#(I did shout back that it was the bicycle path)

[zoueriemandzijnopmars]

If I had a nickel for every time I was cycling on the bicycle lane and someone told me it was the pavement I’d have 2 nickels which isn’t much but it’s incredibly frustrating that it happened twice

[technically-human]

Do you write longer fics?! Just the tidbit of Charles in the Hell Train has my brain wheels turning. I can extrapolate and guess how some of their story would go, but you have such thought put into them. I would hate for you to be like "aw man they totally got this part of the au wrong!" if someone else tried their hand at it, and I would love to read more (and more art). You seem to do both really well

I write... Occasionally. I'm a bit insecure about it, especially in English. I would really love it if someone wrote about the reverse verse, even if their interpretation was different from mine! It would be a lot of fun to read that. I doubt I could make it entertaining enough, though.

I did write The Lamps Are Going Out which is an AU with Edwin as an evil spirit!

And I'm currently working on a couple of fics. Hopefully I'll actually finish them at some point. Here's a fragment of a fic I titled Possibly, maybe

The thing was, Charles had rejected people before.

Back when he was thirteen and alive, the neighborhood kids started taunting him about one of the girls. Amanda, who lived a few streets away from him, had apparently told someone that she fancied Charles, and the rumors spread until Charles himself heard about it. He had never given Amanda much thought, they often crossed paths while going to church, and that was Charles in his best behavior and therefore the most boring –and bored– version of himself. They had probably talked a total of ten times, half of them being a simple greeting. Charles didn't like her back, and resolved to ignore the rumors.

That worked for all of two weeks before Amanda decided to do something about it. She probably had been, Charles knew even back then, waiting for him to be the one to do something, as was the proper way. He wouldn't, though, and whether it was because she knew it or simply that she wasn't willing to wait, she ended up asking him out.

It had been uncomfortable, Charles could hear the giggles from two other girls who had accompanied Amanda and were waiting just a few steps behind her. He wanted to say no, really, because so far he had only considered girls in an abstract, distant sort of way, and again, Amanda wouldn't have been his first choice. But something like anxiety pooled in his stomach, wiping his sweaty palms against his trousers had helped none, and in the end Charles had blurted out an answer that he only fully registered as positive when Amanda squealed happily, her friends running to hug her and jump in place.

Always impulsive, Charles figured that it shouldn't matter. Dating didn't seem all that hard and, after all, he only ever saw her on Sundays. Of course, Amanda's plans were very different. Suddenly, she was everywhere Charles was at, and she always wanted to hold hands or talk or walk together. She would get her bicycle and follow him when he wanted to practice tricks on his skateboard –he was shit at it, and she certainly didn't seem impressed, demanding he paid attention to her after half an hour most of the time, even though she owned a walkman and could probably keep herself entertained– or expect him to walk her home despite the fact that he had to then turn around and walk back a couple streets to get to his place, which they had passed a few minutes prior.

The other neighborhood kids, who had initially mocked him for having a girl be into him, continued to laugh and whistle and shout stuff whenever Amanda took his hand or leaned against his shoulder or called him a cheesy pet name.

They only dated for three weeks, and she was Charles' first kiss.

One morning, as Charles was trying to recover from a cricket game the night before –they had won, and his team was closer to another useless trophy that he could use to decorate his room. His body was sore, but it was a kind of pain he usually welcomed– his dad barged into the room, demanding he do something useful instead of wasting all day in bed. Charles got up and followed his father to the garage, where it was decided that “something useful” meant helping him repair the car.

It was fun. His dad wasn't the most patient person, and he would very quickly resort to yelling if something wasn't understood on the first try, but Charles paid as much attention as he could, asked very little questions and only got scolded a couple of times throughout the day. By the end of it, the car was working properly and, although his body was aching even more than before, it was still a far more pleasant pain than the one his father tended to leave him with.

As was the case every time Charles successfully interacted with his father, he craved to make the day last. Sitting on the porch, his father drinking an ale, Charles taking a few disgusting sips whenever Paul offered the can to him, he searched his brain for a topic of conversation –one that wouldn't ruin the day, that wouldn't end with his body hurting in a different, perhaps more familiar, way– and ended up talking about Amanda. In all honesty, he couldn't quite recall what words he had actually used. Nothing unkind, he liked to think. He had not fancied Amanda, but she was a pleasant enough girl, if somewhat galling. Whatever came out of his mouth, it didn't make his dad angry, but instead caused him to laugh loudly and push Charles in a way that was meant to be friendly, but caused him to involuntarily tense every muscle in his body.

“Look at our Charlie,” his dad had said, smile huge, proud, and Charles had stared, stunned. “Breaking hearts already!”

Charles had smiled back, elated, proud of himself, feeling big and important and good, and like he was finally getting the hang of it, like soon enough his dad would run out of reasons to be angry at him, and everything would be smooth sailing from then on.

Breaking the heart in question was decidedly less fun than being praised for it. Amanda cried when Charles told her he didn't fancy her anymore. He hadn't felt proud of himself or big or good at all, and she stopped saying hello even when they crossed paths at church, where Charles was in his best, most apologetic behavior. His father never did ask how the breakup went, almost like he forgot that whole conversation. Charles was very careful to reject people properly, kindly, after that.

Edwin was a different story. There had been no neighborhood kids to warn Charles of his feelings, but in over thirty years of friendship, there were some moments in which he wondered. Sometimes, Edwin would look at him for a little too long, or smile a little too sweetly, or treat him a little too kindly, and Charles would wonder. He would then push the feeling aside, save his suspicion for more important things, and tell himself that, even if it was true –and that “if” was really carrying that whole sentence– it wouldn't be anyone's problem until someone went and opened their mouth about it. Charles promised himself he wouldn't be that someone. There was no joy that could come from breaking anyone's heart, let alone Edwin's.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to resent his friend when he decided to confirm what Charles only occasionally dared to suspect, and whatever bit of attention he ever afforded his dad, whatever bit of love he held for the most important person in the world, whatever bit of care he put into not breaking any more hearts, he poured into his answer, and willed it to be enough to stop himself from even cracking this precious thing that was offered to him, and that he only ever strived to protect.

Even with something like anxiety in his stomach, and with sweaty palms that he didn't even try to dry on his trousers, Charles reeled in that part of him that always wanted to make people happy, and rejected the person he loved the most in the world, unwilling to be impulsive about this.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Always my ineffable husbands! I'll keep coming back asking for sweet, cute, lovely stories of them! 😊

Well. Until you tell me to go away.

Hahaha, I won't tell you to go away.

Hmmm, no prompt, but I can still write something that's sweet, cute, and lovely! Hopefully!

Here's a little thing of them living together in the South Downs.

Warning: minor injury

On with the fic!

--

"In all our years on Earth, have you really never ridden a velocipede before?" Aziraphale asked, watching as Crowley waved a hand over the old, rusted bicycle. It had been in a much worse condition than Anathema's had been when Aziraphale had repaired it, and that poor bicycle should have been put out of its misery eons ago.

They had found this one in a patch of woods near their home and Crowley had loudly proclaimed it as his and that he was going to ride it.

The demon glowered at the angel. "I have actually ridden a bicycle before, angel." He huffed, sarcastically pronouncing the word 'bicycle'. "I just stopped once the car took off. Cars are so much faster than penny farthings."

"Well, yes, but it's been quite a long time since you've ridden one, yes?"

"Eh, isn't there a human saying about how you never forget how to ride one?" Crowley asked as he pushed the newly repaired device to the path outside their home. Aziraphale noted it was no longer a long-since sun bleached blue, but now a shiny red with black accents.

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. "Well, yes, but still... shall I miracle up for you a helmet? Or maybe some pads for your knees and elbows?"

"Don't need 'em." Crowley said as he got himself on the bicycle, wobbling a little as he tried to balance it and himself. "Alright! Let's get ridin'!"

And he was off, down the road of their home. Aziraphale frowned, wringing his hands as he watched Crowley ride, then swiftly swing around and come back, cackling as he did.

"See! Told you I still knew how to-!" And Crowley suddenly went from passing Aziraphale by to being on the dirt road with a shout.

"Oh goodness, Crowley!" Aziraphale rushed over, helping the groaning demon to sit up. "Are you alright?"

"Ngk, just... my pride is hurt." Crowley grumbled, then started to rub his arm. "And this, and my hip. Aaand my inner thigh where the bike landed on it, ow."

"At least you didn't hurt your poor head." Aziraphale said as he helped him stand, then snapped his fingers. The bicycle was upright and rolling back to the house, where it went past the gate and up to the cottage as Aziraphale walked Crowley home.

The device was leaning against the wall under their kitchen window when they walked up the path to the door and Aziraphale gave it a nod. "Let's get you all patched up, dear, and then maybe try it again?"

"Sure." Crowley said, pouting.

"And maybe this time you'll take my suggestion of protection to heart?"

"Uhg."

Aziraphale smiled, already knowing a helmet and pads were sitting in the living room, waiting for Crowley to put them on.

--

[thepayloadisgay]

Since you say requests are open... May i request something relating to Hanzo self-care, nsfw or not? Whatever you're in the mood for, just some soft Hanzo. Thank you <33

Some self-care, solo Hanzo.

Starts off a little melancholy, but gets better I promise. Ship(s) alluded to slightly, but no-one named. Fill in the gaps yourself if you want and enjoy :3

NSFW 1700 words

----

Hanzo plucked his arrows from yet another body. Two. Unusable. Snapping what he couldn't remove, stuck too deep.

It was more a ritual, than anything else. One close look and they'd immediately know death by arrow, head of one sunk so hard it peeked through one of the assassin's throats.

Sometimes he kept what wood he could salvage, scraps repurposed into other things. Feathers a new arrow, even if bloodied.

Knees to stone, he shifted the bodies to rest. Closing eyes if needed. Then sat in shadow, tucked in a corner of an open tower, bow in hand. Arrow loose, but ready.

He breathed deep, the sea air of Esperança had settled too long in his lungs, and this had been the price. For a while, he listened.

Rattling of the trams, their tracks. People staggering after a late night, walking to work after an early morning. Shouts from the bakery a street over. The coffee shop shutters four doors along. A bicycle bell. Bird wings.

He tucked away his arrow. Collapsed his bow, stowing it in his bag. And stared again at the bodies by his feet.

No matter who he killed, when, how many, the same face always looked back up.

----

He tried to avoid habit, but it always happened.

The same stand for coffee. The same shop for fruit. This time though, a different route up the hill to the trees. The east side, through the winding streets. Wonky cobbles beneath, tall, colourful stone buildings above. Splits of the rising sun blooming through the gaps as he ascended, turning sharp corners, ducking through shortcuts he'd learned -a broken iron gate, a hole in an ancient wall, push aside the overgrown ivy- and he'd almost left the throng of the city to where he wanted to be.

The path was nature, now. Worn, not made. Desire, not direction. Hanzo enjoyed the feel of the large, uneven stones beneath his feet. The weight of the woods underneath. Around, the further he walked. Heavier, the deeper he breathed.

Sound changed. Metal dissolved, morphing to creaks of wood. No language to speak, here. Only for you to listen. Air that tasted sweet, at first. Flora, fauna.

Decay, the longer you cared.

Esperança was surrounded by water. The sea yawning at its edges, kissing the rocks, bubbling where you touched. But up, up, deep within the woods, its wilds, miles from the edges and stone, there's a small waterfall rolling to a lake, clear and beautiful, edged in rock and bloom.

A last sip of his coffee, and he tucks away his cup in his bag. Europe did coffee well, and he'd grown, well he wasn't sure if the world was like, maybe accustomed, attached to it.

Late nights, early mornings, sleep a luxury. There were few things that were a comfort anymore, but just necessity.

Except this.

This place wasn't a secret. Many steps had walked back, forth here. But so early, barely dawn, no-one else cared but Hanzo.

Bag, arrows down, his jacket follows. He rolls his shoulders, stiff from waiting for earlier's company. His t-shirt, tight, rolls with him, stuck to muscles too tight. But there's no-one to touch them anymore.

(your hands moved like art, shaping my body into a vision that was yours, and yours alone. if you only asked, i would have bent. if you only asked, i would have broke)

T-shirt off. Shoes kicked to the side.

And a stretch. Tall and on his toes, dawn sighs over Hanzo's skin, dipping in, out, over his muscles as he breathes in-

-out.

His fingers brush the tip of a branch, dusting in pollen, pulling gentle at a leaf, but not enough to pluck.

He stares at his hands, stretched to the flowers, dusted in pollen, eyes following the dragon on his arm. And he tries to remember the last time he felt its roar; the brush of its scales; its fangs, ready to bear.

Hanzo wonders if he left it behind, fangs sunk in Genji, a killing blow, goodbye and apology, all for you.

There's little ceremony with the rest of his clothes. But he pulls out a small hairbrush as he lets his hair down. And naked, knees to grass, the water's edge his reflection, he starts to brush.

