close 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked breathlessly, sweat plastering his hair to his face. His whole body tensed, waiting for your answer. As soon as he had it, he knew it would be the end for him. 

“You! You do, Sir!” You screamed, arching your back and shuddering at being so filled. 

“Who?” He growled, digging his nails into your thighs and leaving deep marks on your skin. 

“L-Lucifer!” You yelled, you voice hoarse from all the lewd sounds you had made that night. 

That was it, that was what broke him. With one last trust, he pushed himself into you as deeply as he could, filling you with his seed, cum seeming to endlessly stream out of him in spurts. He bent over you, biting you at the juncture of your neck and collarbone, his fangs breaking skin and drawing blood. He lapped greedily at it, memorizing the unique tang to your blood and finally, was satiated in a way he hadn’t been in years. 

Your whole body collapsed onto the pile of clothes at your final orgasm, your vision becoming white for a few moments before you slowly drifted back into reality. He continued to empty himself into you in spurts, his seed overflowed and seeped down your thighs, but you didn’t care. 

“And the pact has been made…” He murmured softly, laying down at your side, protectively wrapping his wings around you. 

“Does that mean you have my soul now?” You asked tiredly. You could feel yourself drifting and wondered if you could take a small nap before taking the last train home. 

“Would you like to have it back?” 

“No.” You said confidently, snuggling up against him, making him hiss in pleasure as your body shifted and he was still buried inside of you. “I signed a contract with you a long time ago if I remember correctly.” 

“That’s right. You were mine all along.” He said chuckling softly and holding you close.

He never needed to make a believer out of you. You had believed him all along.

Taglist: @ptv-hades

#Obey me #Obey me smut #Lucifer x reader #Obey me fanfiction #my writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #Demon lucifer fucks you good #Obey Me AU

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Good Together

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 9,300 (sorry!)

Summary: You and Bucky have a very tumultuous relationship -- but you’re good together.

Warnings: Smut!! Angst maybe.

A/N: Inspired by “Good Together” by SHY Martin. This is my first time writing smut, so please let me know what you think and I’m so sorry if this is terrible!! Just let me knoowwww also sorry for making it so long!

...

I've been working on myself and on my patience But sometimes that shit don't come easy And I see you've been tryin' your best to give me explanations But words don't really cut it lately

“Buck, would you just listen to me,” you spat, emphasizing the last three words, shaking your hands in significance. He continued calmly putting the dishes away; you knew it was a façade: his relaxed shoulders, plain face, raised eyebrows – all a ruse to make him look like a victim. “Turn around.”

He spun quickly on his heel, still holding the clean plate in his hand, facing you with a strong tone of expectation: expectation that you had something really fucking good to say if you had to interrupt him putting the dishes away, especially since you ask him every day to help out with the chores. “Yes, dear?”

You rolled your eyes almost immediately as the term of less-than-endearment slipped off his tongue. “Listen to what I’m saying – ”

“I can multitask, (Y/N), thank you very much.” He continues on his merry way unloading the dishwasher, turning his back to you once again.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An inhale and exhale through your mouth; so quiet yet you’re sure he heard you. Focus, you thought to yourself, shutting your eyes and finding your peace. He wants you to snap. You took another deep breath, craning your neck in a circle, listening as the top of your vertebrae cracks with a loud pop! “All I’m saying,” you begin smoothly, “is that you need to stop acting like a baby.”

He scoffs, eyebrows raising in doubt. “What part of this is being a baby, (Y/N); enlighten me.” Patronizing fuck.

You swore that talking to him took more patience than raising a puppy – hell, at least the puppy would learn to listen to you. “You’re always like acting like the victim; such a martyr. I try to bring up one thing with you – have an adult discussion – and suddenly you act like it’s all my fault and that I’m crazy? Like I’m the bad guy here.”

You can feel him roll his eyes through the back of his head. He shrugs. “Look, (Y/N), all I was saying was that you were bitchin’ over nothin’ – all I did was apologize.”

You actually laughed arrogantly, reminding him what he stated earlier, laying the sarcasm on as heavily as he did: “oh, I’m so sorry, (Y/N). Sorry that I have eyes and like to use them to look around.” You narrowed your eyes at him, finally gaining his full attention as he fisted the cutlery. “Sorry, how does having eyes justify you eye-fucking the girl behind me?”

“I wasn’t even staring – ”

And you snapped. In his defense, you maybe sounded a little shrill when you flipped out at him; your voice did, in fact, raise about twelve octaves. “You were literally undressing her with your eyes, James.” You threw up your hands in the air, exaggerating a groan as your head dropped back. “You probably have x-ray vision, don’t you?” You accused, almost jokingly. But as he narrowed his eyes as he hesitated to say something back, searching his mind for the proper response – but you were too fast. “You fucking do, don’t you, you piece of shit. Of course – ”

The sound of shattering glass cut you off immediately. You opened your eyes and straightened your stance to be faced with Bucky, butter knife in his hand, and a plate, split perfectly in half, sitting on the counter beside him. His blue eyes were squeezed tight in control, his flesh hand gripping the knife so hard that his knuckles had gone white. You stared at the porcelain dinner plate, feignedly wondering if that’s what he wanted to do to you.

Deep down, you knew he would never lay a hand on you; he always insisted on throwing or breaking something when he became so frustrated with his anger – with you. He’d gone so far as to throw a lamp at the wall (in the opposite direction of you, of course); thus, showing his intention to release his anger and not an intention to hurt you. The two of you had been working on different ways to channel his anger; however, as he stated: he was used to a life of destruction, so that’s how he vented. He found that it got the job done: it got you to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have x-ray vision, don’t be a child about it.” His voice was surprisingly calm, especially considering how he still hadn’t put the knife down. “I wasn’t even starting. I glanced at her – in her direction.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, though. That’s the issue that he didn’t comprehend. You let out a sigh, speaking calmer than you had all night. “Bucky, I’m just sick of having this same conversation, please,” you pleaded, taking a step closer. He remained silent and still, eyeing you as you approached him. “I feel like I’m not asking for much.” Stop staring at other girls while you’re on a date with me: not much. It was not only infuriating, it was embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting the knife on the counter beside the pieces of plate, turning his head down. “I didn’t mean to be doing it. I just get distracted.” His voice was quiet, almost child-like as it rose in inflection.

You were torn. You could believe what he was saying, hoping that this time he’d actually be telling the truth: you knew he had a short attention span, and he did have a tendency to space out a lot. But you were caught between believing that and the fact he had spaced out in the direction of a girl with a significantly low-cut blouse. These other times, he liked to play the victim-card, blaming his less-than-appealing tendencies on his poorer qualities that, technically, nobody could refute him having.

You’d learned to read through his words, though. And this time, it was the latter.

Remember when our love was precious We thought what we had was the best, yeah Now every answer's a question Like every night is one of us is getting aggressive The other one's acting possessive Guess it's the way that we do shit now

Your fights had grown frequent.

Your relationship had grown volatile.

Not that it wasn’t based on your tumultuous roots – but it had just gotten so much worse lately.

This relationship started off fairly normal, however, the cherished affair the two of you shared quickly became tainted through the media. Countless news outlets had gotten word of the coupling instantaneously, leaving the two of you swamped with paparazzi and yelling passerby’s every time either of you left your houses. It was quite the shock that James Buchanan Barnes had a girlfriend – a regular girlfriend, too; a non-Avenger. People were quick to sell you out, too. Close friends and even some family selling information about your relationship (and even just material about you) to make a quick buck.

It had gotten the best of the both of you early on. Bucky was tired of being constantly followed and photographed. He was a man who had grown used to solitude and, while he was slowly but surely adapting to twenty-first century life and everything that came along with that, all of the flashing lights and constant yelling made him want to climb into a hole and live in the dark forever.

You, similarly, were extremely unaccustomed to this. Suddenly, you were on the cover of magazines, reading articles about yourself in People & Us magazines, scrolling through stories of yourself on Snapchat. Old friends, people from college, even some work colleagues sold stories about you to the tabloids. Maybe some of the resentment that you held towards them reflected upon Bucky. You didn’t think about it often, but maybe there was a correlation – an unfair correlation, obviously. Your hatred on the outside world didn’t equate to hatred towards Bucky, but you still aimed it towards him quite a bit.

Bucky, never slow to defend himself, returned said animosity right back at you. The two of you picked each other apart until you were both bloody and raw.

Tonight was no different.

The entire evening, meant to be romantic, turned into a fight. You both intended for event at Stark Industries to be uneventful: a night of mingling with friends, reminiscing in old stories, and drinking expensive champagne. It started off halfway decent, that is, until you started meeting more of the people that worked at the Tower.

You had no problem hanging out with the rest of the Avengers – especially Sam, who you bonded with through teasing Bucky (nothing but love, of course), but when it came to meeting a couple other supporting agents, you were a little out of you element.

Take, for example, Agent Toller, who came up to you and Bucky early on, greeting him kindly with a hug and introducing herself to you with a handshake.  “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)! Bucky’s told me so much about you!” You smiled genuinely at her statement, responding and continuing the conversation. It, of course, came to a point where she slung her arm around his and stated matter-of-factly: “You better keep him locked up. I know a lot of ladies wanting to get their hands on him.”

Your lungs deflated. Including herself, apparently. “I’ll do my best,” you reply through gritted teeth.

Then there was Agent Rivers, who straight off the bat ignored you. She came up to Bucky telling him she finally mastered the thigh-grip, a move, she later clarified, made notorious through Black Widow. “All that time in the gym finally paid off, huh,” Bucky teased.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she beamed back, touching a hand to his arm.

He rolled his eyes playfully, chuckling. “Please, just playing the dummy – as usual.”

She merrily smacked his arm, grinning. “Don’t say that, Buck.”

You stood next to Bucky, staring up at the man blankly. Rivers trotted off once she caught wind of you glaring at Bucky. Plucking another glass of champagne from the passing server, you took a long sip, finally asking: “So, Buck, what would be your part in her mastering this thigh grip?” It was a bit condescending, a little irked, and extremely sarcastic. The image of her perfect legs around your boyfriends neck did not sit right with you.

Was he more of a flirt than you remembered? It had been ages since he’s properly flirted with you. It was nothing to get angsty about; its not like you had anything to truly worry about. He came home every evening, spent the night in your bed with you; save for when he went on missions, but surely, he wasn’t accompanied by any women you had to worry about, at least – Natasha and Wanda had your full confidence. But it wasn’t the women that bothered you; you shouldn’t have to worry about Bucky. No matter how many beautiful, strong, talented women flirted with him, he should shut them down – not flirt back literally in front of you.

A few more introductions played out exactly like that, so a few more glasses of champagne were necessary for you to get through the evening. At one point you actually started having a good time. You’d left Bucky to chat with the boys while you found sanctuary in your girlfriends off to the side. You were able to air out your grievances, confidential information falling onto open ears. They took your mind off it by bringing up their own drama, in which you all openly made jokes and critiques, the liquor now fully streaming through all of your bloodstreams.

Once the party started to clear out and even some of the Avengers began to leave, Bucky swooped by your pow-wow and wrapped his arm around your waist, whispering a quiet “ready to go?” in your ear. You and Bucky walked out with Sam and his girlfriend, chatting casually.

As you expected, as soon as the pair spilt off from you two, everything fell silent. Not the good silent: the silence that swirled around you two as your gazed at stars together, the silence as you laid napping in each other’s arms on the couch, the silence that comforted him after a nightmare, accompanied by your fingers curling through his hair. No; this was the silence filled with tension; it was the kind of silence that you’d rather die than have to ride home in the car with him not talking to you.

You bit your lip when you brought it up.

He actually laughed, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting loosely on his lap. He turned his head to you momentarily, a glint in his eye as his smile mocked you. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They’re all throwing themselves at you!” You clarify, exasperated, throwing your hands in your lap, turning towards him underneath your seatbelt.

“I can’t help that, can I?” He shrugged it off, turning back to the road, reclining farther in his seat, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. Smug bastard.

“Yes, James. It’s called personal space and we all have it.” You spoke slowly, enunciating each work clearly. “It would really kill you to tell these girls to stop touching you?” He pulled into a parking spot in front of your apartment and got out of the car without even letting you finish. You followed suit, trialing him up the few steps to the front door. “Every single woman you talked to had her hands all over you.”

He shoves the door open, leaving it wide open for you. “I wasn’t touching them, was I?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back. He groaned and pulled at the tips, acting as if any sort of physical torture would be more preferable to this conversation. “No, my hand was on you the whole entire time, (Y/N). It’s not an issue.”

You slammed the door, crossing your arms over your chest. “Really?” You questioned, tone and volume raising significantly. “So, you don’t care about them touching you in front of your girlfriend? It’s not an issue? Forget it just pissing me off – you don’t think that was fucking embarrassing for me?”

He shrugged earnestly, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

Taking a page out of his book, you pick up the closest thing in arms-length: the half-empty wine bottle you’d left on the table from earlier. You don’t intentionally aim for Bucky, but maybe you weren’t seeing as clearly as you thought you were. It narrowly swipes past him as you drive it into the wall, only marginally missing him because he took a step sideways. His eyes are wide momentarily, turning his head from the large red splotch dripping down the white wall back to focus on you. Instantly, his posture changes: he’s standing upright, more alert – no longer seeing you as annoying instead of nonthreatening; his chest puffs out, his eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a firm line as he glowers at you. “What. The. Fuck.” His teeth are barred, the words coming out bitterly.

“Oh,” you scoffed, unable to hide the smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t like it when I do it to you?” If you were in his position, you’d want to slap yourself. You were only taunting the beast, speaking to him in such a patronizing tone. You couldn’t help yourself, though; it was finally a taste of his own medicine: to be treated like a child. You bit your lip, trying to smother the smile pulling your lips as you watched with half-lidded eyes as he strutted towards you.

“You don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

You raised your eyebrows in challenge. “Says who?”

He stares down at you, another stride forward, consuming all the space left between the both of you. Taking one more step, he backs you into the wall. Your shoulder blades make contact with the cold plaster. “I do.” His voice was rough, about six octaves lower than usual, volume barely above a whisper, yet so much anger in his tone. You laugh, breathing out, sneering at him. “You better wipe that smile off those pretty little lips.” His voice did not waver; there was no inflection nor cadence of amusement.

Your smirk does not faulter. “Make me.” His metal hand snakes around the base of your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck. He watches in amusement as your smile quickly drops into an open mouth, gasping as you struggle to take in a sharp breath in shock.

His hips press into yours, hip bones jamming into each other’s. His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in closer to you, chest against chest. “Not so funny now, is it, baby?”

You and me we never say we're sorry Hands around my body Fucking 'til we're good Fucking 'til we're good And we promise we'll do better Both go down together Fucking 'til we're good

You stare up at him under your eyelashes and focus all your energy on inhaling and exhaling through your nose – this wasn’t your first rodeo.

He watches you, jaw tense, flexing at the sharp contour under his ears. You feel his angered breath as it warms the air over your nose. He grinds his hips up against yours, just moving ever so slightly, pushing his thigh in between your legs. You narrow your eyes at him, clenching your own jaw and huffing out a sharp breath. Your hands flew up to his metal forearm to have something you could hold onto as your oxygen left your lungs.

He leans in once again to whisper in your ear. “What’s that, baby?” He coos condescendingly. He kisses the spot just under your earlobe, the sensitive skin sending a jolt through your body. He trails a few more kisses under your jaw, just above his hand; each kiss becoming progressively longer and sloppier. He makes his way to your other ear, now pressing his lips right up against the cartilage. “You got more to say to me?” His metal fingers and his left leg. His thigh hitches farther up, you’re now practically sitting on his leg – trying to stabilize yourself on your tiptoes. His fingers squeeze your throat, causing you to shut your eyes as you release the breath from your lungs with a whine. He hums in response – you can feel his smile pressing into your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes open at the sudden loss of contact as his grip loosens and he shifts back in front of you, face-to-face. He stares at you through the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose in front of his face, his eyes dark and clouded over with lust. You imagine you looked the same way, completely disheveled, staring up at him with nothing but desire. Your legs clench around his thigh, pulling yourself farther down onto his muscle-bound leg.

Bucky leans down, slowly diving in for the kiss.

But he stops too soon, his bottom lip just brushing yours. You try to meet him halfway, struggling against the sturdy grip on your throat. You can’t help but groan, eyebrows pulling together in need as he beams down at your joyfully. “You wanna tell me what you need, baby?”

“Touch me,” you whine, hips now moving ever so slightly against his thigh. You couldn’t move much, considering you were barely balanced on there, but you could manage.

“Touch you?” He questioned, quickly swooping forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely. As soon as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, he tore himself far enough from your lips to speak in a hushed tone: “Touch you like those girls were touching me?”

Fuck. Immediately without thinking, you release his forearm where your hands previously rested, pushing back on his chest as hard as you absolutely could. He stumbled back a couple steps, completely taken off guard. God, you were so hot when you were aggressive like that. He loved pushing you to your breaking point: to the point where you’d begin to assert yourself towards him. He loved when you stood up to him, reeling in anger, just so he could take charge and show you who was boss.