More grey than before. His sidecut grown out too long. He tugs at a knot that hurts, unwinding it with fingers, patience. Another he just cuts off. It's gotten so long, almost at the dip of his back. He knows its impractical-

(i've let two people brush my hair like this. i never told you, just let you, like it was nothing. because you're fleeting. you don't even call me my name. i decided to not cut my hair after that night. i never saw you again)

Eyes closed, to open. One hand brushes his hair, the other stretches over his thigh, a reach away from his half-hard cock.

But he pulls away. Brushing hair with fingers, bristles. His reflection warping when a leaf falls, petals scatter.

There's more strands in his brush than last time. He wonders if one day he'll touch his hair, and a handful will just come with it. Or if there's already a patch he can't see. It's half the reason he's shaved off the sides. Paranoia won.

He rolls his neck, relief at the loud click. At the ache as he stretches it side, to side. Another roll of his shoulders. A stretch of his arms. A dip of his head, child's pose. Fingertips skating the water as he holds.

Holds.

Breathes the earth.

Hears memory.

Sees you.

It's always cold when he first steps in. A sharp gasp. A shiver. The water covers him at its deepest, but he keeps to the sides. it skirts his waist. Sometimes his nipples, droplets turning the scales of his tattoo, diamonds.

The drone of the waterfall louder, now.

Hanzo treads the water, ends of his long hair ink beneath. They could be shadow, seeping from underneath his skin, an exposé of what he keeps below. But not today.

Today, they're just something beautiful.

He looks up, the sun still dawn, split through the canopy, leaves backlit to black. Petals sometimes fall, coating the water until lost under the roar of the waterfall.

Hanzo scoops up a handfull of water, soaking his face, rubbing his tired skin. His beard that needs trimmed. A cut, healing by his neck. A bruise on his pec. A new scar on his shoulder.

Another splash of water. He pulls the rest over his hair, before he just dips beneath the waterfall, and can't breathe.

He always likes to stay beneath for as long as possible, before that last minute where he needs to inhale. When he's dizzy.

Pushes out. Soaking. The weight of his hair, heavy. It sticks to his skin, black silk. Mimicking the shapes of his dragon tattoo; some places, just the shape of his dragon. Drops of water, constellations on his skin. Maybe gems to be plucked by someone.

But Hanzo just pulls a hand over his chest, pressing deep into muscle. Finger catching the nipple piercing (impulse). Over arms he flexes, droplets shaking off. Relaxes, kneads with his strong touch.

He's by the edge before he knows. Comfortable. Stretched back against the stones. Moss. Crown of reeds.

The sun finds him. Warm. A gentle spotlight for no-one.

He wants a reason to touch, but his hand is already there.

He sighs. Back against the edge, watching the way the water laps his chest, his hand, hard cock, distorted beneath the way the water moves, here. Rippled from the waterfall; from the way his hand moves under the water.

Over thigh, first.

That thick scar, where skin is thinner. Sensitive. A peek into death that when he touches, a quiver.

A dip in the break between pelvis and thigh.

(everyone found that spot. magnetised. i didn't have to tell you, you just touched and I succumbed. you'd made some sweet quip about the way I looked beneath. do you know how you looked, beneath)

The last time he'd touched himself had been here, too. It was a ritual, of sorts. Sacred ground where he was allowed to be.

Other people had touched him in the city, he'd touched others outside its walls. But hand to self was different. With someone else, it could be anything else.

There was nothing else but you, here.

He missed it more everytime.

So he came back more.

Touched more.

Loved, more.

He moves slow, at first. Hand feeling the thickness of his cock, warm in the cool water. A soft moan, lost in the roar of the waterfall.

So, a louder moan. Vibrato against his throat; a throat lined in the wet ink of his hair, bleeding to the water at his shoulders, a dance as he moves. Breathes. Snaps another moan.

He knew, often, that he was restrained. Love, contained. But here, he moves.

Legs stretch. Toes drag along the bottom of the lake. Catch reeds, flora. Kicking up stones. He drags a hand over his chest, leaving behind a dragon's claw.

Faster, now. Thumb pressing over his thick tip, and down. Repeat. Repeat.

Over chest again, catching the bar in his nipple, and he tugs. Enough that he bites his lip, moaning something he almost wishes he hadn't heard. But it doesn't stop him.

He feels how fast his heartbeats, the way he breaths as he wraps his hand around his throat. The sound of his moans, the way they shape against his fingers, mark his palm.

Faster. Louder.

Hanzo arches off the bank, eyes half lidded, half desperate to watch himself wet with bliss as he pulls his cock harder.

There's no-one to hear when he cums, loud and a voice that breaks, dragging fingers from lips to throat, over a chest that's almost split from the thump, thump of his heart.

His body shakes. Arm moves, hand rolling over his cock again as he sinks in the last waves of his orgasm. Dizzy. Dewey.

Head back, the moss is a pillow as he stretches out, a leg out of the water, foot dripping diamonds in the sun.

Hanzo reaches out to his bag, pulling out a small punnet of strawberries, and lies back, punnet balancing on his pecs as he begins to eat.

A leaf falls, lazy, landing on his chest. A petal, his cheek.

[house-of-slayterr]

I’ve Got Friends In Strange Places:

For: @joelsgeetar I love you bestie, feel better ❤️

Things were slow in Derry. The Losers were up to their usual antics, but you weren’t invited. Ritchie said it was for your own good. Whatever the hell that meant. But you were used to it by now, not being invited on their chaotic adventures. You were half convinced at this point that they were all making it up. They probably just sat in a field smoking some bad weed and tripped the whole thing. Killer clowns, they weren’t real.

So you set out to ease your mind, distract yourself from the fact that you’re friends might be lying to you. You wanted to just relax, enjoy being by yourself. So you ran around your home gathering the supplies. A nice plush blanket, some water, a few cans of soda, and fill seat of your favourite snacks. Who needed an actual lunch when you could just satisfy your sweet tooth? You gathered everything into a basket and set outside.

You had a fancy attachment on the back of your bicycle where you could attach your basket. This made it much easier to get around town and run errands when your parents asked you to. You biked up a path, far away from home, up towards the cliffs. The view was always prettiest up there.

You set your bike down and started to unpack your haul. As you set up you’re little picnic, you were caught off guard by the sudden appearance of a little seagull. You offered it a piece of bread and tried to lure it in closer to you. Maybe it could be your new friend. As it creepy closer to you, you were able to pick it up. You began petting it’s head and it seemed to be content in your presence.

An hour went buy of you just enjoying the company of this little bird. It watched as you ate your snacks and read your book. And eventually you were comfortable enough that you laid down to take a nap.

“Goodnight little buddy, you wouldn’t leave me right?” You mumbled, tiredness filling your tone.

When you woke up you were sad to see you were alone at your picnic spot. But you couldn’t help but notice the feeling of you being watched. But who the hell would be all the way out here? You looked around for a moment to see if you could spot you new friend, but you figured he only stayed for the food. With a sigh you were about to pack up and go, but something caught your eye. A red balloon… how odd.

It seemed to be just floating there. Which wouldn’t be strange for a ballon, except for the fact that it should be raising into the air. If it had helium, why would it not obey the laws of gravity. So wearily, you approached it, your curiosity getting the better of you. As you got closer you noticed it wasn’t tied down to anything either. You reached out to touch it and… BOOM. The ballon popped right in your face. But that wasn’t what startled you, no, the seagull from earlier burst through it in a bloodied mess.

You stumbled backwards, placing a hand over you chest try and calm yourself. You had to be dreaming still. Birds don’t just, explode. But you could feel the viscera on your face. Your head shot up when you heard a giggle. But where was it coming from?

“Who ever is there, this isn’t funny!” You shouted.

You were hardly amused by this prank. And it just made your day worse. But that strange giggle just got closer and closer. Your eyes frantically searched the area, but again, you found nothing. You went to push yourself up to your feet, but quickly realised you ankle was sprained. You groaned in frustration. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t you turn that frown upside down?”

You expected to be terrified, any reasonable person would be. I mean a giant, menacing clown was standing over you, literally drooling on you. But you heart rate went back down, almost as if he never startled you in the first place. You just had one question, well maybe a few.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

The clown chuckled at you confusion.

“Did y’a like my ballon? Made it special for you!”

You frowned.

“That was you? You know most people don’t appreciate exploding animals as some sort of gift?”

“Really? You humans are so odd?”

"So, you're not human then?"

"You're a smart little thing, aren't you? Call me Pennywise, the Dancing Clown! Some people might say I'm a demon. But I say I'm a friend."

"Well according to my friends, you're not a very nice clown. Said you've been scaring them."

"The losers, that's what they call themselves right? Well, they haven't been very nice to me. Besides, I ain't scare em too bad. They keep coming back."

You thought about it for a moment. It seems odd that Ritchie and Eddie and everyone keeps running into this clown. He didn't seem so bad to you. Sure, maybe he killed animals, and walked around dressed like a clown all the time. But he hadn't tried to hurt you, not yet. Maybe they were all just wusses.

"Hey Pennywise-"

"Call me Penny."

"Penny, how did you do that balloon trick thing?"

"Trick?"

"Yeah, with the whole making it stay in place thing. Balloons are supposed to fly away when you let them go."

You asked your question strategically. You didn't want to know how he got the seagull inside, and certainly not how he blew it up. But the physics, the physics might be cool. Must people think the best part of magic was the illusion but pulling the tricks would be just as fun. Maybe you could prank the losers, teach them not to leave you behind.

"Wanna know a secret Y/N?"

You never told him your name.

"I can make you see things, things that arent real."

"Like telepathy"

"Telepe-what now?"

"It's a magicc thing, I read about it in one of my books. I didn't think it was real, but I suppose you shouldnt be real either. At least if what youre saying is true."

"And why would Penny lie to his new friend? Peneny likes you strange human. You didn't run!"

Your instincts were telling you that you hsould have. You should be miles away from here, in town, were it wouldnt be easy for him to kill you without prying eyes. But you couldnt bring yourself to move, to leave him. He seemed lost, her put up a cheerful front, but hes was a fucking clown for chrosts sake. That's part of the job description. He needed a freind, and you were in the market for a new one. Maybe this wouldnt be so bad.

"I gotta go Penny, but I'll see you around yeah?"

Pennywise let out an eexcited giggle, jumping up and down and clapping his hands togther.

"New friend! New friend! Penny made a new friend!"

He picked you up and spun you around. You had to admit, it wwas kidna nice.

"See you around friend! I'll be waiting!"

AN: so sorry this is short, believe it or not I still have not seen it chapter two yet, so thats why I havent written in that style. But I hope to wtach it next week so I can have a mroe accurate character study of Pennywise to go off of. But until then, I still hope you liked it. Love you TY!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?��� you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

[sweetbunnykook]

Devotion (M)

Word Count: 5,885 // angst (toxic relationship, friends to lovers, yandere behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, mention of physical harm, mention of neglect), smut (rough sex/slight dub-con, fingering, omorashi, asphyxiation, forced creampie), no fluff

Childhood friend!Taehyung X Childhood friend!Reader

Summary: You and Taehyung were inseparable once. When you come back to your hometown after three years, fate pulls you back to him. And this time, Taehyung won’t ever keep his eyes off of you. 

Music: X

Winter darkness came early this season. It’s only a few minutes past five and the sky had darkened and streetlights casted a deep orange hue over semi-empty cobblestone paths. The streets are almost silent except for the faint piano music wafting out into the cool air from restaurants and cafes lining the streets. You keep your fists deep in your coat pockets but the numbness persists. You never thought your hometown would look the same after running away at age twenty with nothing but clothes and a roll of cash – his cash – in your bag. Now, at twenty-three, you wondered if you made the right choice, if the yearning that slept deep in your marrows was the reason why you’re glued to the ground in front of the café you had your first kiss in.

You never thought you’d see Taehyung again – assuming he left not long after you did – but here he is, sitting near the bar with his long fingers grazing over the rim of his whiskey glass. He chuckles at something the bartender says, takes a drag from his cigarette, but his eyes are sad and his smile fleeting. His hair grew longer – past the tip of his ears – and he looks overall larger than life. He’s wearing the coat you bought him for his birthday and you’re wearing the knitted plaid scarf you stole from his closet before leaving. It doesn’t smell like him anymore. It doesn’t smell like his warm cigarettes and aftershave and it takes all your might to not walk in and put your arms around from behind like you used to do when he comes back from work.

Your heart wants him. It craves him. It has spent many nights in your chest begging you to call him and apologize to your tormentor who kisses you while keeping a noose wrapped around your throat. Your Taehyung, your lover, your captor who gave you everything including his own fears.

He doesn’t know why he is the way he is and you can’t find it in yourself to ask. You just know he was easily scared of losing you. The day you found your intimidating and loving boyfriend in your classmate’s house, hovering over the poor boy with his blood-stained knuckles in the air, was the day you knew your love for him isn’t enough to keep himself from hurting himself or others.

Just a moment longer. One moment. You want to stay in the cold for just a moment longer and admire how beautiful he looks without you even if the bags under his eyes are deep and his downturned lips are set in a permanent frown.

Just one moment. Just until he swings the shot of whiskey down his throat and asks for another.