It was an adrenaline rush for him.

For you, too.

You stood before him, fists clenched in rage, staring at him. He was just barely smirking, eyelids half shut, a hungry look on his face. Ever the challenge, he would conquer you.

You nearly jumped when he pounced, taking him up against you, legs twined around his back, arms locked behind his neck. His tongue was hot on yours, meeting in a seething hot kiss. His hands immediately palmed at your ass underneath your cocktail dress that had now ridden up to pool at your waist.

As he began up the stairs towards the bedroom, you broke the kiss – with a displeased groan from Bucky – and laid a sloppy trail of kisses and licks along his throat and to his ear. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw (his weak spot), touching your tongue to his hot skin, following it with another kiss. His steps stuttered, his knees buckling as he took the next step. He groaned deep somewhere in the back of his throat, pinching your ass, a quick slap ensuing afterwards as he regained his footing and kicked open the bedroom door.

He tossed you on the bed, wasting no time in grabbing the back collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head and onto the floor in one swift motion, completely disregarding the row of buttons sewed along the front. You took the hint, shimmying off your tight dress while laying on the mattress. He followed suit with his pants and underwear off next. As soon as the cool bedroom air hit his body, he was throwing himself on top of you, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and unhooking your bra. He discarded your underwear next, pitching it over his shoulder, fingers immediately finding your pussy and sinking in.

He took you by surprise, eyes squeezing shut and knees involuntarily closing together. Bucky used his hand to hold one leg down, prying them apart completely. He looked between his hand – his fingers pushing in and out of you completely soaked – and your face – eyebrows knitted together and mouth hanging open. He didn’t know which view he liked better. “Shit, baby, you been this wet the whole time?”

That was the thing about Bucky – he was a talker. If he wasn’t egging you on, then he was filling the room with his vulgar commentary and dirty talk. He added another finger, pumping in and out of you faster, obscene sounds blocking out anything and everything he said. He moved his metal hand from your knee to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, contrasting to his other movements. His metal hand was great – sensitive, temperature resistant; better than his flesh hand – but, god, there was something about feeling your wet cunt on his own skin drove him crazy.

You gasped, quickly biting your lip in anticipation of your orgasm. “Oh yeah, baby? That feel good?” He huffed, thumb whirling on your clit faster. He hunched to lay a kiss on your breast, meeting you hallway sitting-up to capture his lips with yours. You released the sheets you’d been clutching, instead opting to fist his hair, pulling his mouth hungrily to yours. As your body throbbed and your pussy clenched around his fingers, you moan into his mouth, falling back onto the bed.

Bucky sat upright on the bed and watched you as you laid on the bed completely blissed out; hair splayed across the mattress around your head, chest heaving up and down, legs shut – shaking ­– but knees pulled together, arms once pulling taught at his hair now limp on either side of you.

He waited patiently for about forty-five seconds for you to open your eyes. As soon as you did – without enough time for your eyes to even focus on him, he grabbed your waist, flipping you on the bed, gripping your hips to pull you ass to his face. He truly was a face-down ass-up kind of guy. Not that you minded.

You squeaked, burying your face in the sheets as his hand slapped your ass; his palm following to rub away the burning hot sensation it left behind. You felt his tongue drag a long line up from your clit to your tight hole, taking extra note to curl inside your leaking pussy.

Bucky wasted no more time in straightening up and giving his cock a few pumps, smearing his precum all the way down to the base. He grabbed your hip in one hand, guiding his dick to drive into you with the other. He sighed, your soaking wet, tight cunt squeezing him as he pounded into you from behind. He took hold of both your hips, balancing himself on his knees, pulling you backwards on his dick as he rifled his hips forward.

His momentum drove him forward, nearly folding on top of you, your ass pushed dangerously high in the air, tits and face pressed firmly into the mattress, muffling the sounds that escaped you every time the tip of his cock drove into you. His metal hand remained gripping your hipbone, his other palm pressing flat into the curve at the small of your back, pressing your arch deeper and ass further up as your ribcage met the top of the mattress.

He pounded relentlessly into you, the tiniest change in position making your pussy even tighter around him. “Take it,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Take my fucking dick, baby.” You couldn’t help but release a short breathy moan every time his dick brushed against the very edge of your cervix.

Bucky gathered a fistful of your hair in his metal hand, half slipping out, the other half tangled dangerously in between the death grip of his fingers. He hauled you up, causing you to yelp as you tried desperately to push yourself up. He never let go of your hair, instead using it as a vice to keep your back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest, yelping as he did so.

The pain subsided quickly as his other hand found your still sensitive clit, rubbing it with fast, loose circles. You dropped your head, no longer resisting him pulling it back, falling against his shoulder. “That’s my good girl,” he cooed, driving his dick upwards into your wet cunt; the soft pants you made egging him on.

He waited until he could sense your orgasm – feeling your muscles clench, your body stiffen, temperature rise – before he let himself cum, pumping thick ropes of his cum deep into you. His fingers didn’t stop working on your clit – in fact, they moved even faster even harder. You came with a shriek, his hand finally releasing your hair, allowing you to drop forward onto the mattress.

You didn’t move – couldn’t move – but Bucky followed suit, hovering lowly over you, pressing kisses down your spine, reveling in the feeling of his cum dripping out of your pussy around his dick still warm inside of you.

We don't do no, we don't do no conversations We don't talk the way we used to You act like we're all good sometimes, you know I hate it 'Cause it's so obvious it ain't true

“Hey, Buck,” you called from the kitchen as he walked through the front door. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even look in your remote direction. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys on the table, and walked directly past you to grab a snack from the fridge. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” you mention, watching as he already began devouring the left-over chicken legs from the other day.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt: maybe he had a bad day. You continued chopping the onion, minding your business, silently cursing him out. He can’t even give you a simple hello back? Yes, a bad day makes anyone want to come home and eat a whole meal, but does it really give him the excuse to eat a whole meal right as you’re working on dinner in front of him? If you knew his plan was to eat cold chicken for dinner, you would’ve gone out to eat by yourself instead of making supper for the both of you.

As you started working on mincing the garlic, you mulled over last nights’ events. The two of you had it out, sure, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d fought, made up, even cuddled when you went to sleep. Now today he was going to flat out ignore you with no rhyme or reason. Unless something did happen – something regarding his coworkers? It wouldn’t be impossible, you thought to yourself, bitterly slamming the knife on the cutting board.

“Can you chill with that?” Bucky grumbled, finally looking in your direction, mouth full as he spoke to you in an irritated tone.

“I’m chill,” you mumbled, scraping the contents of the chopping block into the pan, a sizzle filling the silence that now washed over the two of you.

“What’s your problem?” He muttered, mostly to himself, as he took another bite.

“You’re my fucking problem.” You earnestly didn’t mean for him to hear it; if it weren’t for his goddamn super soldier hearing, he wouldn’t have.

He sighed heavily. “What did I do? I’ve been home all of two-minutes.”

You abandoned your pan, turning on your heel to face him. “You’re always ignoring me.”

“What?” He questioned, dropping the container on the counter and raising his hands up. “I can’t enjoy silence anymore? Do you want me to hate every aspect of my life?” He bit his tongue, immediately regretting what he said, but lacking the filter to be able to stop himself. He just wanted for once to be able to have a conversation – actually, he wanted for once to not have to have a conversation – but to have one without arguing would be a gift from god.

You lay the wooden spoon on the island counter between the two of you, the smell of burning onions and garlic now very fragrant in the space between you. “Damn, I wish I knew you hated your life earlier,” you sigh. He rolls his eyes, preparing a refute about how you always seem to blow things out of proportion, but you cut him off before he can open his mouth. “I would’ve left a long time ago.”

He’s the one who was always incapable of talking. One small thing ticks him off and suddenly the only thing he’s capable of doing is shutting himself in a dark room alone. He’s always shutting you out and pushing you away; and all you every try to do is something nice for him – making him dinner, offering an open ear to ramble off some steam – but he always ends up throwing your good deeds back in his face.

Not anymore.

You simply walk out the door. You took your purse, your keys, put on your shoes, and left him standing alone in the kitchen with his chicken.

Maybe it was an overreaction. However, you felt that it was fine based on how he acts like this every day. Was he doing it so you’d fight, and he could just have angry sex with you to make it okay later? Did he genuinely not want to talk to you – ever? If he really hated his life – and you in it – he would surely let you know? Unless this was the actual way he was letting you know? He didn’t call out after you, he just rolled his eyes and let you walk out the door.

Not extremely surprising, but it did hurt your feelings a bit. How could it not? The man you loved for the past two years, put up with this tumultuous relationship for, dealt with his mood swings, waited for him to come back home to you  – all that for him to tell you he hated his life? His life that you entered and made so much better; at least, that’s what you thought.

So, you gave him a day. If silence and peace was what he truly wanted, you’d give it to him. You crashed at your friend’s place that evening, taking that bumpy couch so Bucky would have his time alone.

The only issue is that he didn’t call you the next day. He didn’t call or text.

He was waiting for you to come back to him. Understandable but annoying – aggravating. You (and your friend) hatched out a plan. You waited until he left for work before you returned home, grabbing a few necessities: clothes, toothbrush, the works, and heading back out to her place. There was no doubt that he would know you were gone. This happened twice before. That you became so irritated with him that you left for the night. But you went back the next day, coming home to him lounging on the couch with not a care in the world, hindsight told you that much. You’d simply laid on top of him, his arms snaking around your waist and your face buried in his neck. He waited for you to come back because that’s what he knew you’d do.

This time, you wanted him to reach out. To see if you were okay. To see if you were coming home. You felt like the only one putting in effort and you were so tired. That effort, of course, was shown in the fights the two of you had. You might be able to pin 75% of said arguments on you; but yelling at him was the only way to get through to him. Boy, he loved to fight. You’d honestly never seen him show off such emotion. You brought everything up – the other women all over him, his attitude problems, everything that bothered you. But he never said anything to you. He was so apathetic towards you that he barely spoke to you anymore. He didn’t ask how your day was, he didn’t get jealous when another guy flirted with you, he didn’t even respond to you saying hello – he was completely apathetic.

You waited four days: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Monday, actually, you called in sick for work. You were caught between sobbing to your friend about how much Bucky didn’t care about you and wanting to show up to the Avengers Tower with your fists clenched and a certain red-headed Russian spy to back you up. There was no word from him. He obviously saw some of your things were missing; hell, he probably knew exactly where you were, too. He just didn’t do anything about it.

He obviously didn’t care, so you wouldn’t either.

So good together Maybe I'm crazy Maybe we're crazy No one loves me better Than you, you, you, you

It was clear that you were broken up. Neither of you said anything, but you slowly started to move out of your shared apartment, taking small amounts every day while he was at work until you were fully moved out and into the spare bedroom at your sister’s place on the other side of the city. It made your commute to work a little harder, now having to take two trains and walk a couple blocks; but you learned to appreciate the city, the architecture, the weather. Living with her was great – she was a built-in friend; but it wasn’t living with Bucky.

You were a little heartbroken – maybe more bitter. He just let you go without a fight.

Without a single word.

It was four months of binge-eating, wine-drinking and moping around about Bucky before you had a date. The date itself was fine. The guy was cute enough, funny enough, sweet enough. Your sister convinced you to go out with him again. You almost used him just to take your mind off Bucky. You felt bad about it, but he technically knew you and Bucky dated not long ago.

Everybody knew. It was in the tabloids. They photographed the two of you separately. They connected the dots after they hadn’t seen you and him together for a few weeks. Instead, they only got photos of you or him doing mundane things: you grocery shopping, Bucky going for a run around Central Park; you sitting on the train on your way home from work, Bucky saving the world.

Although you never grew to like having paparazzi take photos of your every step, you’d grown accustomed to it. You never made the front page or headline news, more reserved to as a style-guide or just a few Buzzfeed articles about yourself. Bucky, however, made headlines a lot. You had to speed walk past the newspaper and magazine stands around the city because you didn’t want to see him: whether he was decked out in armor, fighting bad guys, or simply smiling alongside Steve and Sam as they enjoyed one rare night out – you didn’t want to know about any of it.

You continued to see Oliver, almost seriously now, but trying to see past the whole using-him-as-a-rebound mentality. You’d gone on a few more dates, and, before you knew it, he had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. He was awkward in a cute sort of way – couldn’t be more of the polar opposite of Bucky.

Bucky had a demanding, intimidating presence; Oliver stood lanky and slender. Bucky was every bit of tall-dark-and-handsome; Oliver was fair and pale. Bucky’s attitude read toxic, masculine, and provocative; Oliver read like a nerdy-teenager, meekly quiet.

While there was nothing wrong with Oliver, he just wasn’t Bucky.

There was another aspect in which Oliver didn’t hold a candle to Bucky.

In. The. Bedroom.

You may not have been in love with Oliver, but, damn, after six months a bitch gets horny. It was fine at first, you were going to throw a dog a bone and not judge him too much the first round. After all, he was genuinely nice and seemed to care about you a lot, so you weren’t about to crush his heart just because he couldn’t make you cum the first time.

You’d grown to a certain level of intimacy with Bucky. One minute you could be making love – softly, sensually; the next minute he could be choking you and fucking you senseless. A long time was spent building the light affection between the two of you, before either of you even got comfortable with the toxicity and animosity that surrounded you – that egged you on, riling each other up until it was too much and you’d just explode. And maybe that was your problem. Each of you had too much pride and hidden hostility that it engulfed you. You’d lost touch with your younger selves. That became your downfall.

You tried not to think about it too much. Especially when you were in Oliver’s bed and he was kissing your neck. Exactly the position you were in at that exact moment.

His lips were sucking a hickey on your neck as he fucked you slowly. You laid flat on the bed, his elbows bent on either side of your ribcage, head tucked under your jaw. “You like that?” He whispered, dragging his hand down your stomach, fingers desperately trying to find your clit.

You laid there like a dead fish. There was no way you were going to be able to stand this for any longer. You stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him off your body. “Let’s switch,” you suggested.

He laid down in your place, allowing you to hop on, reverse cowgirl, fucking yourself the way you wanted.

Bucky liked it when you did that. And you liked the way that Bucky would’ve let you use his dick to get yourself off, smacking your ass along the way, spurring you on. “Fuck, I love it when you ride me like this, baby,” he’d groan, snapping his hips up to match yours.

Oliver stayed quiet, breathing heavily as he watched your perky ass bounce up and down in front of him. You were just getting into rhythm when he began to groan behind you. No, no, no, please. One more minute, you begged, cadence not faltering. Before long – before you came­ – Oliver finished, leaving you with no other choice than to lay on the bed beside him. He pressed a breathless kiss to your lips. “That was amazing,” he mumbled against your lips. “Did you cum?”

Yeah fucking right. You kissed him again, humming in neither confirmation nor opposition. He got up and shimmied to the bathroom to dispose of the used condom. You shut your eyes and nearly face-palmed yourself.

God, Bucky had ruined you.

Ruined your emotions, your life, your perception of love.

Ruined you for any other man.

So, laying in Oliver’s bed, unsatisfied, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d want to off yourself if Bucky slept with someone else – especially Toller or Rivers. You were broken up. It had been months – nearly a year. Hell, even you were technically sleeping with someone else.

But just the thought of him treating someone else the way he did you – pulling her hair, fucking her, eating her out, making her scream his name like it was the only word she knew – it devastated you.

You promise yourself not to ask and never to find out.

If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? If it isn't love, tell me why do we feel so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? So good together

You broke up with Oliver that night. It was better for everyone.

You felt it best to take this time to focus on yourself. Hell, you spent your whole past relationship focusing on Bucky, you spent all of your time with Oliver focusing on how he wasn’t Bucky.

This was about you. It was about your career, your health, your sanity.

Your broken heart.

No matter how hard you threw yourself into your work, how much you worked out, how much you refined your cooking, how many self-help books you read – you felt empty.

You got promoted at work, you built your confidence up, your pallet refined, you loved yourself more than you ever had – something was still missing.

And that’s how you ended up with your phone ringing against your ear, Bucky sitting silently on the other end.

He agreed to meet you. As you walked up the stairs from the subways station, your heartstrings tightened as you walked around your old neighborhood. It had been a year since you’d really been back here; you’d passed through occasionally, but never wanted to take your time travelling down the streets, as it was too painful. There were too many memories of you and Bucky walking hand-in-hand down these streets.

You strolled down your old block, stopping in front of your old apartment. Books and plants cluttered the front windowsill, CDs stacked along the side, bright lights shining across the windowpane, a shadow cast over the glass.

Of course Bucky sold the place. You left. He had no reason to keep it. He had a place at the Tower. He had people there. He had a life there.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing the collar of your coat higher around your neck, shielding yourself from the cold New York winter evening. You turned the corner at the end of the block, seeking shelter in the coffee shop. Bucky agreed to meet you here; it was neutral ground for the both of you. You’d had plenty of dates there, Sundays spent catching up on work and getting coffee. There were no bad memories here, no fights, no fowl words, no animosity. Only hand holding, hot coffee, and shy smiles passed from over the small tables.