You exhale into the scarf wrapped around your lips.

“Taehyung…” you whisper his name into the cashmere wool.

As if he’d heard you, Taehyung briefly glances up at the bartender and you hold your breath, thinking he would turn his head towards the window. He doesn’t and instead stares straight ahead, the cigarette hanging loosely between his lithe fingers falling into an empty dinner plate. Your heart leaps in your throat when he doesn’t move, the finger over the glass paused, his lips falling just slightly. It’s not until you look over at where he is staring that you stumble back a step, meeting his eyes through the angled mirror that gives him a direct view of your figure through the window. His gaze pins you to the floor; you’ve seen it many times in your dreams but in real life it feels like needles down your throat.

When he moves from his seat you tighten your hand around your handbag and run, your lungs burning in the cold as you stumble through the blanket of snow in your heavy boots. You don’t turn to look, not when you can hear the faint bell of the café door opening and your name hollered in that deep, baritone voice that makes your insides clench. He sounds just as guttural as the day he was covered in blood, shaking his head and whimpering your name when you kneel next to your wounded classmate, annotated papers strewn across the broken furniture.

You turn into an alleyway, looking around to see if there is a place you can hide or crawl under.

You’re stupid.

So fucking stupid.

The footsteps grow louder in the darkness the faster you run into the alleyways. The smell of smoke and dirt making you hold your breath as you turn another corner only to face a brick wall and a line of abandoned bicycles. Screaming for help is no use in this part of town.

Your toes curl in your boots as the footsteps grow louder and louder before stopping just a few feet from where you’re standing. Taehyung can see you tremble softly under the small lightbulb from the back of a dormant restaurant building and he is in disbelief.

You, who had torn his heart out of his chest, had the nerve to run away at the first sight of him.

Again.

“Turn around.” He breathes into the air. His voice is shaking, from anger or from desperation, you can’t tell. “Right now.”

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You certainly can’t run past him. Taehyung has always been stronger and faster, even when you had pulled him away from bullies when you were both children. Even when he had let you ravish him, let him drown in ecstasy underneath as you rolled your heat into his pistoning hips, you can feel his strength. You can feel his capacity to easily turn pleasure into pain.

“Turn the fuck around!”

You wince at his voice, your tear-streaked face disappearing further into the scarf.

When you fail to obey, Taehyung walks forward and grips the top of your arm, his large hand easily wrapping around your limb. He brings you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and neck this time as his whiskey breath hits your face. He breathes in the scent of your perfume when he presses his forehead to the top of your head.

You changed so many things about yourself when you left him. The color of your hair. The shade of lipstick you wore. The dresses you adorned. The thick rimmed glasses you exchanged for contacts. The one thing you didn’t have the heart to change was the perfume he loved to smell in your hair. The faint smell of roses and musk that kept his sanity intact when your eyes lingered too long on another man or when you scream and shout at his reasons for locking you in the bedroom after working so hard to earn your first job.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” He whispers, tightening his hold around your body as if you were an illusion that could disappear any moment. “I looked for you everywhere. Everywhere, baby, everywhere…everywhere…”

You remember. The cries your neighbors in Denmark had to endure when Taehyung’s brother informed you that he crawled on his hands and knees in front of your injured classmate’s porch, hoping that if you saw how apologetic he is you might come back. The police had to drag him away on the third night.

“I’m sorry…” you breathe into the scarf, your shaking fingers coming up to grip his caging arms.

Maybe you wanted this to happen. You stayed another second longer, just another second longer, in front of that café window hoping that he would turn his head. You held your hand over the candle when you know it’d hurt you in the end.

“Don’t run away from me again, baby. Don’t you fucking dare or else I’ll go crazy,” he sobs into your hair. His hold is tighter and your heart is bleeding just like it had when you left. “You’re the only one...”

He pulls back and tugs the scarf down to see your face. You, his moon, his love. Your wet cheeks are still full and soft, your eyes as dark as the night sky, and your lips still swollen and wounded from your habit of digging your teeth into your skin when you’re nervous. You sniffle slightly in the cold and in such close proximity you can’t bear to look at him in the eyes until he takes your face in his big, cold hands and angles you to meet his lips.

You taste the cigarettes and the whiskey. Beyond his tongue, you taste his yearning and pain. You taste the nights he spent lying in bed with the dresses you left behind. You taste his appetite to hurt something – someone – when he comes back to a barren living room from work. You taste his seething, heartbreaking anger that enslaved you as the lover who needed to look at him and him only.

Despite the harshness of his tongue, above all cries, you taste home.

…

The apartment would have looked nearly identical as before had he expected your arrival. Stepping in, you’re hit with the smell of alcohol and leftover pizza on the kitchen counter before you witness the broken television and shards of glass from empty picture frames and bottles. There’s new workout equipment in the corner where an old, broken player used to be. Whatever cleaning he had done in the past three years was minimal. The only object that looked cleaner – polished even – than before was the snow globe with two angels in the center. You had gifted the little globe during fifth grade, gathering coins from underneath couches and stealing a few dollars from your father’s wallet.

Taehyung reaches from behind and underneath your armpits to undo the buttons of your coat and pull it down your shoulders. You turn your head away from the living room and let him without complaint, knowing from his trembling fingers that he’s holding back his unease.

He doesn’t have to say anything. Just from the sight of the place you once called home, the broken shards told you everything you needed to know.

Taehyung’s fingers pauses on the scarf around your neck. Moving your back to lean against the wall, you peek at his face through your lashes and look back down again when his piercing eyes meet yours once more.

“If you still loved me, why didn’t you come back earlier? Why leave in the first place?”

He tugs the material free from your neck and wraps the scarf around his hands before hooking it onto the coat rack next to the entrance. The light switch lays just underneath the rack but he shows no desire to reveal the extent of his anger just yet.

“I was scared.”

“Of me?”

You nod. “Of you and of myself. Of us. Together.”

Taehyung doesn’t comment, merely watching your wet lashes glimmer in the darkness as it catches the hue from the streetlights outside the window.

“D-Did you…see anyone else a-after I left?” You ask him in that soft, airy voice that you used to soften his heart when he’d get upset. Old habits die hard.

He squints just slightly before tracing the back of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, his arms coming to cage you further against the wall.

He contemplates lying.

He wanted to hurt you as much as you’ve hurt him. He wanted to watch your brows come together and fat globs of tears roll down your cheeks as he tells you he would bring women who looked like you in this space and made love to them. He wanted the satisfaction in feeling your fists pound his chest when he tells you he came inside them with a satisfied groan against their ear. He wanted to tell you he’d fall asleep with them in his arms and he’d lick every inch of their skin like he had done to you. It would be all a lie, but he wanted to. He really wanted to fucking tear your heart apart even if it’d feel like he’s tearing his own.

No matter how much he desired it, he couldn’t do that to you. Even when he knows without you telling him that you made love to other men in whatever place you ran off to, he couldn’t do that to you. Because he’s always known he loved you far more than you loved him.

“No, I didn’t.” He says and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

Taehyung takes your hand and puts it on his chest. His wristwatch ticks against your skin like a beating heart.

“Take off my coat.” He commands.

You undo the knot around his waist with a small tug and let the black coat fall open. Taehyung hisses underneath his breath when he feels your hands flatten over his pecs and up his shoulders, peeling the heavy coat off of him until he draws his arms down and let the fabric fall onto the ground. He’s broader than you remembered him and so, so much larger in presence like he’s engulfing your entire being whole. He’s wearing a plain white button down with a pressed pair of black dress pants and a matching belt just like the time you left him on such an ordinary day.

His skin is warm underneath the shirt and you can faintly trace his strong arms and shoulders before wrapping your arms around his waist and placing your cheek on his chest. You close your eyes and breathe – in and out – gradual and rhythmic and soft. He can hear you whispering his name underneath your breath over and over again like a prayer, like he’s your religion and you found your way back to him to repent for your sins.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you want to stay with him forever when he suddenly takes your wrist from his waist in a vice grip and pulls you into the apartment, not looking back when you stumble and fall on your knees. He half-drags you into the open bedroom and throws you onto the bed before looming over your curled figure as you rub your sore shoulder. The bed smells like you and it takes a moment for you to see your dresses laying across the pillows and blankets until you’re forced to tear your gaze away as Taehyung wraps his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him.

“Tae!” You squeal when he leaves hot, wet kisses down your cheeks, jaw and throat and nips at your skin with his front teeth. Your skin prickles with sweat and your shoulder still aches from his relentless pulling.

The room is stuffy and you struggle to catch your breath with the windows shut and sheer curtains drawn. It’s stuffy most of all with the memories it held of Taehyung bringing you a heating pad during your periods, tending to your hands when you burned yourself making dinner, watching movies with a secondhand projector on the opposite wall, and stealing each other’s popcorn because you always finish your share before the movie starts. The little things that leave such heaviness in your lungs.

Taehyung’s hands are shaky but firm as he reaches underneath your knitted dress and tugs your panties down your hips along with your stockings. Because you’re still wearing your boots, Taehyung doesn’t wait until he buries his face into the crotch of your panties pulled down to your ankles and licks your essence off the fabric onto his tongue, sucking the satin clean before finally unlacing your boots blind with sharp, uneven tugs and peeling them off your ankles. The shoes fall to his feet with a thump and your panties, along with your pantyhose, falls onto the leather not long after.

He doesn’t recognize this attire and it makes him grip the softness of your thighs harder when he imagines yourself or any other man buying you these dresses. It has always been his pleasure to see you dressed in his money. He’d made a promise to be your provider when your parents threw you out of the house as a teen and out of their lives with nothing but a backpack on your shoulders.

As soon as he brings back your luggage from the worn-down hotel you’ve been staying, he’s throwing every dress he doesn’t recognize into the raging fireplace.

Taehyung pops the top button of his shirt and reaches behind him to drag the cotton over his shoulder and head. His skin glows like molten gold and the silver chain hanging from his neck, curving just slightly over his collarbones, sways with his calculated movements. At the end of the chain is the ring from a cracker jack box you’d engraved with a pocketknife.

So many fragments of your relationship with him surrounds you yet you gathered the courage to leave all those years ago. Three long years it took for you to realize you preferred to be in his arms than be free anywhere else. In his shackles you feel safe. In his shackles you feel loved. Your freedom had its own shackles too – putting on pretenses in front of strangers, trying to meet the expectations of men who could never love you like Taehyung does, molding yourself to fit into who you could be rather than who you really are. Taehyung’s shackles feel like jewelry, like luxury, like comfort.

“Did you think about me?” He runs his warm palms up and down your calves, kneeling between your legs as you squirm on the edge of the mattress.

“Every single day. I missed you…I w-wanted to call but…” I was scared you were going to hurt me like you hurt the people around me.

He doesn’t comment and for a moment you wonder if the years of anger he had built inside him will rush forward like water bursting from a dam. It was strange how you are the same, vulnerable person after all these years despite changing nearly every part of your identity.  

When he looks up your heart leaps to your throat. If it were physically possible, Taehyung’s eyes would turn into steel with how hard, how piercing, his gaze is as if he intends to burn holes into your skull. Despite the glare that steals air from your lungs, he’s still beautiful with his uneven eyelids, thick straight eyebrows, chiseled cheekbones, and a prominent cupid’s bow.

“You’re not leaving me again. You hear me? You’re not taking one single step out of this room until I say so. I,” he grits his teeth, tightening his grip around your calves enough to bruise. “don’t fucking trust you anymore. You destroyed us.” His voice is harsh, labored, full of agony. “You destroyed every fucking thing we built together just because I allowed myself to love you.”

“I know, Tae, I know,” you bring a hand over your lips and stifle a sob. Taehyung’s hard gaze falters slightly upon seeing your sadness otherwise his face remains promptly emotionless. “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry I left, I d-didn’t know what to do. I just…I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah.”

He takes his hands off of you and places them on the edge of the mattress next to your knees, gripping the plushness with all his might.

“You’re not leaving me.” He repeats as if he needed to convince himself more than he needs to convince you.

You shake your head. “I won’t. I swear.”

“If you do this again…something bad will happen. You know that, right? I won’t let you walk away. I can’t let you do this to me anymore, baby. I…haven’t I suffered enough?” He asks and it makes you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his lips towards you. He devours you like he needed you to breathe. It was obvious he was suffocated in this little apartment just as much as you suffocated in the little den back in Denmark, struggling to make it to the next month.

“I love you so much,” you whimper against his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’m here, Tae. I’m home.”

Your boyfriend groans as he pushes you back onto the mattress and hovers over your body with his knees on both sides of your hips. You bring your legs back, curling them towards your body before hooking it around his toned waist. The warmth that solely belonged to him, you didn’t know how you survived without it. His tongue roams your entire mouth from the back of your tongue to your teeth. You wince just slightly when his fingers trace your slit underneath your red dress, gathering the wetness over your swollen clit in slow circles then moving down to your throbbing core.

“Is this all for me, baby?” He whispers into your mouth as you snake your fingers into his deep chocolate brown tresses and brush his long hair back.