You pulled open the door to the shop, sighing in relief as the warm air hit your cheeks. You stopped suddenly in your tracks, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

There he sat, fifteen minutes earlier than you planned, wrapped in that navy-blue sweater you loved – you loved to wear – waiting for you. You couldn’t feel your legs. You couldn’t take a step forward.

You barely recognized him. Obviously, you’d never miss him. He just looked so different. His hair was cut – short. He was clean shaven. He was a completely different man.

He stared you up and down. You looked good, he could tell even with your thick winter jacket and tall boots. He missed your face, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smell – everything. He waited for you to walk over to the table; it took about two more minutes of you staring at him before you even made your first step closer.

You finally took a seat at the opposite side of his table, a large latte already waiting for you. Your hands were shaking as your held it against the porcelain cup. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. His handsome blue eyes. His chestnut locks brushed back nearly away from his face, showing off his chiseled cheekbones and jawline. You loved his long hair, you loved grabbing it, you loved the way it hung in his eyes, contrasting his blue eyes; it made him look so edgy. But this Bucky. Ladies’ man, charming, mesmerizing. You’d only seen pictures of Bucky like this, but you couldn’t believe how alluring he actually looked in real life.

Bucky with long hair would fuck you raw until you screamed yourself raw – Bucky with short hair would smile while doing it.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice failing you as you dropped your eyes to your latte.

You saw him nod at you from under your eyelashes. He lifted his own coffee to his mouth, taking a long sip before clearing his throat, gaining his full attention. You bit your bottom lip, staring at him wide-eyed. “So…” he began softly, giving you a half smile. “You’re the one that called me here.”

You stared blankly at him. He was right. It had been over a year and you’d called him up. Why? The answer escaped even your own mind. You didn’t know what compelled you to call him or what your plan was going to be once you actually sat down in front of him. “I guess…” you sighed loudly, dropping your eyes again. “I – I was wondering…” You lost your voice again.

“Why I never called?” He finished for you. He looked sad, once you finally gained the courage to raise your head again. He stared blankly at you, very matter-of-factly. You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He confirmed your nod with one of his own, taking another sip of his coffee. “I didn’t think I should drag you down anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. Just like old times. “Stop playing the victim, James. That’s why I walked.” You took the first sip of your latte, cooled now after it had been sitting out.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but you were right. Just like old times. He shrugged casually, trying to keep his cards close to his chest. “I just thought you’d be better off without me.” He stops himself from reaching across the table and taking your hand. “And that’s being honest.”

You nodded, processing his words. “We weren’t good for each other, huh,” you muttered over the rim of your glass.

“It was kind of toxic,” he admitted, a nervous chuckle following after. He tugged his knit sleeve farther up his arm, flexing it behind his head and pulling at the tips of his hair at the top of his neck.

“You hair looks nice,” you throw in, filling the silence that had fallen between you.

“Thanks. Just needed a change-up,” he replied, dropping his hand to the tabletop.

You nodded softly. You leaving his life wasn’t enough change? “I just wanted you to want me to come back,” you blurt. That’s the change you were waiting for.

He slowly let out his breath, shifting in his chair. His eyebrows raised at the accusation. “I don’t know how you could think that I didn’t want you back.”

“Buy you didn’t say anything,” you protested, laying your hands on the table, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “Every time I left – you never tried to call, text – nothing.”

He brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing his jaw firmly. It was his old habit dying hard; back when he had a beard, he used to scratch at it all the time, you used to run your fingers against it, used to revel in the feeling of it brushing roughly against your thighs. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “I didn’t know what I was doing – I was stupid. Look, I thought about what I said to you for days; Every day that you’ve been done, actually. I treated you like shit.”

“Well,” you interjected. “It goes both ways.”

Neither of you could hold back your smiles. God, you treated each other like shit. But that didn’t stop either of you from loving each other as much as you did. “A little pain with the pleasure,” he mumbled, drinking his coffee. “So, you called me just to ask me that?”

You sighed, now your turn to awkwardly scratch the back of your head. “I missed you.”

And that’s how you ended up at the Avenger’s Tower, Bucky throwing you on his bed. He laid on top of you, bringing his lips to yours. You fisted at his sweater, trying to tug it off of him, Bucky breaking off the kiss just to pull it off his back, his lips finding yours once again. You kicked off your boots as Bucky unbuttoned your jeans, making quick work pulling them off your legs. You sweater followed suit, lifting your torso off the bed so he could peel it off you. As soon as your skin was exposed, Bucky’s lips attached to your warm flesh.

He trailed his tongue and wet lips against your collarbone, trailing it down your chest, then between the valley of your breasts. He quickly pulled off your bra, throwing it on the ground beside the bed. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He continued downwards, kissing the underside of your breast and down your ribcage.

Your breath hitched as his tongue dragged across your warm slit; he let out a low moan, reveling in the taste he’d been missing for so long. His hands found your inner thighs, pushing them apart, pinning them to the bed. Your hands slid through his hair, grabbing handfuls of his chestnut locks, short strands slipping through your fingers.

He laid his tongue flat against your slit, pointing the tip to curl between your lips to taste your juice. He circled his tongue gently at your clit, his hand finding your lips, spreading open your pussy and spreading you open with two fingers. He pumped in and out of you slowly, indulging himself in your velvet cunt.

He hummed against your clit, kissing it softly before groaning into your folds. He added a third finger, joining them with his tongue as he stretched you open, licking his fingers clean afterwards. He ate you out with vigor, rapidly fucking you with his tongue and fingers.

As he continued tongue-fucking you, he pulled his fingers out, holding them up to your face. He looked up at your from over your pussy, holding his fingers to your mouth. “You taste so good, baby,” he whispered against your clit.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. You shut your eyes, swirling your tongue around his first two fingers as you sucked of the salty taste. You moaned around his fingers, Bucky’s face burying itself deeper into your pussy. As he sucked your clit, you sighed, dropping your head against the mattress and shutting your eyes tightly. You were surrounded by darkness and a sudden bright light.

He kissed your sensitive clit, kissing up your pubic bone and making his way up to your lips. “I missed your sweet pussy, baby.” You moaned, something about his low voice whispering against your lips, talking about how good you tasted that made you melt.

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered, fingers dragging through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I need you.”

He sighed, staring down at you. You were glowing. Sweat beading along your hairline, eyes glazed over and shining, skin luminous. “I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, gazing into your eyes in admiration. “And I want you to know that I’m not letting you leave again – ” he pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his tongue running against your bottom lip. You parted your lips to accommodate his tongue, although he pulled away from you. “And I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Your heart was heavy as it leaped into the back of your throat. Your breathing shallowed – and it wasn’t because of Bucky’s bodyweight laying on your chest. You blinked the tears away from your eyes, willing for them to not fall in this exact moment. “I love you, James.”

After two chaste kisses to your lips, he buried his head in the crook of you neck, lining up his cock with your entrance. As he pushed into you, he sighed against your collarbone, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He bit into your shoulder, you eyes rolling to the back of your head as he bottomed out inside of you.

You hadn’t been stretched like this in so long. You felt like you could be torn in two as he impaled you. It hurt in all the best ways.

You gasped as he pulled out of you, quickly shoving back in – he bit his lip, nearly cumming in that exact moment. You were so tight, so wet. Nobody could fuck you like this – nobody could make love to you like this.

He took hold of your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders, calves resting against his collarbones. He took a hold of your upper thigh with one hand, intertwining his fingers with yours in his other hand, pressing it into the mattress. He angled his hips directly on top of yours, pounding straight on top of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hot, steamy room, your sounds muffled by Bucky as he swallowed your moans.

He kissed you sloppily, his cock pulsating in your pussy, you writing underneath him – it was driving him crazy. It had been over a year since he had you under him: a squirming mess. You almost had to push him off of you – out of you – it was nearly too much. His wet lips on yours, his hot breath on your skin, his words whispered in your ear, you overly sensitive clit. This is what you’d been missing: all the pleasure that made the pain so worth it. The endless fights, the ruthless words, the meaningless fights.

Unbeknownst to either of you, it was the moment in which you both came simultaneously, in which you both silently promised each other to love each other forever – to never make the other hurt that badly again.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #bucky x you #angst #smut

[bonesofapoet]

ABANDONED VALOR

[frank castle x musician!reader]

author’s note: one of those 'i didn't want you to see me like this, but here we are anyway." things, in which our beloved musician!reader figures out who frank castle Really Is. we all knew i would come back to them eventually. implied violence, blood/injury, Feelings.

word count: 1394

ao3: here

Almost every morning, he woke from a dream.

It wasn’t always the same dream – rarely was it, actually – but the themes were the same, the plot was similar, and he always felt like he’d been shot in the chest, in the stomach, in the heart.

Dreaming about you – that only meant he had gotten too close, is all.

Fuck.

August melted seamlessly into September, the nights growing colder, longer, darker. Summertime sadness drifted off over the sea into the Southern Hemisphere, and that occasional Winter Depression dipped it’s toes in it’s cousin’s place, ready to fill those shoes when the time felt right.

Frank Castle felt the chill of the wind tickle the tips of his ears, tugged the worn leather jacket closer to his body with his hands buried in the pockets. You were walking beside him, arm carelessly, casually, looped through his. He kept eye contact with you scarce, only glanced at you from the corner of his always alert, always on edge gaze.

He had a job to handle that night, and he wasn’t about to let you be caught in the middle of it.

Frank held your old, sticker covered guitar case while you unlocked the door to your apartment building. He reminisced silently over the familiar weight, the familiar feel of having an instrument he loved in his hands for the first time in months, years, eons. He almost forgot what doing something for joy was like, then wondered if that’s why he hadn’t jumped town yet; left without saying goodbye.

Your apartment was very you, the signs you just played a gig prevalent in the organized chaos that overtook the most prominent spaces of your place. Sheets of music scattered on this table, open notes here, lyrics scrawled on scraps of paper there. Empty guitar stands, small holes in the decor void of practice amps and effects pedals. The equipment that belonged in those voids stayed with your band for the night; all you needed was your acoustic and the man who had breathed fresh life into your lungs.

Ars longa, vita brevis you said, when he commented on the way your music worked it’s way into your apartment decor. ‘Art is long, life is short.’ Art doesn’t wait for organization. When inspiration is there. . . it doesn’t wait until you’re primed and ready for pretty note taking. It comes in messy waves and late night dreams; it follows me home on the train when all I have is my phone recorder and a shitty Starbucks napkin.

Fair enough, he answered, lips tilted in that almost-smile, the one that made your heart beat fast against your rib cage. Frank respected the shit out of your artistry, your undying commitment to it – this was not an easy thing to chase, as a hobby or professionally.

God, he fucking missed playing music.

He waited until you were fast asleep, the movie still flickered soft neon colors in the darkness when he slipped out the front door and let himself out.

He wanted nothing more than to stay with you, just for one night. And maybe he should have, because he fucking hated that he came back instead of sticking to protocol, instead of going back to his apartment where no one could trace him back to you.

Whispered curses, heavy footfalls, soft thuds of jostled furniture. The noise of Frank’s return was careful, quiet, controlled. He wasn’t loud enough to pull you away from dreams being dreamt, but you never slept when Frank slipped out into the night. Never dreamed. It was a lazy doze at best, part of your soul reaching out to the soft embrace of a healing sleep, the other clawing for every part of the world to keep awake.

You found him in the bathroom, door half closed with the sink rinsing away the gore from his hands, then freeing it from his face. It was like a second skin, the way shades of red clung to him in varying stages. Rain slick freshness, also tough, dried, aged.

Wide eyes met guarded ones in the mirror’s reflection under the harsh, bright light. The early stages of a black eye began to blossom over Frank’s right eye, and you tensed – he didn’t miss the way you stopped short, the way words died right there in your throat, before they ever left your lips.

Your heart constricted once, twice, thrice – when your eyes finally adjusted from leaving the dark. Knuckles bright red, deep blue, swollen and raw from constant use. An arm cried crimson, begging for anything to stop the tears. Tender ribs, plum colored bruises blossomed the length of his side, around his jaw. That, too, had already begun to swell. He wore the beautiful colors of a sunset on his skin, though instead of being inspired, he threatened to break your heart and paint the tile floor with the rising tides of emotion.

This man with night blooming gardens for armor, for bones, for a life. It was breathtaking, nonetheless.

“Let me,” you said, voice quiet in strained silence. Tentative fingers closed around his shaking hand, took hold of the alcohol ready to kiss his injuries clean.

The fresh thrum of adrenaline went ignored as you worked, slow and efficient. Every time he hissed in pain, clenched hands around the counter top to keep from flinching – the deep ache in your soul flared something bright and fierce and ruthless.

What remained of the night passed primarily without conversation. The occasional questions left your lips, and Frank refused to lie to you. He knew you deserved better than this, than him, than everything his life entailed – but he was not going to poison what little solid ground this – whatever this was – had found by candy coating truths.

When the sky began to deliver the safety of daybreak, he was finally able to meet your eyes without fear. The blue hour was in it’s prime, dripped fresh, thick emotion heightened by a sleepless night. The contrast of his broken body to the regret that made home in his eyes – well.

This sure as shit was not what you signed up for.

“At least,” you spoke, unsure of so many things – unsure of what he expected you to say, after making it quite clear that no, I’m not going to throw you out, and yes, this isn’t ideal, but I knew, Frank. I knew there was something more to you. I knew it wasn’t conventional when you dodged my questions about what you do for a living. “At least you’ve given me new material to write about. Discreetly, of course.”

His shoulders shook before you heard the quiet laughter. It was natural, the smile that broke your sullen expression.

“Always the artist,” his voice was hoarse, but tension melted with the shadows. Soft peony pink light gave chase to unease. The night had begun to settle, and nothing seemed impossible when the sun illuminated skeletons in the closet.

Steady fingertips lifted to graze skin that still resembled skin, traced his cheekbones and threaded through his dark hair. Your touch was feather light, barely there, yet it still made Frank’s heartbeat rage more than any fight ever could.

In that moment, he made up his mind.

History was not going to repeat itself – not this time. Not in this city. Not with you.

A marred hand reached to twine with the one at your side, always gentle, always kind. You minded his injuries best you could, but he would rather feel the white hot flash of pain by your hand than by that of any other.

You lost yourselves in one another, but it was different that night, that morning, that place where time wasn’t quite one thing, nor the next. The lines blurred, then disappeared altogether, because the only thing that mattered was the grasp of those moments. The stark existence of a simple life made of anything other.

When you drifted off to sleep, his fingertips left ember trails smoldering along bare skin. You wondered if you loved him.

You were glowing with golden dust from fallen stars, glittering bright and hazy and he knew, deep, deep down, where this could go, what this could be. If he were someone else, if this was another life.

He slipped out before the sun rose above the horizon.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle oneshot #marvel imagine #frank castle #the punisher imagine #the punisher #marvel one shot #kas writes

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader x hoseok || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 4.4k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 your two boyfriends decide to play good cop-bad cop with you as the criminal.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 oh god where do i begin… roleplay, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), anal (f receiving), multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, squirting, dp, object insertion, use of sex toy, bondage, soft dom namjoon, hard dom hoseok, deepthroating, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, spanking, eiffel tower (spitroasting? i do not know the difference between these two terms), unprotected sex

---

“You’re in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“A lot of trouble,” Namjoon agrees, “right now, we’re your best chance here. If you confess now, we might be able to greatly lower your sentence.”

You bite your tongue, hard, and stare at your reflection in the wall-length mirror across from you. 

Hoseok laughs bitterly. “No? We don’t want this to get ugly, princess, but if you don’t cooperate, it will.”

The younger man pulls up a chair from across from you, swiveling it around so that he straddles it backwards. You try not to quirk a grin at the image of one of your boyfriends trying to act cool. “Let us help you, Y/n,” he enthuses with an encouraging smile, “tell us why you did it.”

“Did what?” you spit out. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Hoseok stands up, pacing behind you, out of sight. You fight the urge to crane your neck around to face him. He bends; his voice low in your ear, hot breath on your neck. “We all know that’s not quite true. Don’t lie to me, Y/n. Unlike my colleague here, I’m not so-” you let out a strangled whimper when a hand snakes into your hair and tugs your head roughly to the side, exposing your neck, “forgiving.” 

“Hoseok,” said colleague scolds, “don’t frighten the poor girl.” Namjoon sighs out slowly, like he’s disappointed in you. “But I’m afraid he brings up a valid point. We both know what you did that night. All we need is a confession, and we have all night to get it, the easy way or the hard way.”

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose when you feel teeth slowly dragging their way down the sensitive flesh of your neck, stopping at the rise of your collarbone. When Hoseok speaks, his lips are soft against your skin. “Something tells me she would prefer the hard way.” 

You jerk your hands when he bites down harshly, but the tug at your wrists and clatter of metal on metal reminds you of the handcuffs that lock you to the interrogation table. For a scene room at your local BDSM club, the place was surprisingly convincing, down to the stark strip lights on the ceiling that would buzz every few seconds.

You whimper when the pressure of teeth turns into wet suction, a tongue laving and sucking at the skin to raise a hickey. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! You have to believe me!”

Hoseok hums and nuzzles into your neck, chucking under his breath. “Let’s see if you can keep your story straight when you’re cumming for us so hard that you can’t even think. I find a good orgasm does wonders for bringing out the truth.”

With one last press of his lips, the elder stands back up and walks back around the table, leaning on the table edge beside where Namjoon is sitting. Namjoon looks up at him and the two share a nod.

“Y/n.” Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on yours, but you can’t help but let your gaze wander down his figure. The two are clad in the same uniform, yet it strikes you differently for each of them. The white button-down and black pants highlight Hoseok’s lean build, the first few buttons undone to show golden skin. But for Namjoon, the way the fabric strains, yet his tie remains perfectly straight, screams power. And you feel deliciously powerless sitting across from the two of them.

“Y/n,” Namjoon repeats in a chastising tone, returning your attention to him, “I want to believe you. Really, I do. You’re a vulnerable young woman and I understand this experience must be stressful for you, but the jig is up. It’s time for you to be honest.”

He pushes his chair back noisily, slowly, like he has all the time in the world. When he stands and moves around the table to you, he adjusts his cuffs, though they were already perfect. You can see the way he juts his chin out lightly, trying to portray an in-control aura. While Namjoon puts in an effort to stay in that character of authority (normally his dominance in the bedroom was a lot more implicit), Hoseok has never seemed more in his element, eyes hot on you with molten lust, mouth pursed and lids low. You can see how his erection presses tightly against his pants, though he shows no indication of being bothered by it.

You can’t keep your eyes on him long, however, as a large hand gently grabs your chin and turns it to face Namjoon. He stares down at you, searching your figure. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” You frown at the change in conversation, but go completely still when his hand moves, both homing in to the top of your shirt, fingers fiddling with the button, popping it open. “I always tell the chief not to have the thermostat on so high, but he never listens. It’s hard to think straight when you must be so overheated.” Three buttons; four. You swallow hard when his knuckles brush against your breasts where they swell over the cups of your bra. “How about we cool you down a little bit? You might be able to remember more clearly then.”

When he reaches the last button, he gently parts the fabric, letting it fall off your shoulders until the sleeves catch on your elbows, unable to slip down further. There’s another metal chair in the corner, and Namjoon drags it over to sit down beside you, running his calloused palms over the bare skin of your upper arms and shoulders. “Is this better?” he asks in a murmur.

You nod tentatively. 

Namjoon smiles. “Good. Now, let’s try this again. Where were you on the night of the 6th?” 

You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. “I was at home with my boyfriends.”

“Plural?” Hoseok scoffs at you from across the metal table. “Figures. A slut like you wouldn’t be satisfied with just one.”

You shrug, a sly grin playing on your lips. “I have three holes. Seems a waste to only fill one of them.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow into slits. “But our files say you only have two boyfriends. I guess we’ll just have to find something else to fill you with, huh?” He adjust his hips, drawing your attention to the nightstick that dangles from his belt. You swallow hard, and he grins toothily. That fucker. 

Namjoon sighs, placing a palm on the flesh of your thigh. Earlier in the costume room, you had thought the skirt and blouse was too ‘schoolgirl’. Now, as your soaked panties cling to your pussy lips, you’re grateful for the ease of access it allows. Your legs tip open more minutely, inviting him in. 

“We could make this easy for you, Y/n. We could make it feel good. But my partner here is getting impatient, and I’m worried I can only hold him back for so long. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hoseok’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, watching Namjoon’s hand glide higher and higher with a gaze dripping in raw need. “I do.”

Your legs fall open further and you sigh out. “For the last time,” you make out through a moan as Namjoon’s fingers finally press against you, perfectly still, “I don’t know anything, and I didn’t do anything. What can I do to prove my innocence?”

“Y/n, Y/n,” Namjoon croons, “I feel like…” Your mouth drops open when he begins to rub against your clit through your panties, round and round, frustratingly slow. “I feel like we’re just going in circles.” 

“I agree,” Hoseok pitches in. “Clearly she’s not willing to listen to reason or rationale. A girl like her can’t use her head because all she can think about is being fucked stupid. Bend her over the table, Namjoon. Ass up.”

Obediently, the younger grabs you under the armpits and tugs you out of your chair, pulling you forward until your hips hit the edge of the table and you fold over it, hands pressed between your breasts and the cool metal. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“Well, princess,” Hoseok growls, standing up to walk around the table, “you obviously won’t listen to Namjoon when he asks nicely, and I don’t ask nicely. I take what I want and if you don’t give it to me, I make you regret it.”

You continue to struggle as he lifts up your skirt to reveal your panties, internally reveling in the feeling of Namjoon pinning your back and head to the table. He’d been going to the gym more recently, and it had never paid off more than right now.

“Shh,” he soothed. “This will hurt less if you just relax and take it. Be a good girl for us.”

A rough grip latches onto your panties, pulling them up between your cheeks harshly so that the fabric grinds against your clit. You whine and rise up on your tiptoes, but Hoseok just pulls harder, wiggling it to watch you shudder at the sensation. 

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls them down past your ass to leave it bare for him. “Either you confess,” he bargains, “or you won’t be able to sit for a week. What’s it gonna be?”

“This is fucking sick!” you spit. “What’s wrong with you, you can’t do this!”

The hold against your back falters. “Colour?” Namjoon questions unsurely.

Your heart warms, but you fight not to lose the heat of the moment. “Green, baby, I’m green.”

“Okay.” He presses down again, harder this time, and you keen when your face is trapped between the table and his hand, fingers almost cupping your entire head. You love when he makes you feel small, and you lose yourself in that satisfaction too much, only returning when Hoseok grows impatient and rains a sharp slap against your left ass cheek, making you jump violently under Namjoon’s hold.

“Are you going to confess, princess?” Hoseok’s hand smooths over the stinging sensation on your skin, and you sigh out at the relief, but shake your head firmly. “Well, then. You know what that means.”

One hit at a time, he brings his hand down on your ass, pausing briefly after each one to soothe your reddening skin and ask if you have anything to say. You feel yourself growing steadily slicker, thighs slipping together as you writhe on the table. “Please, Hoseok!”

Another smack, this one hitting lower down at the tops of your thighs. You whine. Hoseok kneads the sore flesh with a tut. “If you don’t confess, I have no choice.”

“We won’t be angry,” Namjoon adds. “If you tell us the truth now, we can take your statement to the chief and try to lower your sentence for complying with us.”

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Hoseok warns, “tell me now. Because if you don’t, I’m not giving you anymore chances. I’m not stopping until your ass is redder than a traffic light, and then we’ll see if you feel like sharing.”

You huff, but don’t say anything. After a moment, Hoseok tuts you again, the room falling completely silent. You go weak with anticipation, feeling the chill of the metal seep into your bones, wiggling your ass in the air slightly.

You jerk when the first kiss of skin bites you, but as promised, he doesn’t stop there, relentlessly spanking you over and over, back and forth.

You cry out and struggle under Namjoon’s grip, kicking out hopelessly with your legs, but Hoseok just growls and holds them down, continuing to light up your ass as you flinch under every smack.

It goes on for what feels like forever. You try to shuffle yourself up further onto the table or lower your ass away from the pain, but nothing helps. Between the two of them, there’s nothing you can do but lie there and take it, whining their names. When Hoseok does stop with a satisfied exhale, dragging a fingernail over your red ass, you’re sobbing, tears making your cheeks slip wetly against the table. 

Namjoon lets out a hum of concern. “That was hard for me to watch, Y/n.” You know he’s lying, but you sniff and nod anyway. “I wish you would’ve taken the easy way so we could have avoided all this suffering. Look at you. You’re a mess.”

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut as he takes his hands off you, sliding them down your haphazardly-clothed body, until they’re cupping your sore cheeks, spreading them. You hear the chair squeak and hear his shoes squeak against the floor as he crouches behind you.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he murmurs, tugging your ruined panties down your legs, helping you step out of them shakily. “God, what’s this?” You hiss as a finger slips between your folds, barely any pressure. “Here I was, worried about you suffering, but you liked it, didn’t you? You’re dripping.”

Hoseok scoffs sharply. “Of course she did. Sluts like her need someone to be strict with them. They need someone to take control. I don’t think our princess has any intentions of confessing at all, Namjoon. If I’m being honest, I think she just wants us to ruin her.”

Namjoon makes a noise of consideration. You can feel his breath waft over your core as he speaks. “Is that so, partner? Well, if Y/n isn’t going to talk, then we might as well use that mouth for something worthwhile.”

Hoseok laughs darkly. “For once, I agree with you completely. What do you think, princess? Need a cock down your throat?”

You crack open your eyes, blinking blearily at him and nodding. You’re still bent over the table, and instead of sitting you up, Hoseok leans forward and grabs a handful of your hair, tugging it to the side, pulling you over so that you’re laid out across the corner of the table, chin hanging over the edge. You wince at the sharp pull on your scalp but your mouth soon begins to water as your boyfriend stands in front of you, pressing his cloth-covered erection against your nose.

You look up at him with wide eyes, and his grin is pure wicked desire. Slowly, teasingly, you begin to rock your face against the front of his pants, unable to pull your hands out from under you, the cuffs digging into the delicate bones of your wrists. He swears lowly at the sight and feeling of you rubbing yourself against him. 

Growing restless of your teasing in mere seconds (Namjoon was always the patient one), Hoseok pulls back and let’s go of your hair to undo his pants, pushing them and his underwear down below his ass. His cock springs up one it breaches the waistband, and you’re so close that it smacks your face on the way, smearing precum across your cheek. 

He licks his lips and laughs at your affronted glare. “Open up, princess.” You do as he says, stretching your jaw and sticking your tongue out, and he places himself on your tongue, tapping it playfully a few times before grasping the back of your head again and pressing himself deep into the back of your throat.

You consider yourself a seasoned expert at deepthroating, but the awkward angle has you feeling off-guard, and you squeeze your eyes shut to focus on breathing through your nose. 

All you can hear is his quiet pants and breathy curses as he uses your mouth, in no hurry to face fuck you quickly, more concerned about plunging himself to the hilt and feeling you gag around him each time. He’s enjoying using you and wants to savour it. Or, you consider, there’s something else coming and he knows not to demand too much.

This thought strikes you only a second before something foreign is pressing shallowly into your entrance, pushing at those muscles. You jerk and jump away as best you can, but that only results in you impaling yourself deeper on Hoseok’s cock, and you splutter around him, losing your breath.

He takes mercy on you and drags you off him by pulling back on your hair again. You think you might need a wig after this with how rough he’s being. You swear you’ve felt him rip actually strands out. 

You puff and catch your breath back again, blinking up at him with spit around your mouth and chin and tears in your eyes, and through the character of a dominating police officer, you see the shine of pride in his eyes, and it warms you up inside. You’re doing well, baby, it seems to say.

Namjoon’s hands are running lightly up and down your thighs, simultaneously relaxing you and winding you up more. “We both saw the way you were eyeing up that nightstick, Y/n. I thought you wanted us to fill you up? Three holes, remember?”

Your eyes go wide as you listen to him, but continue to look up at your boyfriend, though your neck muscles ache. With one hand on your hair and the other under your chin, Hoseok forces you to keep locked into his gaze as the unforgiving object is slowly plunged into you, forcing your pussy walls, as slick as they are, to accommodate the intrusion.

Your mouth falls open and your toes curl. “F-fuck,” you babble, “oh god.”

“That’s right,” Hoseok affirms, “unlike you, we give what we’re asked for. And your body is begging for us to stuff you to the brim.” 

You shiver, and he cracks a grin at the look in your eyes. 

Namjoon thrusts up into you with the nightstick a few times lazily, before pulling out. You whine at the loss, but once he begins circling your back entrance, you stop breathing, clenching automatically in anticipation.

“Uh-uh,” Namjoon tuts, “you need to relax for me. Don’t worry, this is smaller than either of us. Now let me in.”

You do your best to relax your muscles, and groan gutturally at the feeling of the tip of it breaching the tight ring of muscles. Once it’s in, the rest of the stick is the same thickness, and you tremble as Namjoon easily sinks it deep inside you, until you feel the handle pressing against the reddened flesh of your ass. You clench around it experimentally, and groan again.

“Good?” Namjoon questions, and you nod quickly, rocking your hips slightly to feel it move inside you. “My turn now. Spread those legs wider.”

You try to do as he says, but your brain is too slow, and in the end he kicks at your ankles, baring yourself to him even more, your stomach lowering to press flat against the table. You bite your lip when you feel his cockhead lining up between your folds, and you crane your neck forward, opening your mouth and glancing up at Hoseok.

He pats your cheek, the one covered in his slowly-drying precum, and places his cock on your tongue, letting you suckle on the tip as Namjoon grips your hips. 

You swipe your tongue over Hoseok’s slit, collecting the colourless drops that have gathered there, and hum around him, trying to open your walls up to Namjoon, even as your body tries to reject it.

While Hoseok is the longer, Namjoon is much thicker than anyone you’ve been with, and while it’s never been a problem (a huge plus, in fact), you find the stretch as he tries to fit himself in alongside the makeshift dildo buried in your ass is just too much. He senses your discomfort, the way your cheeks clench and your back tenses, and slips out the little way he was able to plunge inside.

“We need to swap,” Namjoon instructs his elder. 

You whimper as Hoseok pulls his cock away from you, wiping away the wetness in the corners of your eyes. “Is our princess too small to take you both back there?” 

“She is,” Namjoon affirms. “Besides, I want a taste of that pretty little mouth of hers. I’d rather have her choking on me than spitting out more lies.”

They exchange places quickly, and soon enough Namjoon is cupping the back of your head with both hands, fucking your throat the way he likes most. The noises that come out of your mouth are obscene, but they only double in volume and desperation when Hoseok latches onto the nightstick and begins fucking your ass with it, holding your hips up higher so that he can begin to sink inside you as he works the stick, stimulating nerves that almost never received any attention.

You feel drool sliding down your neck, unable to swallow properly around Namjoon, who fills your mouth and throat with every thrust, and your feet lift off the floor as Hoseok holds you up, bouncing you on his cock so every time he fucks up into you he’s stuffing you to the hilt. 

Your toes curl and your andfingers clutch at the chains of your handcuffs as you gargle and splutter around the hardness in your throat, feeling the wave of an orgasm crest, almost too much to feel good. There’s so much sensation, so much pleasure, that when it’s all out together, it overwhelms you completely, and the second Hoseok’s finger grazes against your clit when he goes to get a better hold on your hips, you’re vaulted into a shuddering orgasm, eyes squeezed tightly shut with the intensity of it. 

Namjoon quickly removes himself from your throat when you come, so you use your free mouth to cry out hopelessly, screaming as Hoseok continues to fuck you. It’s too much, and you try to curl up on yourself, thrashing under him to try and escape the blistering sensations, but he refuses to stop, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips, growling out your name as he meets his own end, shuddering one last time and coming inside you. He slaps your ass weakly but you clench anyway, and that milks the last of his cum from him. With an exhausted sigh, he pulls out, and before his seed can even begin to drip out, Namjoon is behind you and plunging himself inside.

Relaxed from your orgasm and stretched out from Hoseok, your walls do accommodate him this time, but the way he fills you completely makes your legs go ramrod straight, muscles trembling. “Namjoon, fuck!” 

“That’s it,” he soothes, “just some more me, Y/n. You’re gonna feel real good, I promise.”

You sob, going limp as he fucks you, every thrust ripping another inhuman sound from your raw throat. 

Worryingly quickly, your high rises again, and you barely get enough time to scream out a warning before you’re plunged into another orgasm, wailing at the feeling of clenching around two different intrusions inside of you. 

Namjoon swears, and his cum paints your insides, mixing with Hoseok’s. Faintly, through a sub-space haze, you hear Hoseok command, “get her up.”

“It’s too much,” Namjoon’s voice murmurs, but the nightstick is being pulled from you, and you let out a broken whimper when it slips out, leaving you empty, and strong hands are flipping you onto your back, resting you on the table with your ass on the edge. 

“She’ll take it,” Hoseok replies, and you find out what he means when his fingers dip easily inside you, three at once, and his mouth lowers to tongue at your clit.

Your legs jerk, thighs clamping around his head and hips waving uselessly in the need to escape, but another pair of hands reluctantly holds you down by the shoulders, a face nuzzling into your hair and pressing kisses against your sweaty temple.

Your hands are pulled off to one side, still attached to the table, but you can’t help but rattle them, thrashing under Hoseok’s ministrations. 

You’ve come too hard and too close together, and his focussed clit and g-spot stimulation is too much for your tortured nerves. 

Tears slip steadily into your hairline by your temples, but Namjoon just kisses them away.

“My good girl,” he soothes, “just give us one more. You’re doing so well.”

“I ca-han’t,” you sob hopelessly, “Hobiii!”

“One more,” Namjoon reminds, “or confess now.”

Hoseok’s mouth is unforgiving; sucking and flicking and nibbling no matter how much you’re convulsing under him. You hear him chuckle between your legs as he speeds up his hands, and your mouth goes slack when you realise that the unmistakable flame of an orgasm building inside you is growing.