“All for you. I belong to you, Tae, I always have.”

He tsks, watching your hooded eyes suddenly widen and your mouth fall open into an ‘O’ when he impales his index and middle finger into your soaking pussy to the hilt. You had forgotten how long his fingers are until he’s deep inside, until he pushes so hard against your walls that you can feel him from beneath your skin. Your cervix probes his fingertips back and it makes you squirm and wince as he curls his fingers inside and lightly digs digits into your walls. You’ll take the pain with grace.

Your trembling hands reach down to wrap around his wristwatch, slightly wet with your juices trailing down the length of his palm.

“Please, Tae,” you plead, squeezing his wrist. “I want you.”

His fingers move slowly against your walls, leaving you panting and soaking your dress with sweat. He makes no move to be merciless and instead pushes his fingers incredibly deep until your opening burns. He keeps his fingers inside while he undoes his belt, the clinking of the silver buckle raising goosebumps on your skin. All those times he bent you over the kitchen table and lash you across the ass with the belt for blushing when you enjoyed the attention of another comes rushing back, your insides gripping the contours of his fingers as he moves his fingers up and down. Lewd squelches from between your legs make you turn your head away in embarrassment but Taehyung won’t take your disrespect. Not anymore.  

You’re left unfilled when he slips his wet fingers out and places them in his mouth to suck, eyes rolling back and his smooth naked chest heaving at your scent. He’s brought back to reality when you work to remove his belt, your palm kneading his throbbing hardness as you unzip and peel his pants open as far as they can go to reveal his boxer briefs. His cock bulges through the dark fabric and you can lightly feel the trail of dark pubic hair above the base. In the silence of the room you relish in his labored breaths and the rustle of clothing. It’s a sound you longed to hear when you’d spend numerous night with your fingers in your panties in your lonely, cramped apartment, fingertips rubbing circles around your clit until you leak all over the vibrating dildo shoved inside.

Taehyung pulls the belt free from his hips and makes you sit up to wrap the belt around your neck like a scarf before lacing the leather back into the buckle and then tightening the loop. He places two fingers underneath where the belt meets your neck to make sure you’re safe. Even with anger radiating off every pore, he cares about you, loves you, wants to please you.

“Okay?”

You nod, palming him and wrapping your fingers around his thick, pulsing length leaking pre-ejaculate through the fabric. He admires the need in your tear-filled eyes and twists the length of his belt around his fingers before pulling you up, earning a whimper as your hands immediately move to your makeshift collar.

The fact that other men had seen you in this position kills him.

Taehyung pulls the thin straps down your arms and peel your dress down to your ankles. You’re not wearing a brassiere and he suppresses a smile. You’d often lounge wearing his shirts in the living room, your perky little nipples peeking through the cotton, all ready for his greedy mouth to latch onto.

When you kick the dress away from your ankles and bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, Taehyung takes the chance to kick off his shoes. He’s too impatient to remove his slightly tight slacks and black socks, choosing to give all his attention to you instead.

“You’re really here,” he breathes, eyes glazed over in remembrance of you over the years.

It started with kisses in cafes while studying together; at the time, he hardly knew how to kiss and knew less about the feeling deep in his belly. Kisses turned into roaming hands, his fingers disappearing under your panties and yours under his jeans. You lost your virginity to him – and his to you – in the backseat of his car after graduating in which half the time was him struggling to put on a condom while your laughs made him giggle along. He had always been yours, and you his.

You couldn’t accept that Taehyung is no longer the boy you used to know. While he accepted your changes and made peace with your mercurial ways, you couldn’t do the same for him.

“I want to show you how much I missed you,” you bring his hands to your face and rub your cheeks into his palms like a kitten.

Taehyung melts, his tired smile plastered on his face as he pushes the dresses on the mattress away and lays next to you. You know what this meant. He wants to watch you come undone, watch you mold into his body as your spine arches and he can tighten the belt around your neck as you spill onto the sheets. You reach down and slide your hands under his pants, gasping slightly when your hands wrap around the girth of his cock. His hips jolt when you run your thumb over his weeping tip and smear precum down his thickness. Taehyung turns you away from him, his perspired chest sticking to your back, and brings your hips towards his lap until he can slip his cock between your folds.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks when he pants lightly in your ear, breath hitching as he slips the tip of his cock into your entrance before ramming his entire length without warning.

“Ah!” You grip his iron arms secured around your waist. He pushes his cock further until he’s fully nestled in your warmth.

“Ung, baby,” he hisses, sliding his left arm underneath your head to reach the end of his leather belt. He wraps the leather around his fingers twice and brings the belt back to him as he pushes your spine away from him in an arch.

He begins moving, his hand around your waist slipping down to your clit as he rubs coaxing circles while pulling the collar back to compress your jugular. In the dark, cold bedroom Taehyung makes you feel every inch of himself inside your starved pussy. Your vision is filled with spots and every nerve in your body curls and bows to his carnal hunger.

“Please…please, Tae, please…” You beg as he pounds without giving you the luxury to adjust to his thickness, tight balls clenching further as he grinds his hips into your little hole.

You cum immediately, legs twitching as you sob his name and curse under a single breath, the wetness from your folds coating the base of Taehyung’s twitching, loaded cock. When you gurgle and cough, he loosens his grip on the belt and listens to you heave, watching your arms pull you up and away from him as you get on your hands and knees to take bigger breaths. You palm your lower abdomen with the heel of your hand, the ache making your head turn towards the pitch-black bathroom connected to the bedroom. Not only did his penetration burned your entire lower body, but you can also feel the pressure inside screaming at you to run to the bathroom.

You underestimated how cruel Taehyung can be. With teeth gritted, he suppresses the need to cum, and bring your hips back towards him to slip his cock back into your battered pussy. You’re tighter after cumming and it takes every ounce of his energy to not spill his load inside then and there.

“T-Taehyung I need to go to the b-bathroom,” you pant as you sweat from the pressure building even more in your lower region.

He doesn’t reply, only spreading your legs further with his knees and grip your waist before impaling you onto his cock over and over again until you slump back down to the mattress.

“It aches,” you breathe as Taehyung throws his head back and closes his eyes, plunging with the ferocity of a man possessed. He finds the end of his belt curled on your back and pulls, yanking your neck back and curving your entire body to take his length. He hardly prepped you enough and he did so with purpose, with the intent to make you release in more ways than one. “T-Tae, I can’t…Taehyung!”

His hips move quicker and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes along with his deep, guttural groans.

“Give it all to me, baby,” he snaps, falling forward to pin your body beneath his as he pistons his hips like a demented animal. You can breathe now but your vision is still hazy and your breathing labored. You can’t move your arms with Taehyung’s hands wrapped around your wrists in a vice grip above your head. “Do it for me.”

When your legs convulse underneath and a scream rips from your throat, Taehyung leans his damp forehead on your shoulder and spills his seed inside. You swear you can feel every lash of his load against your walls. Your ears ring just as you reach your high once more, neck arching back, nose in his hair as you spill your wetness over the sheets along with warm urine that stung as it leaks down to the dresses below. This was his intent all along – to claim you and to humiliate you into accepting that he will take your body as he wishes.

Still, the embarrassment makes you bury your face into your arms and sob.

“You did so well for me, baby,” Taehyung exhales against your jaw and takes your earlobe in his mouth, suckling gently before running his wet tongue over the shell of your ear. You squirm in his grasp, feeling as if your bones had turned into jelly.

Taehyung reaches down and runs his fingers gently over your pussy, rubbing the wetness over your pubic curls before leaning back on his heels to look down at the soiled dresses beneath your thighs. The warmth of your urine no longer lingers and instead you’re left shivering with the collar still tight around your neck.

He takes a clean dress from behind and wipes your fluids from his semi-hard cock and thighs before wiping between your inner thighs and folds. You’re quiet, toes curled as he works his way down to your knees where your urine trailed. He rolls you to the side, gently, and gathers the wet dresses in his arms before stepping away from the bed and dumping the mound of fabric into a half-empty laundry basket.

He then takes a towel from the shelf and disappears into the bathroom. You can hear the faint sound of water running as you reach up to undo the belt from around your neck and let the leather fall onto the floor with a clatter. Taehyung would prefer to remove it himself, but he doesn’t complain when he comes back with a warm, damp towel and wipes your cheeks and neck before roughly wiping down your body.

The smell of sweat is heavy in the air but it feels rather comforting to know you can be disgusting with him and still wake up loved in the morning.

You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling until Taehyung pulls you up to the pillows once the top half of the bed is clean, molding his body to yours as he buries his face in your hair. He inhales slowly, arms locking around your body and keeping you caged inside his embrace. Only when you lean into his chest does he bring a blanket over your body and his and tuck you in.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, eyelids heavy.

The room is even quieter than before. It feels serene under the blanket since nothing strange has ever happened when you’re safe in his arms.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your fingers twirling his necklace on his chest. “So…so much.”

Taehyung’s voice is hoarse when he speaks. “I never left. I’ve always been here.”

You blink, training your eyes on the broken chess pieces scattered on the floor, and close your eyes. No more lonely nights. No more haunting dreams.

…

‘What’s that?’ Taehyung pouts when you stand in front of him with a small box behind. Every time he attempts to look around your figure, you turn to hide it behind your puffy white skirt. He was really starting to get pissed off and the playground is growing louder with more lousy children interrupting his time on the slides with you. The fifth grade class is the largest in the school after all and there’s only so many slides to go around.

‘You have to guess!’ You insist, keeping the box behind you still.

Taehyung’s frown deepens and then he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, turning away in a haughty manner with his nose turned to the sky.

‘Whatever it is, I don’t care.’ He says, stepping closer to the slides, but regrets it immediately when your eyes fill with tears and your hands fall to the side. You know he hates being teased, but he knows you love to keep him waiting.

He looks down at your hand to see a box with a picture of a snow globe plastered on the cardboard.

His mouth opens and close like a fish as he contemplates apologizing but he ends up walking up to you and putting his sticky hands on your face instead, tilting your face up to him. You don’t say anything before dropping the present on his shoes and dashing away, maneuvering through the monkey bars and sandboxes with your skirt floating around your knees.

Taehyung kneels and takes the box in his hand, shaking the package until the globe falls into his palm. There it is, the two angels and the glitter particles swirling around them, the very object that he admired in the book fair yesterday. He turns the globe around in his hands, careful, until he reaches the writing written sloppily with a sharpie pen on the glass.

‘I like you’ 

[starlitangels]

Broken (Not Broken) Epilogue - Motorcycle Date

@zozo-01​ Thought she could be sneaky and request a David/Darlin’ motorcycle date behind Anon without me knowing it was her XD 1.7k words (Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 3.5)(Part 4)

—

“Hop on,” I said, pointing at my motorcycle in the little car port at my apartment complex. David stared at it as I crossed to the storage chest tucked into the corner of the car port.

“Here,” I said. I snatched my helmet off the chest and threw it at him. He caught it deftly. “Put that on.”

“What are you going to wear?” he asked.

I swore as I struggled to undo the padlock on my storage chest. “My spare, dumbass,” I retorted. The bolt released and I popped the lid, extracting my bike jacket and spare helmet tucked underneath it.

“I am not getting on your motorized death machine,” David said. “These things are so unsafe.”

“And I’ve never gotten in an accident. I’m careful.” I slung my jacket on. “Helmet. On. Now.”

“If you weren’t my partner you’d get in so much trouble for back-talking your alpha like that,” David said as I pulled on my spare helmet. It was older and more dinged up—with a large sticker slapped haphazardly across the back that said TANKER. Asher had stuck it to the helmet when I wasn’t looking a few years back, relegating this helmet to the spare after I bought a new one.

“Yep,” I said nonchalantly, throwing my leg over the bike and getting ready to gun the engine. “Hop on, David.”

He clenched his jaw, a muscle flexing in it, before popping the helmet on. He climbed on behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I gunned the engine and we pulled out of the carport. Then I pulled out of the apartment complex’s lot. David was a brave guy, but the strength with which he was holding onto me betrayed just how freaked out he was by the whole motorcycle thing.

I made sure to be extra careful as I drove through Dahlia. Heading north. David’s grip never once lightened up. Not that I minded. I liked the feeling of his arms around my waist and his chest pressed against my back.

Once we left the city behind and were on the highway leading north, I revved my engine and sped up as the speed limit increased. I whooped with excitement. David did not. I didn’t quite catch what it was he said, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was laced with curses. My grip on my handles tightened and I bent forward just a little bit more.

“Where are we even going?!” David demanded.

“You’ll see!” I shouted over the roar of the wind.

Soon we were in the woods. The highway cut through the forest on the north end of the city. I really wanted to tear down the road at top speed—show David what my bike could do—but I knew he’d give me a three-hour-long lecture if I did, so I figured I’d save it for next time. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

About five miles into the woods, I turned off the highway and onto a semi-paved, semi-dirt road. Meaning this road had once been paved but had fallen into such disrepair that it was practically back to the dirt beneath it.

But I could still maintain the speed limit on my bike without sliding.

I wove up the winding path until we reached a small parking area. There was one other car, kitted out with a bike rack, but empty of bicycles. Someone else was enjoying the trail. I hadn’t known anyone else even knew about this place. Usually when I came here the parking area was completely empty.

I parked the bike and killed the engine, pulling the keys out and shoving them in the pocket of my jeans. I held the bike steady as David slowly worked his way off the seat behind me. Once both his boots were safely on the ground, I swung off and hit the kickstand, balancing the bike against the hill. David was wrangling his head out of the helmet. “This was unnecessary. Where are we?”

I popped my own helmet off and held a hand out for him. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”

David eyed my hand. I didn’t miss the way his gaze jumped and rested on each scar on my knuckles.

But he raised his own hand and took mine.

I started to lead him up the trail.

“You should have told me we’d be going on a hike—I would have dressed for it.”

“This isn’t long. It’s fine. We’re not hiking this trail up to the top.”

“Then why are we here?” David grumbled.

“It’s a surprise, obviously.”

“Since when do you do surprises?”

“I thought I always surprised you,” I remarked. “You certainly usually react like you didn’t expect me to do something that got me in trouble.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. I chuckled. We kept climbing the trail.

“How’d you discover this trail?”

“My friend told me about it. The one that... Quinn... attacked.” I cleared my throat. “I started coming here to clear my head. The air always feels cleaner and crisp up here.” I looked around. “Then, one day when I was here, I discovered something. Something I thought you’d like.” We weren’t there yet. The boulder that I used as a landmark was around two more bends in the path.

“Which is?”

“You’ll see, you big grouch. Let some things be a pleasant surprise once in a while.”

David continued to grumble—inaudibly under his breath—until we reached the boulder that I used as a landmark.

“Here it is,” I said. “C’mon.” I tightened my grip on his hand and pulled him off the trail.

“Baby, wait—” David started. I ignored him, marching determinedly through the trees. “It’s not safe to leave the trail—”

“Says the biggest and most intimidating wolf in this whole damn city,” I said.

Before he could keep protesting, I pulled him to a stop. He looked around. “We’re in the trees,” he stated, looking around. “There’s nothing here. Why did you bring me on that stupid death machine out to the middle of the woods when there’s nothing here?”

I pointed to a pine tree with a particularly gnarled root. “Examine that,” I said. “Thoroughly.”

David glowered at me. “Why?”

“Just do it, hardass,” I retorted.

David stormed over to the tree and started to glower at it, eyes raking the bark of the trunk. I leaned against a neighboring tree, arms folded, just watching him.

He circled around the back of it—

And froze.

When he looked up from the tree to meet my eyes, there were tears in his. “How... how did you find this?” he asked.

I pushed off the tree and went to his side, letting him wrap an arm around me. He held me tightly to his side and buried his nose in my hair. I glanced at the trunk I’d indicated.

Carved into the bark were two sets of initials, encased in a heart. The top one was G.S.. The bottom was too faded to read unless you knew what it was already.

David’s parents’ initials.

“How did you find this?” he repeated in a breathy whisper.

I shrugged. “After... after recovering from that fight with the vampire lady... I was running through the woods. In wolf form. On the way back to the trail and my motorcycle and it just... kinda... caught my eye. I almost missed it, if I’m honest. I circled back and looked at it and when I realized what it was, I decided I needed to show you. A picture wouldn’t have been enough. I... I needed to bring you here.”

David pressed a firm kiss to my forehead. “Thank you. Oh my God—thank you.”

I felt a pair of tears strike my hair, but kept myself tucked under his chin. He needed to just hold me.

We stayed there for a few minutes, just holding onto each other.

David brushed his fingers down my cheek before cupping my face and pressing a desperate, longing kiss to my lips. One I returned enthusiastically. We hadn’t been dating long, but it felt like we were always meant to wind up here. In the woods. In each other’s arms. Holding onto one another. In front of a tree that proved two other people in love had been probably standing in this same spot, holding onto one another.

I pulled my switchblade out of the back pocket of my jeans. “Want to add ours beneath?”

David stared at the closed blade in my hand. “I...”

“I had another reason for bringing you to this tree, David,” I said. “We haven’t been together long. But I’ve known you for so long. And I’ve loved you for years. I, uh... I wanted to ask... if you’d... consider... being the mate of this reckless, broken wolf.” David met my eyes. His were still misty, and mine were starting to water. “I... I love you, David. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t care about power dynamic issues with you being my alpha. I... I just want to be with you. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

David kissed me. Hard. He reached up and took the switchblade from my hand. “Baby, I would consider it an honor to be your mate. You are reckless. Stubborn. Insufferable, sometimes. But you are not broken. And I will spend my life showing you that.”

He let me go just long enough to carve our initials into the tree under his parents’ initials, closing them both into a heart, before he closed my switchblade and crushed me to his chest in a kiss.

—

David wasn’t as stiff on the motorcycle as we made our way back into the city proper. Even through my motorcycle jacket, I could feel the comfortable warmth of his body. His embrace around my waist was loving but firm.

Mate. The word clanged like a bell in my head. Over and over.

I wasn’t sure how I got here, but I wasn’t going to complain now that I was here. On my motorcycle. With my mate. The wind rushing over my exposed bits of skin. For once, I was allowed to enjoy my life. I had reasons to be happy.

Maybe I wasn’t so broken after all.

[strawbearisamu]

promises [summer collection: vol 3]

❀ timeskip! matsukawa issei x gn! reader | wc: 1.2k

summary: snapshots of the promises he made you, 8 years at a time from when you were 8 to 16 and finally a proposal at 24.

note: volumes are not connected this is a standalone story.

"hey! you can trust me," he smirked.

"oh yeah? do you remember the first promise you made?" you grinned.

❀ eight — accidents

in the sweltering heat of the sun, slippers warm from the heat, slapping against the tarmac in your little cul-de-sac, you chased him. the humidity of summer enveloping you, you wipe the sheen of sweat off your forehead, panting to catch your breath, "i give up, you win issei!"

he beamed in response, so obnoxious yet so pure, you couldn't help the little smile that graced your lips too.

"that means you have to try it! ride the bike side to side, it'll go faster!"

"side to side?" you asked, a little unsure of what he meant, getting on your little bicycle.

"yeah! it'll work, trust me," he boasted, "i saw it on tv!"

"promise?" you asked, fingers gripping a little tighter on the worn rubber handles of your bike.

"promise!" eight-year-old issei said in excitement before riding off ahead of you.

"side to side," you mumble under your breath, before pedaling up the slope, fast, your younger self blissfully ignorant of the burn in your calves and thighs, you steer your bike towards the left, then the right, then the left, and again and again. somehow convincing yourself that it was working, you gave him a thumbs-up as he looked back towards you, "catch up slowpoke!"

"i will!" you huffed at him, provoked, speeding up, as the gears of the bike started whirring louder, the wind whistling in your ear. you reach a hard corner and issei is still way ahead of you, one harsh turn tips the scales in the equilibrium of gravity as you crash and collide onto the ground.

"yn!" issei shouts, turning back and pedaling towards you.

you sniffled a little, rubbing the bloody gash on your knees, hands now a little grimy and stained from the tarmac, the rough road scraping your arms and knees, blood running along your elbows.

"you promised it would work!" you frown at him, as he leaned towards you, poking your bruise in curiosity, "OW!"

"i'm sorry y/n! they said it on tv!" he said panicked, scratching his head, before pushing you back to his house as you sat on his bike. his mom horrified at the wound, patching you up and forcing her son to apologise to you again.

"okay that's a little unfair, i was 8!" he crossed his arms.

"okay fine. ah! what about that one time!" your eyes lit up as you recalled the memory.

❀ sixteen — sneaking out

"issei," you squeezed his forearm, "we'll be fine right?"

"relax, i've done this before, we'll be fine." he assured, a playful glint in his eye. "i promise, don’t you trust me?" he inched down towards you as you nodded.

and so the both of you snuck past the napping guard, the small rusty back gate creaking as he gently pried it open, grabbing onto your wrist and dragging you along behind him, navigating the overgrown path.

giggling, you clutched onto your bags and each other as you ran, in the sports shoes you changed into just for this, in the humid summer heat, uniforms clinging onto the layer of sweat on your skin, palms sweaty against each others, a burning ache in your calves and thighs as you tried to keep up with him.

tapping your cards hastily, and hopping onto the first train. settling onto the seats of the semi-packed train. with the cool air of the air conditioning blowing in your face, and issei by your side, you still yourself in the moment, admiring him, his face, memorising the texture his curls, the slant in his lids, the curve of his lips, the scenery beyond the windows, imprinting it all in your mind, hoping you would never forget, only smiling when he raised a brow at you.

four stops later, you guys arrive at your destination. all the elaborate stealth just to eat at your favourite little ramen shop tucked away at the fourth stop. the both of you bursting into adrenaline-fuelled giggles as soon as you stepped onto the platform.

—

you slurped the last of your ramen, letting out a satisfying sigh. "we actually did it!" you grinned, proud. you and issei occupying two of the eight limited counter seats in the cramped little shop.

"we sure did," he smiled at you, resting a palm on your head before wiping away the layer of sweat on his forehead as you stared. "something on my face?" he teased, eyes finally meeting yours as your gazes lingered on one another, allowing yourselves the privilege to indulge. his deep-set eyes boring into yours with an emotion so raw and indescribable that even in the years you would spend apart, you would never forget them.

"aha! another broken promise, we were called into office the next day issei, and i distinctly remember you saying we would never get caught," you snickered.

"hey none of that matters now, only the promise i'll make you today," he defended, reaching across the candle-lit table for your hand.

❀ twenty-four — proposals

"yn," he reached into the pocket of his blazer with his free hand, pulling out a red, velvet box, popping it open to reveal a ring.

you let out a soft gasp, your bottom lip quivering slightly as you blink back the tears welling in your eyes.

"yn, i may have broken a lot of our promises, and i will admit i’ve been a bit of an asshole. but this time, i promise you, i will do everything in my power to be a damn near perfect partner for you, to make you the happiest spouse, to love you through thick and thin, through the good and the bad, through everything. as long as i’m with you.”

"issei…” a tear rolling down your cheek, “you promise?" you whispered.

"i promise." he nodded, thumb gently caressing your cheeks, wiping away the tear. the same grey eyes from 8 years ago boring into yours once again.

"that's what you said all those times too," you laugh.

"i guess you'll just have to trust me again, will you marry me?" he smiled.

"issei, i’ve never said no to all your dumb ideas, not when we were eight, not when we were sixteen," you paused, gaze falling to the ring in his hand then back at him as you soaked in the moment. the soft candle light illuminating his face, his eyes sparkling a little as they reflected the light, curls falling softly, the expectant look on his face as he fiddled the ring between his fingers.

"so are you marrying me or not?" he pouted a little in frustration.

"and i certainly am not saying no at twenty-four, yes, of course i'll marry you issei." the smile on his lips widen impossibly, impatiently sliding the ring onto your ring finger, as though he couldn't wait another moment longer.

"i can't believe you said yes, now you're stuck with me forever," a goofy smile playing on his lips, issei gets up, moving towards you, pulling your sitting form into a hug. "i love you so much," his leans his forehead against yours before guiding the back of your head into his chest, an arm wrapped around your shoulder.

"we still have to do a ceremony dumbass and you better not break your promise again," you warned, voice muffed into his top as he kissed the top of your head, "i won't babe."

sol’s comments ❀: wahaha self indulgence again :> that whole bicycle thing is based on a true story and im positive he meant sway side to side instead of steer side to side now that ive watched yowamushi pedal (aka now that im a pro cyclist). also me and my bff used to sneak out a lot during free sessions so the 2nd part was inspired by that hehe.

m.list ·˚ ༘ ꒱ | each and every reblop is appreciated ☻ (+ free hugs)

[novelconcepts]

I am not sure if you have talked about this before but how do you think after moving back to America, Dani got in touch with Judy again. And if she did, what was their first meeting like with Dani introducing Jamie?

“You’re sure about this?” Jamie leans back, hands in her pockets, gazing at the serene white house, third on its block. “Could still go around the corner and wait, if you like. Saw a little shop...”

She trails off. Dani suspects her body language speaks for itself, all locked jaw and slight tremble. 

He wouldn’t have noticed, she thinks, and the rush of hot grief is so sudden, she has to close her eyes. Jamie hesitates, leans in until her shoulder presses lightly against Dani’s, lowers her voice.

“Whatever you want, Poppins. Reckon I can play nice as a friend as well as--”

“No.” She finds she can’t look at the house directly. It’s much easier, turning her eyes to Jamie. Much easier to search her face for signs Jamie isn’t okay with this, despite what she’s been saying all afternoon. 

She finds nothing but a slight smile, a furrow of Jamie’s brow. Jamie, holding honesty at the forefront as always. Jamie, who offered her company, and has--for months--shown no sign of flagging in her promise to see this adventure through. Wherever it may take them.

Wherever.

“No,” she repeats, her voice as firm as she can make it. “I’m not here to...I’m not going to...”