“I don’t even-” you break off into a moan as Namjoon tugs down the cups of your bra and tugs at the closest nipple with his teeth, sending volts straight to your core. “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess,” Hoseok growls, and swaps to use his fingers to rub back and forth over your clit as fast as he can.

You feel something break inside you, a kind of release, and your vision goes spotty with your final orgasm. It’s not as traditionally powerful, but you feel wetness pelting your thighs, and manage to squint downwards, where clear liquid drips of Hoseok’s fingers. 

Namjoon laps soothingly at your sensitive nipple, and you whimper, finally able to close your legs tightly once Hoseok removes his fingers from you. 

They both caress you softly as tremors wrack your body in waves, and once you slowly come back down to earth, you feel your eyes slip shut, the voices of your boyfriends filling your ears.

“Is she out?”

“I think so. Fuck, Hobi, I thought you were gonna fucking kill her with that last one.”

A fond pat on your thigh. “She loved it. Or did you miss the point where she squirted all over me?”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “It was a team effort,” he insists begrudgingly.

Hoseok laughs tiredly. “Sure thing, good cop. Why don’t you play your role some more and get our princess a drink of water?”

Namjoon huffs a little but leaves, and you crack your eyes open sleepily when Hoseok wiggles your ankle playfully. “Are you ready to confess now, or should I force another orgasm out of you?”

You know he’s joking, but you can’t help but shiver. “Fuck that,” you groan out with an aching throat. “I’ll confess. It was Mr Mustard in the study with a candlestick.”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh. “You little brat.”

“Love you too. But next time, I’m bad cop.”

#thekimlinenet #hoseok smut #btssmutclub #smutcentralnet #namjoon smut #namseok smut #bts smut #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #namseok x reader #bts x reader

[berensroadhouse]

(ao3 link)

           Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

           Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

           He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

           He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

           Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

           “I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

           He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

           “Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

           “Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

           “No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

           Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

           He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

           While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

           Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

           “Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

           “It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

           Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

           “Would I what?”

           “Want to get married?”

           “If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

           Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

           “I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

           “When we already live next to the beach?”

           “A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

           Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ‘delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

           Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

           “Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

           “Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

           “Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

           “Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

           Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

           Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

           Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

           “Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

           Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

           “Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

           “But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

           “Cold spots?”

           The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

           Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

           “Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

           “Cas!”

           Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

           “He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

           Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

           Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

           “Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What’s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

           “No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

           “Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

           “Dean!”

           “And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

           “What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

           Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

           “Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

           “It did, at first,” Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

           Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

           He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

           “You don’t know that.”

           “I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

           “You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

           “I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

           “But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

           Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

           But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

           “That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

           “Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

           “Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

           “I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

           “What about us?”

           Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

           Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

           “Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

           “No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

           “That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

           “Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

           “Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

           Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

           “It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

           Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

           “Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

           It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

           “The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

           Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

           “Cas –“

           “So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

           “Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

           “Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

           Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

           “Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

           Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

           Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

           “You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

           “Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

           “Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

           “Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

           He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

           His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

           Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

           “I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

           They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

           It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

           Berens’s is in good hands.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fanfic #destiel wedding #destiel honeymoon #berens's roadhouse

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x06)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 06: Mrs Silvertongue

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: one of those tropes. one of those hnnghh tropes

Word Count: I was supposed to post this four hours ago but my colleague called me to play and that dumb dork was drunk while I was laughing throughout. So, here it is. Also...I’m hot. No, I am actually hot. The temperatures are going up! I need some cool breeze.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Everybody stay together. Do not make eye contact with strangers. Do not buy stuff you don't know about and definitely do not leave your eatables unattended."

The camera switched from Loki's barely composed face to your stuffed one strapping the backpack securely behind you before looking at Loki and the sandwich sitting on the seat between the two of you.

"Wha," you stated, still not swallowing, "iss wight hea. Sop bein a wowwie wat."

The camera in Javi's hand caught the bustle on the 'station' where you all were supposed to board shuttles to be on your way to another galaxy before travelling to Knowhere. The area was thousands of square feet wide made in a dome shape outside a planet currently under the supervision of the soldiers form Andromeda. After the War, the security had been tightened around galaxy travel to monitor any remains of the Radicals who had supported Thanos and were currently the most wanted criminals in the universe. Screens everywhere showed the flights and timings along with various commercials for products all around the galaxy. Some you were able to read thank to the translation glasses the Hardy boys provided you, others were a jumbled mess of strokes and illegible patterns. Creatures from all around the wonderful black expanse moved about in this station while soldiers who looked like they had been overly tanned scanned them and their belongings before sending them on their designated shuttles. It all worked as an airport. Except for one thing.

"Well, at least there's no random selection here that is not based on some 'racist profiling'," you quoted, getting a nod of agreement from Javi.

"Oh, there is racist profiling here," Loki interrupted your blissful thoughts, "but ever since the war, it has just been bent towards the ones who helped Thanos."

"Huh, even space isn't free from such mindsets then."

An announcement on the screens caught Loki's attention. "That's our shuttle. Come on. Lulu, up."

Lulu jumped and settled on Loki's shoulder and the camera caught a full grin on your lips.

You: *smirk* And he was the one who didn't want me to take Lulu from the desert *tilt your head* you know what... he is exactly like a choco lava cake. Sturdy looking outside but soft, mushy and melting aaaaall on the inside *giggles*

 Loki: she was talking about me, wasn't she? *narrows eyes at the camera* What was she saying? Javi, tell me. Javi, we're good friends. Come on, Javi. You're stuck with me. Javi. Javi. Hey. I'm the only one who can get you out of this hell hole. Javi. *looks at Javi's figure walking away* Javi. Javi! Come on! Javi!!

The creature scanning your line seemed to come out of some American writer's stereotypical description of a green alien except for the part where her huge beady black eyes had slits, just like a cat. She was stoic as a feline too, going about her job without any emotion on her face. And when it came your turn to stand underneath the scanner, her ignorance of your greetings did not help your nerves.

"You are a...terran," she stated more than she asked.

"Yes, ma'am." You blinked like a dumb animal and tried to remember to smile.

"Your business in the galaxy?" Her slow and positively raspy voice interrogated.

"Just travelling with my-" you blinked again while trying to innocently shrug with a hint of shy, looking like a questionable human-"boys. You know, sight seeing."

Those silver slits stared at you for solid five seconds, not even breathing apparently, before stamping a token and handing it to you and diverting her attention to the next passenger- Loki.

You and your bags moved to the other side of the scanner, waiting for Loki and Lulu while Javier made it next to you from the scanner next to yours. The creature looked at the information the scan brought on her screen in a language neither you nor the camera understood. But one thing that was catching the camera's focus was this text blinking in red next to Loki's picture.

"You are Loki," she stated to the God, scrutinising him from head to toe in those black scruffed jeans and t-shirt underneath a deep maroon long jacket.

"Hm," you forced out a light chuckle, "guess Tony and Clint are not the only ones who are weirded out by seeing him in anything other than his New York attire."

"Of Asgard," Loki added with an 'at your pleasure’ smirk.

"A Frost Giant," the lady acknowledged in her raspy voice. "Have you travelled to the Andromeda before?"

"I have, yes. But not in the recent years."

"State your purpose for the visit to the galaxy."

"I am-" he paused to throw a quick look in your direction before going back to his interrogator- "going there on some unfinished business with an old friend."

The lady, stoic like a rock, looked at Loki for the next ten seconds before pressing a button underneath her screen. Somewhere behind you, you and the camera could hear synchronised footsteps. The camera turned to catch seven aliens- five bulky, one bulkier than all the others, and the last one a leaner and less appeasing version of the lady- walk past you towards Loki.

Lulu, who could feel the change in the atmosphere around him, felt himself shifting on Loki's shoulders while his fur stood up like a frightened cat. But never once did that little fluffy boy leave Loki's side.

"Loki, of Asgard," the leaner one announced, "you are to come with us. Please carry your belongings with you. Please refrain from using any means to resist for you will be charged against the law of the peace fleet. Please put your hands forward so we may put diluters on your wri-I see you already have some version of them on your wrist. Very well. Please follow me."

The camera caught you, mouth gaping open and eyes out in refrained horror, looking at Loki while trying to keep your breaths as calm as possible.

"Oh fuck," your breaths forced out, "what the fuck is happening? Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fu-"

Loki was already moving behind the lean one, the parade of bulky Captain Gantu’s following him with their synchronised boot work. One of them looked down at the camera, sending a glare of yellow through those hollow eyes before turning back, entering what seemed like an elevator. Loki stood right in the middle, his eyes shifting from the lean alien to you for a few seconds before white doors closed and he disappeared from your view.

The camera now came back to your face, which was still staring in that direction, the colour from your skin a little faded, the pupils contracted to their limit, the breaths paused since God knows when. "Oh fuck we're gonna die."

.

There was a rhythmic pulse beating four times a second while the camera kept shifting- and vibrating a little- between two windows. Out of one window one could see those bulky dudes in attention standing at one door each, not shifting even a muscle while other aliens went about their business. The other window showed the lean guy standing with another alien that was bulkier in the middle. The lean one turned to the window at the rigorous tapping coming from the window.

"Calm down, Lulu," a soothing but tired voice came from out of the frame, making the little one turn towards Loki's figure sitting in what looked like a white chair beside an oval-shaped white table floating in the air, "they're not going to let us out. Not yet at least."

Lulu, who had paused to listen to the God suddenly found himself whimpering till its outright wails were catching everyone's attention outside the room.

"No, n-Lulu stop crying, Lu-" Loki got up from the chair and came to stand beside Lulu in two strides, picking the furry lump in both his hands while keeping his head away from those deafening wails. Slowly but surely, Loki brought the hysterical little lump to his chest, mostly to suppress the noise and wave uncomfortably at the judgmental eyes in his direction. At one point the fly camera-that had sneaked in with events yet unknown- caught an expression on Loki's face that reflected nothing but murder in his eyes. But the very next moment he sighed and brought his hands to stroke the frightened ball of fluff. "Hey, hey, hey," he shushed him, his hands being gentle and his expressions turning soft, "it's okay. It's completely fine. You're fine," he hummed, almost singing it while bouncing the little sobbing and hiccuping floof in his arms, "I'm in here too, aren't I? Right? You are not alone. You are not alone. We'll get out of here together as soon as we know who is behind all this mess, okay?"

The little furball sniffed and wiped his snot off on Loki's shirt. "You didn't have to do that," Loki pointed out with no real purpose to the already made mess. But Lulu was quiet now, possibly looking up at Loki and chirping something only the God understood and chuckled. "Yes-" he stroked Lulu's head- "she'll be fine without us. Once she stops panicking. Yes, yes, you're with me."

Lulu, chirped again, protruding his paw to carefully touch Loki's cheek and chirp some more. Whatever the little one had said, brought the God to a standstill, that tiny smile on his face frozen while his eyes seemed to have travelled somewhere far. "I wish that was true a few years in the past. How different some things would have been."

Lulu tilted his head in confusion while Loki seemed to be visiting certain memories that the camera on Lulu and others around them was not aware of. And all emotion in both these loveable creatures seemed to have been broken by a recognisable voice- so low and seemingly far away- somewhere in their vicinity. Lulu was the first to turn towards the window to the view of the lean guy, jumping at the sight.

And then Loki saw you standing right next to the alien who had arrested him, all colour from his face draining as he watched you flail your hands in some untethered rage right into the expressionless alien standing in front of you out of courtesy.

"Oh...oh no." Loki's face was completely opposite to whatever it is you were going through. Lulu was shifting his gaze between him and you, bouncing in Loki's arms with unadulterated joy. Javier was standing between the two of you with his camera- filming even in the midst of all the chaos.

Before he could compose himself, you were already walking towards him, the alien opening the door for you, letting you inside the room and closing it.

"Hey," your delighted and relieved face greeted Loki, "you guys okay?"

Lulu squirmed and chirped with joy, jumping straight into your arms to bonk his head with your face and rub himself all over you. Loki, on the other hand, stood there like he was seeing a ghost. "What are you doing here? You are not supposed to be here. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh neither did you, Loki," you were quick to point out.

Loki: *inhales* *put his palms together and brings them close to his face* *bends his hands towards the camera* Woman!

"You don't know what I or have not done so don't act like you know what you're doing, kitten," Loki pointed out rather harshly, forcing an offended gasp out of you, "you were supposed to be out there."

Your delight slowly seemed to be turning to an ember of rage. "Oh, I am sorry that tried to use my working brain to help you out in any way I can, your highness! If you wanted to spend more time in this weird jail you should have let me know when these big butts carried you off!"

"This does not concern you so stop," Loki did not let you finish. "Undo whatever it is you did. This is far more dangerous than you can stomach so off you go."

You scoffed and mocked him. "This is fir mir dingiris- well bad news it can't be undone because they think I'm your ride or die."

Loki was basically slapping himself on his face when trying to rub off the tension- along with his skin. "Wh-ha-hyy would they think that?! WHY?"

A whistle blew from behind the camera and Loki instantly caught it; along with catching your arms going across your chest while you tried to look anywhere but in the God's direction.

"Y/N," that soft but threatening growl was enough to crumble all the restraint you came undone faster than a horny teenage boy. "It's no big deal I just told them I'm your wife."

The camera timed the perfect zoom on that face that lost a couple of hundred years as it heard that sentence.

 On Earth

"It's no big deal I just told them I'm your wife."

A shrill 'Oh my Gaaaahd' left Scott's lungs while the soda bottle in his hand crushed and burst everywhere. A shriller wail left Peter as he threw his hands at his face in the utter disbelief and fell on the ground. A cushion blew up in the tight grasp of Bucky's hands, making feathers fly everywhere, and Sam stood up with one fist on his mouth and the other pointing at the screen, howling like a mad fan. Pepper watched with insane delight in her eyes while slapping the thighs next to hers that belonged to her husband who sat there looking at the screen with narrowed eyes as if he had seen something wrong- like a glitch maybe. Natasha was the only one maintaining her composure while sipping on her margarita and looking at the camera form under her lashes.

Scott & Peter: *do a whole routine with their hands in unison* I sayyyy Y/N and Loki sittin' in a tree!!! Fake M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E!!!!!

 Tony: *confused* Wife?

 Vision: I don't get why Scott and Peter are so excited. *looks to his right* Why are they...

*camera pans out to show Wanda barely containing her excitement in her pressed lips*

Wanda: beeeecause they might have a ship, Vis. *looks at the camera and smile a wide toothy smile*

Vision: *tilts his head* but there's no way they could ride a ship in this facility Wanda

 Tony: *still confused but in a different position* Wife??

 Steve: *blinks* I guess....that's a good...strategy? *frowns* I mean...sure. *hears a sniff from outside the frame*

*camera pans out to show stone-faced Bucky sitting next to him*

Bucky: *barely hides his breaking voice* Goo-*clears his throat*-good infiltration strategy.

Steve: *stares worriedly at him* You okay buddy?

Bucky: *crumbles* no~

 Tony: *lying flat on the sofa, face down* *raises his head* His wife??!!!

 Sam: *hollering* wife wife baby!! *turns to his side and nudges the person sitting next to him* come on get in on the fun!

Clint: *nearly saves his coffee pot from spilling all over him with Sam's nudge*

Sam: *keeps nudging and dancing in his seat* somebody's having some space fun!

Clint: *moves the pot into his other hand to drink it with hollow eyes looking at nothing, in particular,* somebody's gonna die of some fun

Sam: *all smiles for the camera* huh?

Clint: nothin' *looks at the camera zooming in on his stone face*

Tony: *wheeling out from under his car with tools in his hands* HIS WIFE??!!

Rhodey: *guffaws while clapping his hands over his head till he's wheezing* oh-oh my-oh Jesus! Poor Tony. *wipes the tears from his face* I told him karma is a bitch but I never thought it would come to bite him right in his ass!!! *continues to chortle*

Tony: *stops making his green smoothie to topple the jar into the sink and walk out of the screen screaming in groans* HIS WIFE?!! OH MY GOD!!!

 Space PD HQ

You haven't felt Loki breathing since you broke the news to him. He has just been standing there staring at you with faint confusion and curiosity, still as a statue.

"Loki-" you poke him- "Loki, say something! Don't just stand there like that! You're scaring me!"

"Y/N," he finally breathed out, his brows still creased, "do you know how many people I've killed?"

You shrugged. "I don't know? A couple? Do you know how many teenage girls I deceived when I was in high school?"

"How many?" He asks with keen interest before snapping himself back to reality. "Wait, what? No. Why would I need to know that?"

You shook your head casually while leaning on the floating table. "I don't know, I thought we were sharing our darkest numbers; like couples need to know these details. Right?"

"By the Norns," Loki groaned into his palms, rubbing his face hard. "Listen-"

The door hissed open and Mr Lean Alien walked in.

"Well, we haven't been introduced properly. My name is Tsuloche."

"Hi, Tsuloche. I'm Y/N," introduced yourself, closing the distance between you and Loki, your arms rubbing on each other.

"Listen, Tsulcohe, there has been a misunderstanding here. She-"

"Yeah, there's been a misunderstanding," your stressed and scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest, "like taking my husband prisoner for no reason at all?"