Play that role again, she can’t say, but she can tell from the way Jamie nods it’s coming across. I’m not here to be Danielle, she doesn’t say, and Jamie’s hand brushes her hip in silent solidarity. 

“Whoever you need me to be. And we don’t have to stay a minute longer than you want.”

It pains her, that Jamie would put that on the table--whoever you want me to be. Jamie’s told her all about her one and only brush with what she had, once, considered real love. How she’d told that girl the very same. How she’d seen it through, as Jamie does with all undertakings she values, to the very end. She’d been who that girl needed her to be--and she’d been the same for the women who had come after, to a lesser degree. A fumble in the dark. An agreement to never bring it up again. A test. A lantern. A buried memory. 

“You,” she tells Jamie now, “are you. And I’m me. And if that’s not enough for her...”

Jamie nods again. “Lead the way, then.”

She remembers the house being bigger, somehow. Cleaner. Remembers the porch sprawling open to offer more space for rocking chairs and bunched-up bodies clutching glasses of iced tea. She remembers the lawn extending out and out, littered with discarded bicycles and baseball gear. 

She remembers Eddie, knees bent, hands pressed into the concrete behind his reclining form. Remembers the way he’d greet her outside every day of summer, the light reflecting off his crooked glasses. The way he’d smile, turn his head, shout through the screen door: “Mom! Danielle’s here!”

No one shouts for her now. Nothing but the rap of her own fist heralds her arrival. No one is looking for Danielle today, and she’s grateful, because they certainly wouldn’t find her. Not with all the weeds of memory sprung up around the girl she’d been. Not with the jungle of unease growing thick around the woman she is. 

“Oh my--”

Judy’s older. So much older than she ought to be, Dani’s absence contained within little more than a year. There are creases Dani doesn’t recognize around her mouth, silver tucked into the muted red of her hair. A year, she thinks, without a son does this to a person.

A year without a daughter.

The screen door swings open so sharply, it catches Jamie along the hip, nearly tips her off the stoop. Dani’s hand closes around her wrist, an easy reflex months in the making, though Jamie’s already shifted her balance and adjusted her expression. Not irritation, not pain--a welcoming little smile, a quiet expression that says, Not here to make a fuss. Not here to be noticed, even. 

She waits for it to spill out of Judy’s mouth--a shocked exhalation of her full name--but Judy’s arms are already around her, and her voice seems capable of no more than a swallowed sob. No one, Dani thinks, has ever hugged her the way Judy does. Her own mother couldn’t manage it.

She’s folding. She’s folding before either of them can speak a single word, her heart careening behind her sweater, and if she closes her eyes--if she lets herself press into Judy’s arms, inhale the scent of fresh coffee and clean clothes--she can almost forget...almost forget...

“Honey,” Judy breathes, “how have you been?”

How. Not where. Not how could you. One simple word, summing it all up. Dani makes a choked sound, nearly a laugh, and lets one hand swing hopelessly out to the left. 

Jamie catches it without a sound. 

Judy is stepping back as though embarrassed, smoothing down her blouse, eyes wet. “You--your mother said you were traveling.” There is remarkably little accusation in that sentence, Dani thinks. Remarkably little offense. You didn’t tell me, but she did, and it’s all right. It’s all right that you couldn’t. 

“Europe,” she says croakily. “England, mostly. Got a job--”

“You look...” Judy trails off, peering into her face, and it’s small, the recognition. Small, but there in the parting of her lips, the slackening of her jaw. Your eye, she imagines Judy breathing, what’s happened to your eye, sweetheart?

“It’s been a long time,” Dani says, a bit shakily. “Lots to--I mean, if you have the time. I don’t want to intrude.”

Judy takes another heavy step backward, into the house, gesturing emphatically. “Don’t be silly! Don’t--God, Danielle, I’ve wanted to write. Your mother said she didn’t have the address, and I didn’t want to bother you, but...”

Jamie is still holding her hand, she realizes, as Judy’s shocked gaze moves from Dani’s face (Dani’s eye, she knows, the russet brown stark against the pale pink of her cheeks) to Dani’s outstretched arm. Judy takes in this new development for a moment, silently: a solemn young woman in a black knit sweater, the cuffs of her jeans turned neatly up, her sneakers white and her fingers implacably wrapped around Dani’s. Jamie, who smiles that soft, not here to be noticed smile, and inclines her head. 

“Mrs. O’Mara.”

“Hello,” Judy says. Not the way Dani’s mother would say it, not even now--clipped and cold and waiting for explanation. She says it with such an easy air of welcome, her head tipped curiously to the side. “Judy, please.”

“Jamie,” Jamie says, and something in Dani seems to cave inward. Some great, hulking shard of terror seems to dissolve in on itself. She is Judy, and you are Jamie, and I am--I am--

Her? No. Surely not, not with Jamie’s fingers tangled, with Jamie standing just off-center on this strange stage. The whole neighborhood, she realizes, can see her: standing with shoulders hunched, holding a strange woman’s hand, staring at her not-so-mother-in-law with bruised eyes. 

The whole neighborhood can see, and she doesn’t care in the least about any of it except to say--

“Dani. I actually go by Dani these days.” 

These days, like it’s been ten years instead of one. These days, so much grief and fear and love and joy packed into twelve months, she almost can’t comprehend it. Is she really the same woman who packed her bags in secret? Is she really the one who stood as tall as she could at a funeral in a black dress she hadn’t the heart to bring when she ran?

Is she, in fact, her--lonely, beastly, incapable of peace?

Jamie’s hand flexes once, a stroke of her thumb along Dani’s knuckles bringing her home. She draws a shuddering breath. 

“It’s been a long time,” she repeats. “There are...things we could talk about. Stories. If you want. Some of them, I should have...told you a long time ago.”

Judy, looks for a moment, taken aback. Looks, for a moment, like she has been handed a script so far from the one she’s memorized, she might not make it back into the scene at all. 

“Dani,” she says, turning the syllables over in her mouth. “Of course. Dani and--and Jamie.” Her mouth trembles, just once. The name, Dani understands, is so close. Those ie sounds, running parallel. So close, and so different. 

“We don’t have to,” Dani says. “If you’re busy.” If you can’t. I understand can’t. I understand not being able to let something like this in. “I probably should have called--”

“Don’t,” Judy says thickly. Stops. Swallows hard. “Don’t be silly. I’m--I’m just about to start dinner, if you’d like to stay?”

Stay, she doesn’t add, and tell me your stories.

Stay, she doesn’t add, and let me in to this room you always kept so carefully locked.

Stay, she doesn’t add, because we need each other, just a little bit. Maybe just this one last time. 

“Both of you,” Judy adds, when Dani hesitates. There is an understanding in her eyes--and a bewilderment, too--the two warring as she gazes at their profiles standing side by side on this too-small porch. “Jamie. It’s...it’s wonderful to...”

She can’t quite finish. Dani suspects she can’t quite lie. Because maybe it is wonderful to meet Jamie--or maybe it will be--but there is something cruel about asking a mother to gaze into the eyes of a woman who might never have crossed their paths if not for a horrible accident. A sudden tragedy. A grief Judy simply cannot release. 

There is something cruel about asking Judy to look upon Jamie now, but there’s something cruel about asking Dani to carry him forever, too. About asking Dani to shelve her heart in favor of her pain. She won’t do that, not anymore, not for Judy or anyone. There’s no telling how much time she has left, and she will not sacrifice a moment of it being someone she isn’t. 

“It’s okay,” Jamie says quietly. It isn’t entirely clear which of them she’s speaking to, as her fingers tighten around Dani’s, her shoulders angled back, her mouth turned up in that tiny smile that says, This isn’t about me. Jamie, who’d be anyone Dani needs right now. Jamie, who only wants to provide company. Jamie, who knows enough of the story to understand this will not be easy--and genuinely does not mind. 

Dani can see it. She thinks Judy can, too, even as her throat works around a sob. Her eyes are wet, darting from one face to the other. Something seems to solidify in her next breath, drawn deep, let out slowly. 

“Please,” she says, gesturing again for them to follow her in. “Stay.”

“We would love to,” Dani says, and Jamie’s hand does not slide, does not twitch, does not abandon her for even a moment as, together, they step into the house.

[mirclealignr]

Rusted Bikes | b.b

bucky x gn!reader

requested by @jackys-stuff-blog for my blurb celebration (which is still open btw). I hope you don’t mind that i did 1940s Bucky :)

warnings; none?

word count: 750+

- - -

Bucky wasn’t often at leisure to spend weekends away wherever he chose, but he’d assured you that this weekend would be different. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but rather the unpredictability of war. But, to your pleasant surprise, he’d kept his word and whisked you away somewhere in the country for two quiet days alone.

It was an inviting little country house encircled by a well kept garden. You arrived there early in the afternoon on Friday and spent much of the day exploring the nearby town. Bucky had bought you a French record for your small collection at your apartment in the city. In return, you bought him a book that he’d be eyeing up in a local shop.

The weekend was mostly spent eating in local cafés, reading together in the garden, dancing in the evening and laughing through every second of it. On your last day, you couldn’t bear the thought that the only thing you’d remember was leaving. There had to be something you could do, without causing you to be late back to the city, that would give a more pleasant memory of your last day there. While Bucky packed your suitcases inside, you wandered around the gardens in the morning sun. The smell of the country was much different to the city; it was fresh and healthy, whereas the city smelled of industry. Relentless industry.

Lost in thought, you’d made your way to the side of the house where there was pretty shrubbery and towering trees. And up against the side of the house, were two old bicycles complete with woven baskets attached to the front. Smiling brightly, you called Bucky from the house while wheeling them to the path before the door.

“Will you go on a bike ride with me?” You laughed, gesturing to your happy find.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed as his eyebrows tilted upwards. Glancing at the two bikes, he shook his head with a breathy laugh. “It’s been a long time since I rode a bike,” he mused, grasping the handle bars.

He swung his leg over the bike, situating himself on the seat before smiling at you as he pushed off. You laughed, shouting at him to slow down and wait for you, but he showed no signs of cooperating. It was childish and stupid, but you knew it was going to be the most fun you’d had in months - following Bucky down country roads on a rusted bike, laughing like there was no one in the world who could hear you aside from Bucky.

“You’re awfully slow,” Bucky shouted from down the lane.

“You’re awfully poor at playing by the rules,” you hollered back.

“I live by no rules.”

A quick scoff before mounting your bike was the only thing you had time for if you were to catch up with him. Pedalling as fast as you could, it wasn’t too long before you were on Bucky’s tail, cycling in zigzags as you tried to overtake him. Of course, Bucky would never allow it, but looking behind him and swerving from left to right in unison with you, took away his concentration of what was ahead.

In the blink of an eye, Bucky lost his balance and crashed into a small hill on the side of the lane, kicking his legs out to the side and letting out a small yelp. You cycled after him, laughing almost enough to have you follow in the same direction. Swiftly hopping off your bike, you ran towards Bucky who was face down in a little ditch, groaning from the impact.

“Do give the worms my regards!” You laughed, running over to him.

“You’re a little minx, you know that?” He said, straining to get up.

His clothes had caught an exceptional amount of dirt and mud, giving him a rather mischievous idea. Looking down at his clothes, and then up to you with a cunning smile, he raced towards you. And catching on quickly to his thoughts, you began running back towards your bike.

“Oh no, that won’t save you now. You’re mine,” he threatened, nearing closer and closer until he finally enveloped you in a hug, transferring much of the mud from him to you. You struggled in his embrace, trying to fight your way to freedom, but Bucky was too strong.

“Well, this was nice,” he smirked, “Much obliged to you for thinking up this wonderful idea,” he laughed, kissing the top of your head before turning you in his arms and catching your lips.

[raviliuz]

"Here comes the sun" Blaise Zabini x Theodore Nott

Muggle, retro au

@lifesucksandiwanttobeamarauder I finally translate that fanfiction, I hope you like it 🥺

The dark-skinned boy has tried to sit still from three hours already. It is incredibly hard for him, because of his amazing hyperactivity. In all honesty, sitting here as a model doesn't count to his dreams or favourites activities but he couldn't deny to Theodore's asks.

Just because of that — his bloody weakness for the older boy — he must stick up there and pose to Theodore's new painting. Blaise perfectly knows that person on that work of art won't be even similar to him. But it will be beautiful, perfect as everything that has been made by gifted hands of Theodore Nott.

There's music, playing quietly at the background, played on a gramophone, restored by Blaise himself. He gifted it to his friend as a birthday present two years ago on an incredibly warm and short night, 22th of June.

He has so many memories with that slight, passionate boy.

"Theo," he says suddenly, breaking the silence. He sounds like a dissatisfied kitten and when he doesn't notice any reaction, he repeats meowing "Theo, I'm bored."

The other boy finally pays his attention to Blaise, not his reflection on painting, which is created on a canvas (too small in Theo's opinion).

"Blaise, you really can't stand it for a while more?" Theodore asks and there is a nuance of desperation and melancholy in his voice, "I want to end it."

And Blaise has already known, he loses again. He won't be able to deny his friend the pleasure that results from looking at the painting — finished, after hours of working.

"I'll stand it, Theo" he sighs and in his mind adds 'always for you'. At this moment all he can do is begging and praying that Theodore is not able to read minds, just like some characters in their favourites comics.

"Nah, Blaise" slight boy says suddenly and leaves his paint palette and set of brushes on the cupboard, promising himself that he will wash it carefully within a few minutes when paints won't be already dry "I know you don't want to."

"It's not like that" Zabini starts to explaining himself chaotically because he doesn't want hurt Theodore's feelings, "I love watching your painting and you while you're painting. And I love that you have a passion and you're so talented. I just... It's May Day and we are sitting in your room..."

"It's alright, Blaise" Theodore interrupts his with the most beautiful, in Zabini's opinion, smile — that carefree, happy and only a little faraway one.

"We should do something and bring Hope with us to take many photos and place them in our albums with dumb yet cute captions" Theo proposes with a light laugh.

The younger, but taller, better built and more mature, of boys, stands up and brushes off invisible pollen from clothes. He reaches his hand to Theodore to help him stand up.

"Wanna go?" he proposes and even if Theo doesn't know where he agrees without a single question.

It doesn't matter where they go, it will be awesome as always if Blaise is with him.

He catches Hope and puts it on his neck. Theo loves his polaroid camera with whole his heart, even if it isn't the newest and all the better photos were made by Blaise.

Blaise is still holding Theodore's hand in his (definitely larger and rougher), like he doesn't care about rubs of paints in many different colours on Theo's hand and now, also on Blaise's one.

He pulls his friends outside and enters the garage like he is in his own house. Theodore knows what he means without words and grabs his bicycle with a big smile on his slim face.

Meanwhile, Blaise grabs his skateboard, which, only in the form of rebellion against sentiment, he did not give a name. But he perfectly knows that by his skateboard, people could see a different side of his personality, which he doesn't show often — bloody sentimentalist who loves very clichéd books or movies and constantly remembering beautiful moments, and it doesn't matter if that happens a year ago or two hours ago.

The skateboard has its best years far behind its. The picture which was printed on the underside of 'his love' (although, of course, incomparable to that of the boy just standing next to him) has almost completely faded and crumbled, peeling paint seems not so good, to put it mildly, but in Blaise's opinion, it adds the special character and charm to his skateboard. Every scratch and every cooked screw tell a story and Blaise thinks it definitely better than new skateboard — probably glamorous but without its own character.

Blaise isn't similar to Theo, not it that topic. He has never had boxes filled with various craps, which refer to many different events and happenings. He doesn't have special notebooks with tickets, a diary or millions of notes with quick sketches, created under the influence of a sudden flow of wen. He doesn't keep every notes and message on scraps of papers, which have been hand down on lessons, in hope that the teacher wouldn't see that. In first, even having a photo album was strange for Blaise. It shows, that he likes looking back at past and that feeling, which sometimes accompanies you right before falling asleep, when you remind yourself one of those pleasant situations from childhood, isn't foreign for him. It was all he was trying to defend himself against, but only for a time.

For a time when on his way stood that quite frail and nerdy boy. Theodore showed him being sentiment isn't something bad just as singing songs out loud in public places. As compensation, Blaise showed him the magic of comics and all these beautiful, charming in their area, which he discovered while taking a walk daily. Blaise pulled Theodore out of his room and dragged him away from the easel to lead him everywhere he can.

"To our place?" Theodore asks and gets on his a little too small, colourful bike. The seat creaks quietly under his mass but none of the boys pays any attention to this.

"Exactly, now ride, my carriage" Blaise screams and catches up on Theo's seat so the movement of the bicycle can drag him.

"Pff, flax" Nott giggles and Blaise find it as the most sonorous, melodic sound in the whole world.

They ride slowly through all that musty hole, also known as Torquay, or — their home. The road even if it's really old and it remembers when they as children drew chalk on a street, is not in a bad condition. A worse fate befell the road signs — some of them are smeared with sprays, and some are knocked off the ground, due to a car accident or a group of probably drunk but still strong young people.

There are many houses near the road. They are quite poor and definitely not as modern as houses in the capital. At some time, before he started taking daily walks, Blaise dreamed about living in London. Or rather, to be able to tell others that he lives in London. It's another thing which distinguishes him from Theodore — the older boy sees beauty everywhere, in everything and in everybody. Blaise envied him with this skill, for him the world has been boring or just ugly and people have been cruel sometimes.

The sun is warming their backs when they slowly ride on a well-known path. They pass Mrs Shermik, so out of courtesy from four meters away from her, they shout to the old woman joyful 'Good morning'. As they turn into a lane, which is fortunately dry as it hasn't rained much lately, Theo starts humming under his breath.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad" he looks at his friend (nearly losing control of his bike) and Blaise quickly understands what he means.

Blaise joins to his singing and adds next line:

"Take a sad song and make it better".

Someday Blaise would have worried. He was worried about what people would think, he was afraid someone would hear them. But not now. Now he doesn't care when the words flowing from the depths of memory, and when the song ends, he starts another, definitely his favourite — "Blackbird". Neither of the boys has a perfect voice, singing is definitely not their hidden talent, but that doesn't matter. And that is wonderful, isn't it?

Here Blaise can no longer skate further — the ground is too uneven, even ploughed by the tires of wheelbarrows and carts of people from the neighbouring village. The dark-skinned man rejects Theo's offer to simply get his bike's rack and chooses to run next to the boy. The basketball team and two trainings a week are finally coming in handy — thanks to this, his condition is really good and he doesn't gasp like an old man with asthma after twenty meters run. Theodore, noticing how well his best friend is doing, accelerates, forcing Zabini to run, which he accepts with a groan. Nevertheless, he catches up with the older boy and promises himself that as soon as they get there, he will get his revenge.

After five more minutes, they are a destination of their travel. The place they describe as "their", although they are well aware that they are not the only people who come here, is exactly as they remember it — beautiful.

It was Blaise who discovered them during one of his walks over three years ago. He perfectly remembered how it happened.

That day he was trying to find a rather fast but shallow brook, which he remembered from his childhood. Before Draco's move to London, they told Draco's parents that they were going to the field, but in fact, they went to the brook and walked back and forth on a tree that had fallen over the river. He remembered just as well how Draco's mother, on her way to the store, noticed they were not on the field, prompting a search. When their parents found them by the brook — wet but in unusually good moods, they were already too worried to be upset with them.

After searching for more than an hour (during which he definitely fulfilled the daily, maybe even a week, step norm, but he didn't care) he found a place from his memories, although it was difficult to recognize its. The brook had dried up completely, leaving only a faint riverbed and tree roots washed out of the ground, but the place has definitely retained its charm.

Theo drops the bicycle, leaning it hurriedly against one of the roots, and lays down on the grass, staring at the almost cloudless sky, hidden only by tree branches. Blaise, slightly out of breath, rests his hands on his knees and stays like this for a moment. When his breath normalized he comes closer to Theodore. There is a snap and a Polaroid camera gracefully named Hope spits out a photo in which the image hasn't shown up yet. Theo enthusiastically grabs a small piece of paper and starts waving it so fast that it is about to reach orbital velocity. After a while, the picture clears up the silhouette of a younger boy, who was about to lie down next to his friend. Blaise looks at the photo and asks smiling, even though he already knows the answer:

"For your or my album?"

"Of course mine," Theodore replies quickly, grinning happily, "Why do you need your own photos? They will be much more useful to me."

The dark-skinned boy can't help but messes Theodore's hair in one move of his hand. However, Theo is not annoyed by that, he reacts to it like a cat, moving closer and silently demanding further caresses, which the younger one does willingly.

They are sitting like that (or rather, Blaise is sitting and Theo's half lying on him) till the sunset. There is a flower crown on Blaise's head, made by Theo with field flowers collected by him. And of course, Theodore took a photo of Blaise in his work of art.

It's getting dark. Butterflies, which were flying around them flew away and gave way for beautiful moths and fireflies. Theodore stands up energetically and starts jumping on protruding trees' roots, chasing insects to take a photo of them.

"Theo, please be careful," Blaise says attentively but the only response is 'don't worry' screamed by Nott.

Blaise unwillingly starts remembering his childhood. Times, when he wasn't Theodore's friend and all that connected them, was the same neighbourhood, chalk and short-term relationship of their parents. Then they found that as a stupid and loathsome. Nowadays, at their seventeen's, just as weird. But they weren't friends. After all, Blaise was friends with Draco and the teacher in primary had repeated that it's better to have fewer friends but true friends. So Blaise fraternizes with Malfoy till he moved to London.

It's not that now Blaise finds it as a mistake or holds any grudge with Draco. But nowadays he thinks that it is not good to withdraw from others.

When Draco had left and moved to London, Blaise had thought they now he stayed alone but on that moment, Theodore slowly crept into his life. Nott sat next to Blaise on school basketball pitch and started reminding happy moments from times when Draco lived in Torquey.

And later he showed his painting to Blaise and dark-skinned boy couldn't believe someone his age could do something that beautiful. A week later Blaise sat down with him in the canteen and sometime later also on most of the lessons so he could distract him from learning to read their favourites comics.

Now, Blaise would imagine his life without his always laughing and only sometimes a little faraway friend.

His thoughts are interrupted by a quiet scream.

"Ouch!"

Blaise, worried, stands up imminently and run through Theo. He is curled up in a fetal position between roods of the biggest tree. Zabini hugs him tightly and Theodore accepts that willing, cuddling to his chest while holds back tears.

"Ah, Theo" Blaise whispers, still cuddling the boy in his arms, "I asked you to be careful."

"I'm sorry, Blaise" he answers, sniffing.

"Don't apologize to me, silly" Blaise couldn't stop himself from nuzzling his friend's cheek.

"But you are worrying now and you warned me that I might get hurt..."

"Shhhh" Zabini interrupts him and places his fingers on Theo's mouth to shushes him "I always worrying about you, no matter if you get hurt or not" he admits truthfully and after a few seconds of silence adds "Please, stop crying.

He stops hugging Theodore, although he wants to do it forever. Blaise squats in from of him and gently grabs his friend's head. He wipes away tears, flowing slowly on fairy (although all that time, spends under the sunlight) skin.

He wants to not cry because of sadness or pain, wants him not to have reasons for a cry.

He wants him to be always happy, even if that meant that Blaise wouldn't be on his side.

Wants, wants, wants.

But the world isn't always beautiful, even if Theodore thinks so. Sometimes the world is cruel, ugly or just totally boring. The same about people who live in it.

Do it's really important to find your refuge. A place, a person or a hobby, which will be like an escape from all evils in that world.

Blaise thought that his escape is comics. Reading them has dragged him into the world of superheroes where he could use his imagination and think about meaningless things for hours such as what superpower would he choose (flying, of course). Besides that, the world in comics is just easier. It isn't hard to differentiate who is good and who's bad. Good people fight with bad people, that's all. The Justice League cares about Gotham and saves innocent people from Joker, Deadshot or Darkseid. In the real world, it would be an unsolvable matter with billions different threads and complications so even the best detectives wouldn't be able to decide who is guilty.

Comics world is just easier.

Lately, Blaise has got to understand that the whole beauty in that world is locked in its confusions, problems and ambiguities. Because the world is beautiful, even if sometimes it's cruel or ugly.

And the one who made him understand that is his only real refuge — Theodore Nott.

He is the one who makes reading comics even better.

He is the one with who Blaise could do anything and it would be incredibly good.

He is the one with who Blaise wants to talk about 'good old times' and makes new memories to remember.

He is the one with who Blaise wants to stay forever.

Theodore Nott is the one who Blaise bestow that hot and unique feeling which, no matter what since says, comes from the heart.

And that feeling, now makes him do something, he has been dreaming about for that long. Blaise gently and unsurely grabs the head of the person, who since a year isn't only a friend for him. He delicately raises Theo's head a bit upper to look him straight into his eyes. Their lips touch slowly and gently. Both of them don't feel so confident with what's going on but they will worry about that later. Now, Blaise doesn't have the time and desire to thinks about the consequences. Not now, when he feels the structure of soft lips of his love.

When the dark-skinned boy doesn't notice any objections from the older boy, he let himself do a light, carefully move with his lips. He doesn't want to scared Theodore, knowing how delicate and artsy person he is. He would ever forgive himself hurting Theo.

If he only knew how long Theodore was waiting for it and how much he enjoys that kiss, even if Blaise's lips are rough and chapped.

Blaise gently moves away and hangs his head down, looking at too long grass. He's afraid of seeing Theodore's reaction for what he has done because he's afraid of rejection and ending that important relationship.

However, Theo, likes he doesn't see his friend insecure, giggles lightly and grabs the younger boy cheeks, turning his face to him.

"Oh, finally. How long might I wait?" Theo says with a delightful smile.

"Really. You... Me..." Blaise mutters like he doesn't know what he wants to say.

"Yeah, silly" Theo chucked and hits an end of Blaise's nose with his "You're definitely my favourite person in that universe. And every other, alternative universe too."