Tsuloche brought his nimble green- almost as thin and long as twigs- hands together. "Mrs....uhh...Miss Y/N, Loki has killed a lot of people in the past."

You groaned. "Now you sound just like my husband. I know he's killed a lot. And he's clearly suffering for it right now." You turned your head towards Loki, bringing your fingers to softly pinch his cheeks. "My poor baby."

Loki jerked away from your fingers slightly, whispering, "stop."

You didn't. Your fingers still reaching for those cheeks. "Stop it!"

You smiled as he grabbed your hand with his and held it in a good grip. "Okay, now you're just doing it to embarrass me in front of him."

Tsuloche tilted his head at this scene, blinking those translucent eyelids before his cat-like pupils dilated a little. "Do you know he supported Thanos' cause?"

You tried to yank your hand from his grip but Loki wasn't having it. So you turned back to Tsuloche. "Huh? Yeah, I know. He was undercover there to know his plans and stop him when the time came. What else you got?"

Tsuloche stood there blankly, shifting his gaze between you and the God for a good minute, his scarcely dilated pupils going back. "Why would you marry a criminal?! That too the one who tried to destroy your home?!"

You hummed and tried once again to slip your hands from Loki's death grip but failed- though that did not stir the seriousness away from your face at the alien's question. "Well, for the home invasion part, you'll understand if you ever had spiders, lizards and flies in your home."

Now, this confused the alien further but Loki forced out a laugh at your statement.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Well, Tsuloche. The first time you see a spider or a lizard in your home, you scream and cry and want that monstrosity to be gone from your place. It's worse if they bring their friends over. At one point you form a plan of attack to get those sons of bitches out of your home because they don't pay the rent, do they? But it is later on that you realise that these spiders or lizards were actually what were keeping the flies away. You know, the flies that were contaminating your food and making you sick. The flies that were bringing disease from all corners. The only thing standing between you and death by flies was this one stubborn spider-" you squished Loki's face with your free hand, making him jerk and grab that other hand too- "who nearly killed all my people but didn't."

"As for the getting married part, Tsuloche, if you're married, you know very well the crimes you forgive when you love someone. I mean, have you seen this guy do anything bad since the War? No. That's 'cause he's been enjoying some downtime with me and my fam, getting to know me, marrying me, and now taking me and our little cuddly alien cat on a honeymoon! Ain't that right Lulu?!"

Lulu chirped.

By now those judgmental pupils were a full-blown dilated dorks looking at the two of you.

"Oh and that guy recording us outside is...is...our...videographer. Yes! That's who he is. There's a whole trend on Earth to put your life on the internet and stuff like that. So, he's here to...record everything we do on our honeymoon. Not everything, of course," you concluded a little loud with pressed lips and a nod as you realised the mistake.

"Nice save, dear," Loki chirped with a smirk.

"Shut up."

Those blown out pupils came back to disclose any emotions that last bit might have given away. Tsuloche cleared his throat. "Well, as...good as it all sounds, I am afraid I cannot let the Silvertongue go."

"Silvertongue?" you mentioned under your breath and looked at Loki's lips in amusement.

Loki caught your eyes darting to his tongue wetting his lips, sighing in a faint sense of defeat. "You know it's not silver. Why are you even looking at me like that?"

The camera caught your brow arch with some suggestions best kept to yourself. "Oh. I know," you sang, still looking at those lips, "I was wondering about what all would be...different if it were."

Wanda: *sits wide-eyed and flushed red* Uhh *clears throat* *presses her lips to suppress her smile* *talks softly with a shakey voice* I don't know what *puts one leg over another* *adjusts herself in the seat* what she meant by cat-that! What she meant by that. *turns red*

Loki just furrowed his brows at you uncomfortably before turning back to Tsuloche.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere without my husband, so..." You sat down on the lone chair in the room.

Tsuloche was already composing his wrinkled raisin face. "Very well then. I hope you find this interrogation room to your liking, Miss Y/N because he is not walking out of here for another seventy-two hours-"

The door hissed open to let in one of his subordinates who handed the alien a tiny cuboid-shaped device. One look at the tiny thing and Tsuloche looked back up with his sharp pupils dilating to the max. "Mrs and Mr Loki, you are free to go. The inconvenience is regretted and the department will provide you safe passage on the next shuttle to your destination."

A little surprised by the sudden turn of events neither of you wanted to let go of this opportunity. "And by our destination you mean anywhere we want?" You are eager to know; something that makes Loki's eyes turn to you and carry an expression barely recognisable on that perfect pale face. Some would even say it was a butt-hurt disappointment. 

"Destination means the place you were previously travelling to. Your bags have been transported. Now all you need to do is get on it and enjoy the rest of your honeymoon."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Loki let go of your hands but still smacked away the one coming for his cheek again, making you chuckle. "I have very limited knowledge on the feline species but it almost looks like you're happy to set us free, Tsuloche." Loki quirked his brow in agreement with your statement.

"What?!" Tsuloche was a little taken aback, continuously blinking his translucent eyelids to make those starry eyes contract to their predator like gaze. But he couldn't. "Highly mistaken you are, madam. I am definitely not happy to let you resume your honeymoon with your beloved. I am enraged that you will be going away with a criminal and your monstrous little pet somewhere to spend time together. I am-I am definitely offended by the idea of this hardened criminal getting a second chance at life with someone so beautiful as you!"

You squeaked. "Aw! He thinks I'm beautiful!" Loki rolled his eyes and looked at the camera.

Tsuloche: *highly conscious* you want me to say something in that camera? Is this for their honeymoon album? *Eyes dilate* oooh! *looks at the lens* uhh ahem, do not do anything unlawful you two. Space is a dangerous place. And...and *eyes dilate to their maximum capacity* take care. *Exhales* *wipes something off his face* oh dear! That was really hard.

 Space Shuttle

The entire shuttle was empty save for your little group. The seats were comfortable and the legroom quite spacious. Securing Lulu in a seat by the window, you sat down next to him, directly facing Loki. Javier sat next to him, recording the view out of the window.

“So, you sent in one of Javi’s camera flies, found a set of rules that said spouses are allowed to meet their other half and just...went with it?”

“I also used the uninet- the universal network- to find out about Tsuloche’s species and intimidated him with a little show of power. So, yeah. I read the rules of Space and this is the second time I saved your ass, Silvertongue," you state matter-of-factly, stretching your legs as much as possible.

"Don't get so cocky, kitten," Loki purred, fastening his seatbelt, "we still have a lot of places to go. You are lucky some people like your cute face."

Your brows went up and head tilted before Loki realised what he had done. "Aw! You think I'm cute!"

Lulu's camera caught Javier signing something to the two of you. "Keep having such petty arguments and aliens will actually believe you're married," you spoke his words out loud.

Both you and Loki looked at each other. "Married? To him?"

"Married? To her?"

The unison was too much on point. But the cackle eroding into the space out of the two of you made it better.

"You're funny," Loki chortled in Javi's direction.

"In your dreams, weirdo," you added. "Can you imagine? Mr and Mrs Silvertongue?" The laughs came out again while it was Javi's turn to look at Lulu's camera.

 Avengers Facility

"No, Nat, I don't think he'll go that way. He doesn't belong there, like, mentally speaking," Scott gesticulated with a lot of hand movements.

"I think Scott's right," Wanda added.

"No, come on. He knows it's his birthright. So that would be the most obvious thing to go for. And we know he wasn't really seen as much once all hell broke loose back home, right?" Nat put forward her point of view while sitting on the sofa in her jammies.

"But if it wasn't that way then?" Pietro asked with keen interest. Nat thought about it for a moment and shrugged.

"Then it definitely would have been the latter. I mean, you were practically raised as one. He was raised as one, right?" Bucky asked Steve. The latter nodded.

"But still," Steve contributed, " there was something wrong there, right? Which is why all of those incidents happened. Are we sure he would still go for it even if he wasn't just another kid?"

Now the lounge went silent, thinking all of it through while the camera showed a very disinterested Clint sitting on the dining table to clean his guns, bows and arrows. The expression in his eyes felt like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

The camera swerved to another person standing by the lounge entrance, looking at the whole scene with utmost disorientation. "What's going on?"

Everyone looked up at Tony standing at the door.

"Oh, we were discussing what surname would Loki choose if he and Y/N got married?" Nat casually answered.

"Like, would he go for Loki Odinson or Loki Laufeyson," Peter explained.

The camera zoomed in on Tony's face, which was trying to do it's best to understand what was going on before giving up and just tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at everybody.

"They have been at it for two hours," a defeated voice comes from Clint's corner, who was looking at some distant void while cleaning his weapons.

"This...is a hypothetical situation, right?" Tony made sure. He had to make sure.

It took a second before everyone shrugged, nodded and hummed in agreement. None- except one camera- caught Scott and Peter crossed his fingers behind their back.

"Oh my God, I just got it!" Scott exclaimed out of nowhere with a new realisation on his face. "He doesn't have to think about the surname. It's Y/N who'll be making the choice."

And just like that, the seriousness in the air changed into a shared epiphany and everyone agreed without any vote against that thought.

"You guys are having a lot of fun with this," Tony sang sarcastically with judgement filled in his tone.

"Yeah, what about it?" Pepper called out from her comfy armchair while eating cheeseburgers and sipping soda, looking at Tony for an answer.

Tony, on the other hand, shifted his weight between his legs. "No. Nothing. You have fun, sweetie. Kisses! Muah! Muah! Muah! Please don't kill me in my sleep tonight."

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki fic #loki fluff #loki smut #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #marvel loki #loki series #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel fluff #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #mcu fic #MCU fanfiction #mcu fanfic #mcu fluff #marvel smut #mcu smut #fluff #smut #Loki Laufeyson #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki fiction

[corpse--diem]

The Four Horsemen | Marley, Felix, Roy & Erin

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Warehouse by the docks PARTIES: @detectivedreameater @streetharmacist​ @theshadowandvalleyaremine​ & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun use tw, Head trauma tw

Felix and Marley would be here any moment. Erin hadn’t slept. Couldn’t after the events from the night before. More death--needless death--had befallen innocent lives. How many had been killed in pursuit of one man now? More than she could keep count of, she knew that much, and even more had felt the aftershocks of ever blow. She thought she had readied herself for the cost. Whatever it takes. Another one of her mantras. Her gut twisted stubbornly anyway, a big fuck you to the mantras and the autopilot mode she locked herself up into the past few months. There was a limit to everything and her’s was quickly approaching.

Rather than pace a hole into the floor, she came here, pouring herself into their notes, crossing off businesses and people that were no longer a threat or under Roy’s finger. Made a note of the attack on the witches, the locations he had hit. It was all over the place and trying to figure out where he’d go next was like fumbling through Tommy’s image still sat unmarked. Purposefully. Didn’t feel like her box to check off. Sunlight burst into the dark room, painful for a moment after huddling in the dark for so long. Wasn’t hard to figure out who the silhouette belonged to. “Hey, just in time,” Erin greeted Marley, hunched over the metal table she’d been using for a desk. They didn’t have time for whatever tension remained between them. With Roy’s next move pending, it was nothing but a distraction. Gave a nod to the images on the wall. “I was saving the honor for you.” Marley hadn’t been the one to slay him herself but she more than earned this much. Held out a marker to her, the closest thing to an olive branch as she was going to get right now.

The light at the end of the tunnel was a little too cliche for Marley’s taste, but it really was the only thought she had as she made her way to the docks that afternoon. The three of them were meeting up for a strategy talk, because their two biggest obstacles were now out of the way. It almost felt fake to think, like she’d somehow believed all of this would never end. They’d be caught in the eternal loop of fighting and losing and hitting back and winning. That was how altercations between crime rings and police usually went, but Roy wasn’t just a crime boss, and the three of them definitely weren’t just police. Speaking of, Marley slid her badge into her back pocket as she turned down the lane towards the warehouse Erin had told her about. Though there was no one around, being followed was not something she could allow to happen. She stopped, waited a few minutes by the bus stop, before slipping into the alley. By the time she made it to the door, she was well and alone.

Erin’s voice rang out and Marley glanced around before letting her eyes land on her form, hunched over a table. She was squinting over at Marley, but the dark lighting of the warehouse didn’t obscure Marley’s sight at all. She moved into the room, shutting the door. When she came over to the table, Erin had all their notes splayed out and was holding up the red marker to her. “How sweet,” she said, taking the pen. Things were still a little tense between them, but their little forest foray had eased some of the anger Marley felt. And right now, anger didn’t matter. She needed to save it for Roy.

Her hand hovered over Tommy’s picture for a moment-- her face stung at the image, all the thoughts and worries and strife he’d caused her and the others crowding her head, but something underneath it all bubbled up, something stronger, and she jabbed the pen down, marking off his image with a bright, obtrusive X right over his face. A satisfied smile fell onto her face. She remembered his body, alone in the forest. Remembered the feel of the blade as she cut through his skin. She only wished she could have been there to see Roy’s face when he saw Tommy’s head, packaged so neatly for him on his doorstep. “The honor was all mine,” she said, setting the pen down and turning to look at Erin. “So what’s the plan, now? Felix here yet?”

Felix wanted to take every streetlight that he passed by, avoided, in hand and crush it. Half in light and half in shadow. The fae hungered to paint the whole fucking town black. If he could kill the sun itself, he would climb over every star to do just that. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. They weren’t done yet. Soon enough they would be. He felt pretty damn sure of that. Assurance came in the form of a paper thin glass dagger. If it was enough to wiggle between Roy Chambers ribs and snuff him out, good riddance. It would have to do. His head ached as he walked toward their meeting place. He had a feeling the ache might stop when Roy Chambers stopped breathing. It was the kind of thought that would have warmed him under different circumstances. All it did lately was make his steps quicker, his eyes sharper.

The door to their warehouse opened and shut quietly as he stepped through. He snapped the umbrella he had closed and tossed it aside. “I’m here now,” Felix said as he moved toward the table. He deftly undid the buttons of his suit jacket and took out a carefully folded piece of red fabric. His gaze shifted between Erin and Marley as he set it on the table. A hand slid into his pants pocket. “That’s our ace in there. I’m keen to see just how sharp it is.” He kept his tone level even as his disposition shifted back and forth like a ship in rough waters. A brow lifted over the rim of his glasses. “Guess they’re down a bear, huh?”

A once colorless array of images lined that wall, starting with the bossman himself, to Tommy. Many dead, some in jail, and the most cowardice of the few had fled. Turns out fear and money inspired limited loyalty. Even Dale was up there, his stupid grin marked off with a fat, red X - the very first. Triumphs spread slowly, but steadily, the crimson marking them one by one until only the last remained. “Feels pretty good, huh?” Erin asked with the whisper of a smile hiding behind furrowed brows. It was important to remember these moments. To appreciate the wins, big or little, because they sure as hell wouldn’t be forgetting their losses. Helped remind them why it was worth it, why they were doing this at all. “I’ve got a couple ideas, but I’ll wait for Felix to explain,” she answered, smoothing out the corner of the map she was looking over.

Almost on cue, she watched him slip through the door. His demeanour was far different than she usually recalled. Darker. Sharper, like the knife beneath the red cloth. Not even Felix, who’d made a point to keep his participation quiet, hidden in the shadows, had gone untouched in this war. She waited just a moment, eyes bouncing hesitantly between the two until she reached for it, anxious to reveal it live and in-person. The hilt was simple, sturdy, but once removed from the sheath, her eyes never left the glass blade. “This is it, huh?” An image of the blade sinking into undead skin, watching the life slip from his eyes, brought a dark sense of satisfaction she wasn’t prepared to admit or indulge. “Sturdy enough to crack that thick skull, you think?” She asked, teasing a smile for just a moment. “Thank you,” she nodded at him, gesturing towards the dagger. Slipped it back into the sheath and set it onto the table. Took a deep breath. “I know it wasn’t easy. None of this has been. It’s not about to get easier. But we’re almost there,” she glanced between them both, trying to hold back some of the smugness in the curve of her lips. “We’re gonna get him.” It wasn’t a question, or a matter of if any more.

Marley’s eyes went to Felix when he entered. His entire demeanor had changed. She didn’t even need to be a body language expert to see that. But what she did see that others wouldn’t was the darkness in his step. It wasn’t hidden inside of him anymore. After his loss, after everything they’d all given up to get here, it made sense. It was now a darkness they all carried. The three of them together. Marley didn’t move when the knife was placed between them and Erin unraveled it like it was the answer to all of life’s questions. And, for their purpose, it sort of was. It glinted in the dim light and reflected Erin’s eyes. Marley watched her closely. Victory was so close she could taste it, but being hasty would ruin it. She reached out and put a hand over Erin’s. “He’s going down,” she reassured, “we just have to make sure we do it right.” It felt a little hypocritical after what she’d tried to pull with Tommy, but Erin had been her voice of reason back then and now she needed to be Erin’s. “Right?” she urged, giving a little squeeze. She could feel the eagerness inside her own bones as well. When they were finished with this, things would be better. Safer. She wouldn’t have to be looking over her shoulder or worrying if someone was going to show up at Anita’s. The strange anxiety of worrying about other people was still making Marley’s stomach churn with a sourness she wasn’t used to. She’d questioned once or twice whether she truly was cut out to care about others, but if she didn’t try, she’d never know. Never prove everyone wrong. And this? This was the ultimate test, wasn’t it? Her gaze turned to Felix. “We should strike at night,” she said, turning to face the table, “we need to figure out the best place to confront him, too.”

“Don’t mention it,” Felix said with a slight nod. As the knife came into view, he couldn’t help a slim smile. It was the subtle sort of knife. The kind he could appreciate on its own but could appreciate more when it was sticking out of someone, their face frozen in shock. “Consider him dead already.” He said it easily enough, hardly a breath between. He ran his thumb along the line of his jaw as he thought. “It’d be best to get him where he’s most comfortable. A fat cat like that? I’d wager a nightly house call could do it.” He looked over towards Marley with a small smile. They had done one hell of a job before and he was sure they could do it again. As many times as they needed to. The grin widened, sharpened, as he looked toward Erin. “It’s exciting, right?” He shook out his shoulders some. Roy had made it personal for every single one of them. Whoever had said that an eye for an eye made the whole world blind just wasn’t cut out for it. “Whatever we decide, we do it now or not at all. We got all the pieces. We just need to make the moves. Checkmate his punk ass right into the gutter.”

A night attack was the only thing that made sense when your partners thrived in the safety of shadows. Erin couldn’t help the slight twinge of anger that pulled in her chest at Marley’s words. Hard to forget the panicked wallop that had socked her in the gut after Marley ran off on her own, determined to take Tommy down herself. Damn near jeopardized the whole mission. Did Marley really think she’d pull something like that herself now? It was tempting, sure. But she knew better. Wasn’t like she stood a chance against the guy on her own. “Right,” she assured her, a curt nod following. None of that mattered now. There was one goal and everything they had left had to focus on that. Nothing else. Erin squeezed her hand back before jumping right back into it, moving back to the map on the table. “Alright, so, I haven’t been able to locate exactly where he lives yet. The guy doesn’t want to be found or bothered, right? My guess is somewhere on Harris Island or in one of the gated communities in East End.” Felix was right though. This was exciting. Even found herself fighting back a smile as she spoke. “Even if he’s juiced up on someone else’s magic, there’s three of us and one of him. I think my best bet, and our best bet, is to have me slip in at the end with the knife after you’ve distracted and beaten his ‘punk ass’ down enough--”

“Wow. Seriously--wow.”

A loud, slow clap suddenly boomed from the otherside of the warehouse. Footsteps followed with a booming laugh that made every bone in Erin’s body freeze up. She knew that laugh, that voice. Couldn’t forget it if she’d tried, not with the way it haunted most of her waking thoughts.

Roy stopped clapping long enough to slip his hands into his pockets, dark eyes peering not at the three of them hovering around the table. He spared a few glances but he couldn’t stop staring at their board, the notes taped to the wall, like this was a full fledged investigation. He seemed more… disheveled than usual. Manic almost. “I’ve gotta hand it to your rag tag little group here, Nichols. You all have been nothing if not thorough, haven’t you?” A seething smirk lifted the corner of his lips before he gestured with a nod from the way he’d just come. “Although, with that in mind, you’d think you’d remember to lock the back entrance to your super secret club hideout.” He glanced towards Marley, then to Felix. “Or even hide your tracks a little better on the way here. Rookie mistake. You’re new at this, I get that. Mistakes happen.”

He took a few steps closer, slow, never daring a move that could jar them into action. Not yet. Even when he stiffened at the sight of Tommy on the wall. Took more self-control than he initially anticipated but he worked his jaw, regaining his composure. That shit-eating grin replaced the hard line he’d momentarily allowed to slip onto his features. “Mr. Doyle. Ms. Stryder,” he nodded at her two companions. “You wanted me, right? Well, here I am. You’ve got me.”

The chill that ran down Marley’s spine was one she was sure she’d caused others to feel many times. On herself, it felt wrong. Foreign. The clapping had cut through the air around them like knives and she’d turned stiffly to watch Roy stroll from the shadows and straight towards them. Her hand twitched to her gun, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Perhaps slow him down, maybe, but it would not kill. It could not. But it was her only line of defense right now, since the sun sat high in the sky. She swallowed, watched him closely, subconsciously taking a step to put herself between Roy’s path and Erin. Felix was closest to him now. Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses-- no, she wasn’t completely defenseless. If he could feel fear, then she could use her ace in the hole. Getting him to look at her would be the hardest part. “Didn’t your mother teach you to knock? It’s rude to just come inside uninvited,” she growled, standing perfectly still, eyes unblinking as she glared him down.

Felix looked at Roy head on as he walked in. His own movements were small, casual, as he reached into his pocket to produce a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. “Don’t they just, old sport.” Flame kissed the end of his cigarette. His anger was barely contained under false human skin. The weight of his head felt uneven as he tipped it to the side. A puff of smoke faded and brought his own grin into view. “You went looking for us, huh? Smart. Can’t blame you at all. You know, we were thinking of doing just that ourselves. Nice to see that we broke even on that one, huh?” He shifted his posture slightly, stood up straight and angled his head once more. The next drag he took of his cigarette was slow and deliberate. He gestured towards Roy with the hand that held it. “Say, we do something to set you off there, pal?”

There was an unsettling fury radiating from Roy. Erin could sense it even from here, could see something not quite right in his eyes. Every step, every word eased out of him methodically. Even the way he rolled the cuffs of his sleeves up seemed tempered, brimming with the same unease she saw in those dark eyes. But she only stood, unmoving, tensing every time Felix or Marley quipped his way, agitating him a little more each time. Slowly, so slowly, she moved her hand towards the clothed knife--

“Ah, ah--I see you, Nichols.” Roy’s dark eyes were firmly on her now. Mid-air, her hand hovered above the knife. Still himself, except for the jostling that loosened his silk tie until his neck was completely bare. That sharp smile returned when he watched the smoke curl loosely around Felix’s hand. “Oh, I’m doing peachy keen, friends. Thanks for asking.” He tilted his head slightly, gesturing towards Marley with one hand as the other sunk into his front pocket. “Well, you know, thank you for asking Felix. I’m doing swell. I mean, outside of the fact that you murdered one of my best men. That one did kind of sting a little.” He shrugged, face and nose crinkling with a feigned apathy. “I’m tired though. Aren’t you guys tired? You’ve been at this for--what? A few months now? Blowing up buildings, fighting, getting people killed.” He put a hand to his chest, the corner of his mouth lifting again. “I’m ready for this to be over. What about you? Hm?”

There was a long pause, as if he was waiting for some particular sort of answer. Satisfied after a moment, he nodded. He pulled his hands from his pockets, fingers splayed outward. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” He felt the warmth trickling from his fingertips, the magic pulsing from every dead vein, and without hesitation, his fingers snapped inward, balling into a fist. Every single window in the warehouse crackled, glass bursting out as light poured in. “Much better,” he laughed, though it was swallowed by the deafening shattering. He moved, hands outstretched as he inwardly switched gears, flipping through the coven’s magic like an arsenal. Ribbons of fire stretched from his fingertips, shooting out at the table they all hovered near, very pointedly setting the wall of images up in flames.  

Marley’s eyes watched him closely, every movement, every twitch. It was clear he was going to attack. The only thing to figure out was when. Marley felt her chest tightening, pounding. Tommy was dead because of her, and her face was scarred because of him. She would not reveal her hand yet, though. They needed to play it cool, needed to think of a strategy first. She did not answer any of his question, only stayed poised. When his hands came back up out of his pockets, she knew. The windows shattered around them, a loud booming. The rain of glass sounding like a terrifying waterfall of shards. She covered her head, her face, immediately standing back up once it was over. The fire lashed at the wall they’d put up, setting it quickly ablaze. Marley grabbed Erin and pulled her out of the way, holding up her gun. Fired once, twice, directly into him, knowing it was simply there to provide a distraction. If Felix could get to him, they would be okay. That’s all Erin and Marley were now, distractions. “Go,” she hissed at him, “we’ll cover you!” She shoved the gun into Erin’s hands and reached down for her taser baton. “C’mon, big boy!” she hooted at Roy, “must be tiring being so old and ineffective.”

“One of your best guys, huh? You hate to see it.” The twitch of a smile lifted the corners of Felix’s mouth. That telltale smell of magic was thick in his nose. Reactions in the air, the give and take. It wasn’t quite fire and brimstone. There was too much light in the room with the windows busted but they would have to make do. There was no other option. Marley and Erin would be fine. They had to be, even as glass rained and gunshots fired. And now Roy was alone whereas they were three. But sometimes, numbers didn’t mean much. Maybe that wouldn’t be the case here. They had shit to make even. The fae flicked his cigarette aside and sought out the dark where he could. There wasn’t much. Any sunlight would sizzle him and if he stayed in it long enough… He shed the human skin he wore. It wouldn’t do him any good. Any effort would need to be put into getting close. Close enough to get his metaphorical teeth around the magic that Roy spilled over with. He slipped his glasses off and tossed them aside. As much as he wanted to spit venom, it was counterproductive. He slipped along the walls where the light didn’t touch, his steps light. Roy was close. Close enough that Felix’s blood crackled with potential magic and his mouth watered. But not close enough. Not yet.

The bullets sent Roy back a few steps, like taking a bat to the chest a few times, splicing through undead skin and muscle. “Cute,” he huffed, a thin, razor sharp smirk filling his features as he shot a glare at Marley. Wasn’t his first time taking a shot to the chest. But it was Felix who caught his attention, thick black wisps and bright eyes birthing from the solace of what little darkness remained. “Oh, there he is!” Roy shouted excitedly, peering into the darkness. A lampade. Huh. Seemed Erin had a few tricks left up her sleeve after all. Made sense now, the resiliency of their efforts. She’d only stood a chance because she’d been the only human in the room. Either way, he’d have to be more careful about where he threw his magic around now. “What happened there, bud? Get caught on a chandelier or something?” He smirked, peering over, careful not to look directly into his eyes but it was hard to mistake the space where a second antler should have been. Barely casting the two women a glance, he switched his elemental ammunition. That coven had been a goddamn goldmine.

A gust of wind this time, as strong as a draft from a hurricane, hurtled them both back, sending the crates in the room and shards of glass with them. “Come on! Let me get a good look at you,” he practically chirped. With a flick of his wrist, he used the same current to drag debris and the metal table Felix’s way.

Shit, he’d seen Felix already. Marley went to bolt forward, but in the next moment, she was being thrown backwards by a gust of wind. She landed hard on her back, tumbling a few times over before coming to a stop. Her eyes first searched out Erin, standing despite the struggle for breath in her lungs. “Get up!” she said, grabbing her and hoisting her up. “Get behind something!” The table was flying for Felix, and Marley decided now was the time to act. Invulnerability or not, she had to do something. Felix was their only bet of getting out of this alive-- he was their queen on the chessboard, and that meant Marley was nothing more than a rook or a knight. Perhaps even just a pawn. Somehow, she was okay with that. Despite all of her years of self-preservation, of putting herself and only herself ahead of others needs and wants, she felt in this moment that she wasn’t the most important person in this room. She felt as if her role was already decided. And she was okay with that. She had to be.

She made it up to Roy in no time, swung her baton, and watched it smash into the back of Roy’s head. “Wonder how your bear felt in his last moments,” she chided, purposefully looking to egg Roy on, turn his attention away from Felix. “Do you think he begged for his life? Do you think he felt like a failure?”

There wasn’t enough dark in the joint for Felix to blend in the way he wanted to. Wasn’t that just the way of things? Not going exactly how they wanted them to? He grit his teeth. His eyes brightened by a slim margin as the table came his way and he rolled away from it. With a crash, it collided with the wall. Rays of sunlight burned down on his darkened fingertips and he quickly pulled his hand into his chest. His eyes widened as Marley threw herself at Roy, baton in hand like some warrior. She sure fucking was a warrior but that didn’t seem to phase Roy as he tossed her aside. “Marley!” Roy was a large man with a large shadow, the way he stood with the sunlight pouring in. It was large enough that Felix might be able to fit into it. Something seemed to change in the air as the fae crept closer. It felt heavier.

Erin barely had a grip on the gun before her and Marley both were swept off their feet. This wasn’t the fucking plan. It was the only thing racing through her mind before her back hit the wall. A crack and a seering, burning pain ripped up her chest, making it hard to breathe. Even harder to move even when Marley yanked her back to her feet. Fuck. Hide? She could do that. It was about the only thing she could do. Wincing, she scooped up the gun from the debris and slid into position behind a sturdier looking metal crate just in time to see Marley book it. No, no, no.

Roy let out a low growl of pain when the baton connected, grabbing a fistful of the mara’s hair. A different kind of anguish gutted him. He’d never give the woman the satisfaction of knowing her intentional jabs were doing exactly what she intended them to do. If she wanted to piss him off, she’d done it alright. He gripped her hair tighter, the glamour keeping his corpse-like disposition at bay flickering with the intensity of his anger. Tommy wasn’t a failure. If anything, Roy had failed him. He grit his teeth, pulling her closer, dark eyes boring down at her. “I don’t know, do you?” He didn’t need magic to toss her away, clear across the room. She was nothing. They were all nothing. Gnats that needed to be swatted away, to be crushed under his palm. It was high time they remembered that.

The whistle of a bullet shot by his head. Then another--missed, again. The third one hit right in the shoulder and he turned just in time to see Erin gearing up for one more. So determined, so utterly human in her futile attempts, he’d almost forgotten she was even in the room. That dark smile returned and his hand shot up as he stepped forward. A new magic trickled through his veins, different than the ones he’d stolen from the coven. This was from the boy at the bar. He’d known it the moment he’d siphoned the magic but testing it here and now? It just hit different. He’d have to find him again, get another taste so he could practice. It took more focus than he realized but the pressure enveloping her skull was starting to take hold. When she dropped the gun, his smile widened at the sound of her screaming. Oh, this was fun. He liked this. He could feel the pressure building, as sure as he held her head in his palms. “Give your parents my regards, will you?”

Marley didn’t struggle when he grabbed her hair, yanking her up and holding her still. She just smiled at him, knowing what was inevitably going to happen when he let go. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear. Like she’d told Erin not a week ago, fear wasn’t a weakness. She was surprised, however, when her feet left the ground and he tossed her away. Sure, she was flying through the air, but he hadn’t straight up killed her. That would be a mistake. When gravity claimed her and she came tumbling back down, it was with a resounding crack as her back hit the ground hard enough to steal all the breath from her lungs. She could feel the ribs snap and splinter inside of her as she finally came to a stop, wheezing as blood curled up her throat. It leaked down the side of her mouth as she lay on the ground, unable to move, her entire body screaming in pain. Fuck, this was bad. All she could do was hope that it had given Felix enough time. Tried to turn her head to look, but a scream from the other side of the room pierced her ears instead.

Erin.

“N-no,” Marley coughed, forcing her body against every protest to move, rolling over. Pain spiked through her chest, her side, her stomach, but she ignored it. Pushed herself up with her one good arm. “No…” She could see Roy’s hands, lifted up as if he were actually holding her head. She couldn’t see what was going on around Erin, but the way he was walking towards her, the way Erin was writhing in pain-- he was doing something to her. He was killing her. Marley’s entire stomach leapt into her throat. A fear like none other gripped her heart, shaking her to her core. Erin couldn’t die. She just-- couldn’t. Marley’s mind couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t figure that as an option. Erin didn’t deserve to die. She needed to live. She had to live. This wasn’t supposed to be how this ended. They’d fought for months for this, lost so much and so much-- this couldn’t be how this ended.

“No!” Her body moved on its own. She gave one last glance towards Felix, telling him with just a look to make sure he finished this. She would give them the opening to. That was her lot in this after all, wasn’t it? The distraction. The sacrifice. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d find herself thinking that, let alone acting on it. She’d always lived for herself and no one else. Maybe this was to make up for all the bad shit she’d done, then. Maybe this was how she saved herself as well as Erin. Maybe this meant her life wasn’t for nothing. Her body barreled into Erin’s with a heavy step, knocking her out of the way. Shoving her far enough out of his reach that she wasn’t a part of this anymore. Her eyes locked with Roy’s as she felt the pressure lock on to her, increasing around her head. It pounded and tore and folded her up. She let out a groan of pain, the inside of her skull vibrating. Through the haze, she grinned. Blood was already trickling down and out her nose, her mouth, her ears. She needed to make sure he focused only on her. Make sure he forgot about Erin and Felix and everything else. If she could just get him to look at her in the eyes, if she could just get him to look.

“I bet he d-died a-alone and a-afraid,” she growled through the taste of blood, the increasing pain, “I bet he s-suffered.” Let it all egg her on. “All because of...me.” She fell to her knees, still looking up at him, waiting, but he wouldn’t look into her eyes. If this was it, then maybe it was worth it. Maybe her life had meant something after all. God, Anita was going to be so mad at her. “What’d his head look like, in that bad? Was it r-rotted by the time it got to you?” She swallowed a mouthful of her own blood, grinned through the blue staining her teeth, her lips. “All because I sent the hunters after hi--” but she never finished. The crack! of her skull echoed in the warehouse, and her eyes rolled up into the back of her head as her body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Roy’s magic cup runneth over and Felix felt greedy. His shadowy skin sizzled as he stepped between light and shadow. It was a matter of time before he was meant to meet the sun. Today wouldn’t be that day. As for Erin and Marley, it wasn’t their time for the sun to set on either of them. They had been through too much, hemorrhaged out people as well blood. The thought of Jane dead alone in the wounds, what she might be had she not been bitten. The second attempt on Bea’s life and the thought of her wrist cold, still under his thumb. Erin’s home had been reduced to ash. Bones had been broken. If it could have, his inhuman shadow would have overtaken the room that had been their sanctuary. As much as they had plotted, they had laughed too. Shared toasts to victories and sat in silence at their losses. Erin’s scream and Marley’s wheezes had him crossing the great distance between him and Roy. If to burn meant victory, he would step into the light unphased.

The air was thick with magic as he waded through it. There was so much of it. He could see the blood trickling from Marley’s face when he crossed over to Roy, the way she went still. His hands grabbed the fext’s face and violently tugged his head over to look at him. Wide, unblinking moons stared into the depths of Roy’s eyes. The fae clawed his fingers into the fext’s human face and as Felix hissed through his teeth, he drank. His blood sang, his grin widened to something monstrous. It felt good to so readily take power from the powerful. To watch them wither.

“Look at me, Chambers,” he said as his eyes flashed. “I wanna see your fucking light go out.”

It was like all at once, Erin’s humanness caught up with her, handicapping her into a near useless form on the playing field. The same one she’d been a formidable player in, behind the scenes, moving the pieces up until now. Her strategies and her will meant shit all with Roy Chambers in front of her. When he set his gaze on her, the powerlessness and the pain was uncomparable. Like someone squeezing her skull, making sure that she felt every ounce of pressure being applied with every grating second that passed. Couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even hear herself screaming. This was it. Checkmate. It was over. This would all be fucking over--

Suddenly, with a jolt and a hard shove from the side, it stopped. It wasn’t over. Not yet. But--no. Marley. Her senses were slowly unclenching, but blurry as everything was, she could see Marley screaming at Roy, falling to her knees. Blinked again. Saw the blood dripping down her chin and the sickening crack that followed.

Marley’s body went limp.

He didn’t--he couldn’t have--no, no, she wasn’t--

Ice filled her veins and red filtered her vision. She wanted to howl and scream, to rush to Marley’s side. Wanted to rip his throat right from his goddamn neck. Felix had beat her to him. Almost instantly, he was rendered motionless, the glow brightening Roy’s face. The knife. Where the fuck was the knife? The red cloth filled her vision just up head. It wasn’t far. Hope struck like lightning in her chest. Gave her the strength to crawl forward, aching ribs bellowing in protest. But her fingers wrapped around the hilt. She could do this. She had to do this. She glanced at Marley, like she was waiting for her to move, to get up, to keep fighting. She wouldn’t--couldn’t. Erin grit her teeth and kept moving.

That bitch. She’d gotten what was coming for her. Tommy would’ve loved the way she fell to her knees, how her gaze gleaned over as her body slumped to the floor. Would’ve eaten his full of the woman. But the satisfaction that came with the crack of Marley’s skull was short-lived. From the depths of the shadows, Felix reared into view and all Roy could see was that intense light. Held firm in his grip, there was no avoiding it. Ensnared like a fawn in a hunter’s trap. He howled, a rage building in him like nothing he’d ever felt. He lashed out, dug his fingers into the lampade’s eyes, what little of his mind that was still tethered in place fighting back. But it was too late. He shed his glamour completely, his decomposing form paling beneath the rays of sun trickling in.

With a resounding, inhuman roar, like an animal gone feral, he hurled Felix back. Magic. He still had some of his magic left. Much of it had been devoured but there was enough of it coursing through his fingertips to finish the job. A swipe of his hand and another crate flew threw the air, slamming into the lampade to keep him down. He stood in front of him, the throws of exhaustion slowing him down. Every little exertion mattered. His hands rose up, slowly, burning with all the magic he had left. “You first,” he growled, though his lips curved into a wicked smile.

“Will you shut the fuck up, already?”

Roy perked at the voice just behind him and then stilled, completely, jerking still with a throaty groan. Not another word. Erin had sunk the knife into his throat, pulled it out, and dug into the soft flesh of his temple. She didn’t have a chance to linger on how good it felt when he grabbed her wrist. It snapped in half with one twist as he flung her off of him. She watched from the ground as he pulled it out, stumbling forward, practically disintegrating before her eyes. He was reaching for her, arms outstretched, but she couldn’t quite meet him in the eyes. Rage burned in those black voids, darker than anything she’d ever seen. Even now it horrified her, sending her clambering backwards. With a final step, he launched himself at Erin, the last of his skin peeling, melting to the floor. Grabbed her ankle, he hauled his rapidly decaying carcass forward, sheer will and pure, unadulterated hatred fueling those last moments on earth.

He knew his time had come but even now, he refused to accept it, desperately clinging onto this plane until his body no longer gave him a choice. His eyes locked on hers when he finally, finally stopped moving.

Felix could see it. The snap, the slight unhinge of the mind. The disconnect. It had been awhile since that old familiar thrill sat on his shoulder and grinned with him. It was a comfort to have one of his oldest friends back in his time of need. Even when Roy rounded on him, tossed him aside like something weightless, he felt grounded. Whatever magic Roy had coursed through the fae, who clutched his wounded stomach and wounded head yet still grit his teeth. He knew he would remember this, the moment when Roy’s lights went out and failure greeted him like a proverbial knife to the throat. As the fext withered and looked at Erin with the eyes of a man who knew he was dying, the fae snapped his fingers and laughed. He wanted it to be among the last sounds Roy heard.

As much as he would remember the fall of Roy Chambers, he would also remember the ones who had started it. Memories were a gift and he vowed to himself as he looked at Erin and Marley, that they would never be forgotten as centuries came and went. The weight against him fell away and he brought himself to stand on shaky feet. He could taste dark blood in his mouth and he blinked rapidly to right himself. Roy Chambers was nothing more than lifeless meat and bone. Bone that might be useful. Profitable. What better way to honor an enemy than by profit. He went to Marley and as he carefully assessed her head, he looked at Erin with dim eyes. Looked past the pile of flesh that rotted into the ground. It’d be impossible to thoroughly clean up.

“Didn’t really go according to plan, huh?” His voice was quiet and ragged. He didn’t smile. “It’s done and done but we gotta get her outta here, Nichols.”

Roy was dead. Erin sunk the blade in herself, twice, and his lifeless corpse sat rotting before her eyes. She kicked away the bony hand clutching her ankle. He was still again. Eyes glued to him, waiting, watching, like she was merely biding time before he spring back to life. When that moment didn’t come and Felix’s voice finally reached her, it took all she had to pry her eyes away. Glass crunched under her as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. Only then did she register the unnatural slack in her wrist and how it screamed in protest at the slightest movement. Her chest stung and every breath felt pricked like knifes against her ribs. Roy was dead. It was done. Felt like more than her brain could properly process, not when--Marley. Fuck. The icy fear that consumed her when she heard that sickening crack returned with a fury. They couldn’t stay here. Felix was right. Erin nodded, the world and most words not coming back to her as quickly as she needed it to. Roy was dead. It was the only thing truly processing, repeating over and over. As if she thought those three words long and hard enough, comfort or relief or anything would follow.

No, no--she didn’t have time for this. Marley didn’t have time for this. Felix wasn’t looking too hot himself but he probably fared better than either of them. “Can you drive?” She asked, rushing to Marley’s side. Still breathing. That was good. That was a good sign. Right? Fuck. Fuck. “Marley?” She called out to her, touching her cheek, willing her to wake up. Nothing. “You don’t get to tap out now, alright? You promised. We see this through to the end. Remember? You promised.” Dread built in her gut. She’d pushed her out of the way, took the blow. That could have been Erin. Should have been Erin.  

Roy was dead but that black fire still roared in her chest, as ugly and hot as ever as she helped Felix carefully lift her unconscious body. Panic swelled alongside fear, gripping her so hard she could barely breathe. Roy was gone and this had to be worth it. This all had to be worth it.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: marley #chatzy: felix #chatzy: roy #the four horsemen #gun use tw #head trauma tw

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis, an Overview: Let Me Get Weirdly Serious About This Book For A Sec

HOLY SHIT WHAT A RIDE.

So, let’s recap what we’ve learned over the last 282 pages.

In 2001, James Roberts published nearly 300 pages of fictional prose, based in the established franchise of Transformers, specifically the Marvel UK comic continuity. This novel tells the story of the Transformers, in their dwindling numbers, being attacked, not by their opposing factions, but by an outside force hellbent on revenge. Those who are captured by this force- the Quintessons- are stripped of their very individuality, forced into servitude until the moment they die of exhaustion. Everyone is pushed to- and in some cases beyond- their limits, the horrors of a literal genocide beating down on them like a tidal wave. Only by casting aside their differences and banding together can they hope to survive the nightmare that is the Eugenesis Wars.

But people don’t really talk about all that, even though it’s a majority of what the book’s about. No, people only talk about what happens after the Quintessons are defeated. People only talk about the robots getting pregnant, because honestly it is the most bizarre thing.

Not because the idea itself is terribly odd- I mean, at least it’s in line with the lore the comics set up. It’s bizarre in how we get to that point. All the torture, all the suicide and death and depression and destruction of entire belief systems, leads up to these robots getting pregnant. Almost like that was the whole point. And considering that this story is presenting to us a bridge for the gap between the classic Transformers and the Beast-Era ones, it could have very well been.

I won’t say fetish, because that doesn’t feel quite right, but our dear author seems to have a sort of… obscene fascination with the concept of mechpreg. A fascination that will carry on well into his career as a professional comic scriptwriter, setting readers on edge for the duration of his run with IDW.

Comparing Eugenesis to More Than Meets The Eye and Lost Light, you get an interesting view of Roberts’ growth, as both a writer and a human being. Eugenesis is the work of what Billy Joel might call an "angry young man”, focusing on the despair of wartime and the futility of one’s struggle against the flow of time and mortality. The theme of time only being perceived as linear, and being in actuality an unending plane where all moments are equal and eternal might seem oddly specific, but it’s reflected upon by multiple characters within the story of Eugenesis. Perhaps this is why he has Brainstorm and Perceptor collectively and completely jack up time itself in the Elegant Chaos storyline.

Character moments sprinkled throughout the narrative give us a glimpse of the relationships that would be written later on- some of the most compelling scene writing happens between Quark and Rev-Tone, two original characters who have such a delightful dynamic between them, they very quickly became some of my favorites. You truly believe that they care so strongly for one another, they would do just about anything to keep the other safe. And they do, in a couple cases.

Then there’s all the death. There’s a lot of death in Eugenesis, and none of it is by way of natural causes- you’ve either got suicide, murder, or suicide-by-way-of-murder. You really see Roberts shine in these death scenes, both then and now, as he captures the utter, raw tranquility as one stares down their own demise, and on the other side of the coin, the complete annihilation of one’s very heart as someone they love is destroyed. It’s downright poetic how he handles these scenes.

Still, there is a difference in how the aftermath is handled. When someone dies in the MTMTE/LL run, there’s always meaning and purpose to it- nobody dies just to die, and those who are left behind are left at least something to comfort them.

A message of love.

The return of a friend.

A chance to keep living.

A chance to be a better person.

You don’t get that in Eugenesis. In most cases, there’s no salve for the wound, only more hurting. There’s no time to even mourn, as the fight rages on and on and on. Any happiness pulled from the narrative for the characters is laced with a bittersweet understanding that these folks probably aren’t going to make it, and they’re just as aware of that fact as the reader is.

And yet there’s something kind of beautiful about that, in a twisted sort of way.

Eugenesis is a sort of love letter to those dark thoughts hiding in our heads, those deeply scary intrusive visions of everything we care about being ripped away from us. It’s a book make up of catharsis, of hurting that begs for some sort of outlet. The characters in this story are lost, and scared, and hollowed out before the mass extinction even arrives, and are put through wringer after wringer, like some sort of distanced facsimile of self-harm.

Perhaps I’m reading a bit too into this, but with how intense things get, with self-insert characters no less, I can’t help but wonder if the James Roberts who was writing Eugenesis truly needed this outlet in more than just a creative sense.

Which isn’t to say that there aren’t issues with this novel just because it was a vessel for catharsis. Pacing can end up going so rapidly it feels as if you’re being pushed towards the edge of a cliff, then stutter to a halt to the point where continuing on feels like an absolute slog. But it always seems just as you’re about to put the thing down and give up, something completely thrilling, completely insane and powerful and profoundly attention-grabbing happens, pulling you right back in. If nothing else, this book demands one’s attention.

There are also some other, more interesting issues with Eugenesis. Issues I wasn’t really expecting to run into. To highlight one such issue, we’re going to play a game.

The game is called Guess That Character Design!

Hey Transformers fandom, got a new quandary for y’all to fight over. Forget the Frenzy/Rumble color debate, forget the Bombshell/Skywarp is Cyclonus debate, it’s time for the What The Actual Everloving Fuck Is Quark Supposed To Look Like debate! Do we follow the comic and its script, which show him as being either about on par with Rev-Tone and Mirage or taller, but fails to note any sort of color because it’s in black-and-white? Or do we follow the novel, which states he’s short exactly once, and crimson? And if he’s red, where did the blue paint chips come from in Part Five? They sure didn’t come from Rev-Tone, who I know is mostly red- not because the novel told me, but because I’ve seen art of him outside of this. Honestly, other than him having big honkin’ shoulders and a bust to match, nothing about Quark’s visual aesthetic is concrete.

Now, I could tell you all about his quirks and mannerisms, how he holds himself, how he talks, how he interacts with others, all sorts of stuff. Nothing wrong with the writing there, characterization’s great! I just couldn’t tell you for the life of me how his body is supposed to look. Rev-Tone’s in the same boat, except it’d be even worse without the helpful input of some friends. Did you know he has a visor? Because I sure as shit didn’t until someone showed me. It’s never mentioned in the book. You can barely see it in the prequel comic art if you’re looking for it, and the script is less than helpful to me because I’m not Matt friggin’ Dallas, nor have I had the pleasure of reading Transtrip. All the information presented in the novel about his looks involves his mouth.

Hell, some of the writing in Eugenesis seems to imply that he actually just has normal eyeballs.

What I’m getting at here is that Roberts leans a bit too much on the reader knowing exactly as much as he does about the characters, the plot points, the lore. And he knows A LOT about Transformers.

This book essentially requires the reader to have the wiki open with multiple tabs at all times. Roberts put his heart and soul into the prose, but the world-building had his nerdy little brains smeared all over it, because there are some obscure references in here, not to mention the sci-fi jargon. You basically NEED an internet connection to get through this- I’ve never read a novel that pretty much forbid an acoustic reading, but here it is, in all its glory.

Eugenesis is a dark, morbid, conflicted story with the oddest little bright spots in it. Within five pages, you’ll go from some of the most horridly bleak death scenes to someone accidentally burning a hole in their hand like a cartoon character. But never once, in nearly 300 pages, does it ever stop trying. It may not succeed in what it’s attempting 100% of the time, but goddamn does it go as hard as it can. This isn’t something that was done for money, or fame, or anything like that. Eugenesis is a passion project in the purest sense, and you can really feel it in the way it’s been crafted. For all the frustration it put me through, never once did I think “man, this guy just doesn’t care.” The ambition Roberts shows in the prose, in the world-building, in all the funny little moments that show just so much personality within the story, truly were harbingers for what was to come just a decade later.

Ambitious. Bleak. Brutal. Weird. Ultimately unforgettable. That’s James Roberts’ Eugenesis.

But let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? The one question that truly matters for any novel: is it worth reading?

Well, that depends.

If you had a hard time with the darker parts of MTMTE/LL, I really couldn’t recommend that you read Eugenesis. You will have an awful time, because most of it is Grindcore x100 levels of depressing and brutal. There were a couple points where I had to take a break because things got so intense- and I’m not exactly squeamish. Maybe stick to a breakdown- like this one!- or try a group read-along. Friends make everything better, after all.

If you like Roberts work and want to see where he came from, like I did, I highly recommend you find a copy- digital of course, there are only a few hundred physical copies in existence. I recommend you find the 2nd edition, which includes Telefunken and fixes some of the more glaring continuity mistakes and typos.

It’s a good read. Just... it’s a lot at times.

Like, a lot.

Up next-

Oh, what? You didn’t think that was it, did you? This url is way too sweet to just be done with so soon.

Next, I’ll be taking a gander at Children of a Lesser Matrix, which is something that was never finished by Roberts, but is still floating around the internet because hey! It’s the internet.

If anyone has any other somewhat obscure writings from JRo, feel free to send them my way. Especially if you have any of the TMUK zines from back in the day. I wish to consume all the works.

#transformers #jro #eugenesis #recap #maccadam #Hannzreads #incoming analysis #overthinking about robots #text post #long post