Blaise, still can't believe what's happening, hugs his boy and kisses him quickly. The kiss is one hundred per cent cute and totally not sultry. Because feelings as sultry and desire don't fit Theodore, even in an alternative universe where Bruce Wayne become the Devastator instead of Batman. It just does not fit.

"Yeah, and you're my fav person."

They sit in silence for a while, but it's nothing wrong. The silent can be calming and comfortable, it can say more than every word in the world.

The air is getting cooler and owls' chirps become more ominous, so finally, Blaise breaks the silence and says:

"Theo" mentioned boy turns to him and glance at Zabini, "Is your knee still hurting?"

"It's not that bad" Theo shrugs but Blaise quickly understands that it's not good either, "But can you ride the bicycle? I'll drive on its carrier."

"But what with my skateboard?" Blaise asks inconvenience.

"I'll carry it, please" Zabini's only answer is a sigh but not the irritated one. He doesn't know what would Theo had to do to irritate him.

"Alright, but please, be careful."

Blaise raises Theo's bicycle from the ground and helps the boy to climb up to the luggage carrier and then he carefully sits on its seat. Theodore holds Blaise's skateboard (which he has named against his will — Faith) with one hand and the other one is embraced around Blaise's stomach so Theo can stably stay on the carrier. Well, maybe not only because of that.

"To me?" Blaise proposes and slowly leaves their place.

Theodore automatically nods but then he understands that Blaise can't see him so he quickly says 'yes' some times.

Boys are leaving, slowly and without unnecessary haste, but that moment is different than every previous one, they have spent here. Now, they're leaving their place not as just friends.

From Theodore Nott's album:

"4th of May, 1984 —

My favourite day to remember"

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

They kept our country pristine, because we were a museum exhibit. Every aspect of the country, from its government to its judiciary, from its military to its trade guilds, all of them are a part of The Royal Museum. The only way in or out of the country is through the Museum's gates.

The visitor's fee is 150 marks.

If you have time to spend, you can ride a museum-sponsored jeep down the exhibit. Streets, shops, costumes, and props are all placed with meticulous care. In the words of a former curator, "It's all just as we originally found it."

Found it they did. When we started inviting their people to our shops and homes, when we broke bread with them and gifted them apricots and figs, we were already on the path towards change. Institutions were changing the way they worked. People were learning new languages. Machines appeared in homes and businesses that could not have been imagined a decade ago.

But it wasn't they wanted. With their heads buried in books of exotic valour and grand old illustrations, they took away the machines, made us forget the languages, and hammered back the institutions.

It was now all just as they originally found it.

When the Museum closes, the staff can be seen amongst us. Their uniforms stand out wherever they go, and they carry a large stick and a firearm for safety.

The other day, they found someone who owned a bicycle. No one knows how he got one into the exhibit—well, no one who wants to speak up. They had him taken away, because his presence would disturb the tranquillity of the exhibit. What happened to the bicycle is anyone's guess.

The next day, I watched from the windows, like I had been instructed to. My veil covered my hair, just as they'd told me to do. The visitors and museum officials strolled through the streets, with a guide translating words for the patrons.

I could shout from the window, right there, in the language those visitors would understand. I would tell them it's all a sham.

But that's the funny bit, isn't it? It isn't a sham.

They know it's a museum, they come to visit it because it's a museum, and they expect a museum experience. They've read the briefs in their pamphlets and books, they've discussed the museum in their newspapers and television recordings, and they all know that the exhibit is a fake. A moving diorama of real people with real dreams and real thoughts and real...

"You understand me, don't you?"

It was one of them, down on the street, wearing short pants and dangling a camera around his neck. His face was desperate, earnest. He stared right at me.

The museum guides tapped his shoulder and tried to get his attention. Another glanced up at me.

"I know you understand me! I know this is all fake! You don't have to live like this!"

The officials grabbed him by the shoulders now and marched him towards the jeep. All the way, he struggled to turn around and shout at me. "We're working on the outside. You'll be free one day!"

I watched him get carried off in the jeep. The other official glared at me from below and then made for the building entrance.

That was the end of my time as part of an exhibit.

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep ~ Part 2

Author’s Note:  Hi everyone!  Since it’s a long weekend here in the states, I was able to get Part 2 of my series up and out to you early!  If you haven’t read Skin Deep ~ Part 1, you should, as this picks up exactly where we left off! Here’s the link: Skin Deep ~ Part 1 Thank you to everyone who’s embraced this new story!  And, a special thanks to @sammy-jo1977​ for being a partner in crime!

I’d also like to give a shout out to @vodka-and-some-sass​, love ya lady!

Pairing:  Steve x Female Reader, Loki X Female Reader, Natasha and Nick Fury make appearances Summary:  Loki left Earth over two years ago, promising to come back.  Your best friend Natasha encourages you to look for a new love in the arms of Steve Rogers.  But is everything as it seems? Warnings:  This chapter has SMUT, fingering, oral sex, angst

“I thought we could go for a ride?  Are you up for that doll?”  

Stepping up to his motorcycle parked casually on the curb, “Um… I have never ridden one of these before.”    Steve clasped your hand in his, brushing his lips across your knuckles, “I promise to keep you safe.” Be bold, you thought.  Take a new step.  This was the start of something, you could feel it, and this moment seemed like a test you wanted to pass.

“Oh, hell.  Ok.”  Smiling at your bravery, Steve adjusted the second helmet he carried, making sure you and your brain were securely fastened.

Snuggled behind him, Steve’s deep voice rumbled through his chest, “Here.”  Taking your arms around his waist, pressing into him tighter than was probably needed, but your spike of fear made it feel necessary.  His laugh spread over you but Steve offered no objections to your concerned clinging.  Truthfully, he loved the feeling. “Ready?”  Nodding, mouth dry, you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting to feel the rough take off of his bike.  “Hey… use your words, Ok?  Are you ready?” Something about his commanding tone made you release a ragged breath, “Yes… yes.  I’m ready.” Below you, the motor roared to life, vibrations rattling your teeth.  Steve put one hand on the throttle as the other reached around to pat your leg, “Hold onto me, doll.  I’ll go easy, ok?” “Yes!”  Almost shouting over the engine, and your helmet, you wanted to make sure he heard you. And then you were moving.  As you leaned into the leather covered back before you, a relaxing energy overtook you.  What was so scary about this?  Steve had you, steady and secure, and as you left the start and stop lights of the city behind, he felt you melt into the bike more and more. Along a winding strip of back road, silent and scenic, you unlocked your grip to point out a pair of grazing horses.  Bobbing his head, Steve was relieved that you were enjoying the ride, comfortable enough to let go just a little.  It gave rise to a budding bubble of hope from the bottom of his heart. Mesmerizing was the best way to describe this journey, you decided somewhere between the front door of the compound and the highway’s on-ramp.  Watching the landscape slide by as you felt the wind on your legs, Steve’s radiant warmth enveloping you, and the soothing hum of the motorbike at your feet took your breath away.  Registering Steve shifting gears, slowing down just a touch, a small field came into view. Setting into a spectacular array of oranges and pinks, the sun was sinking slowly, casting the meadow in shifting shafts of light.  Pulling onto the soft shoulder of the road, Steve rolled the bike to a stop at a white fence, kickstand down and engine off before dismounting.  “Come on, let's stretch our legs a bit… whatta ya say?” “Sure!”  You started shifting forward, ready to swing a leg over the seat, when Steve settled his firm hands on your hips.  Then you were in his arms, casually lifted off your swinging feet, spinning like a princess in some animated fairy tale. “Steve!  Put me down!”  There’s no real heat in your words.  It’s just important that he knows you’re not some simpering, simple minded maiden in need of rescue.  However, it does fill you with delight, the way you’re weightless in Steve’s grip.  “Of course, doll.”  But he takes a beat to squeeze you to him, just a second to feel your soft body cradled to his, before letting your legs drop.  What you didn’t count on was being goofy footed after the long ride.  Almost the second Steve let you go, your toe caught on a stone, and with your muscles turned to jelly, you couldn’t stop the downward tug of gravity.  “Whoa!  Easy!”, one of those sinewy forearms caught you, spinning you into Steve’s embrace with all the grace of a newborn fawn.  You’re aware of how your breasts are pushing against his brawny chest, elbows bent so that your hands are digging into his strapping shoulders, a shocked gasp fanning into Captain America’s ruggedly handsome face.  His hand is exactly where it should be, curled chastly around your middle but the scorching heat of him makes it feel sensual.  Snugged into his hips, the pose was romantic, and you lifted your chin, ready to accept another soul stealing kiss from Steve. If only you weren’t still wearing your helmet. Fogging the face plate, you saw Steve smile widely, unhooking the strap and gently removing your plastic and foam head piece.  You’d let him, not moving an inch, still stuck on Steve’s sturdy figure.  Never one to cling, you found that you didn’t want to let go of the mighty man in front of you. Keeping one arm around you, Steve steered you away from the street, stopping to open up the saddlebag on his bike.  Swinging a bundle from his free hand, Steve led you further into the field before you, “Come on, kiddo.” Hidden in the almost unending sea of knee high grass is a footpath and Steve holds your hand loosely as you follow behind.  Before long, trees line the path, fanning out in both directions.  “An apple orchard!  How did you know about this place, Steve?” Bowing his head, a touch shy, “Oh… Um… it’s mine.” “Shut up!” “Seriously.”  Releasing your fingers, Steve walks to the nearest tree and plucks off a firm, round, red apple.  You watch him wipe it along his shirt before the satisfying crunch of his hearty bite meets your ears.  Holding it out to you, a modern day Adam, tempting Eve, “Wanna try, doll?” Smirking, you lower your head, not your eyes to the fruit in Steve’s palm.  Eating out of his hand, you take a small nibble of the delicious globe, tasting sunshine and sweetness in the hay scented dusk.  Groaning lowly, Steve resists the urge to take you right there, in the dust and dirt of his north field. “Doll…”  There’s a warning edge there, but you happily ignore it, instead taking another small bite and moaning a little yourself. It’s fun pushing Steve’s buttons.  Flirting had always been easy for you but the last time you’d used that particular muscle was almost twenty four months ago.  You were pleased, realizing that it was like riding a bicycle. Licking his palm now, the juice from his apple pooling, you heard Steve’s breath catch.  He didn’t want you to stop and he certainly didn’t want to spook you.  So the super soldier stood stock still, waiting to see what you’d do next, hopeful and hungry. His wrists were so strong.  Kissing over the braided tendons there you felt his serum enhanced pulse rush as your mouth moved over his arm.  “You have very strong hands.” “Uh huh.”  Having lost the ability to think straight the second your tongue traced over his open hand, Steve can only grunt out sounds, careful not to push you too hard. “And you grow beautiful apples.  Is this your retirement plan, then?  Farm life?”   You’re teasing him.  He knows it, but the sound of your voice is sultry and stirring, it takes him a minute to answer.  Swallowing hard, “Pies.  I want to sell pies.” With a flirty smirk you bite into your bottom lip, “So, Captain America’s All American Apple Pie Emporium, is that it?  If you figure how to stick a flag into the crust it’ll be the most patriotic thing since… well, since you came along.” “I know you’re laughing at me… but-” pushing you against the trunk of an obliging tree, “-you won’t be laughing for long.” Steves says it, smiling, but something inside of you sizzles at his words.  Breathless, you taunt, “Why, Captain America?  A bit… aggressive, wouldn’t you say?” Towering over you, Steve pressed his forehead to yours, “No doll, I’m just finally going after what I want.” Without waiting for your reply his pink pout parts your lips, tongue licking into the sugar coated cavern of your mouth, taking his fill of your tart tongue.  Shutting your eyes, you let your body rule your actions, relishing Steve’s hungry touch.  Eager to return the favor. There’s just so much of him that needs attention.  A wide thigh, parting your own, lifts you onto your toes.  One of your arms sneaks around his narrow waist, toying with his wide leather belt, earning a purr of pleasure from the super soldier. Sliding to your throat, Steve’s kisses turn needy, rushed.  Greedy, gasping, grabbing, he was everywhere.  Singing sighs escaped you as Steve squeezed the swell of your hip, his mighty paw sliding under the hem of your skirt, roughly gripping your thigh. “God, I missed kissing.”  Panting against the curve of his ear, you pulled Steve closer, his nose nuzzled into your neck. “Doll, I want to do more than kiss you.” flexing his pelvis into your own, the heavy heat of his yearning obvious through all the layers between you.  Trailing his fingers under your denim jacket, over your cotton tee, Steve stroked across your breast as his lips crashed into yours once more. Rolling his hips, Steve showed you exactly what was on his mind.  Pinned by his well muscled body, all you could do was act naturally, whimpering with want at the friction Steve’s smouldering form gave off.  Wrapping your leg high on his was your idea and boy, did it feel incredible. Humping into his thrusts, mind reeling, you rode out the reignited flames of forgotten passion.  Steve’s mouth was more insistent, more ferocious, as it claimed yours over and over.  Sliding from your thigh to the firm roundness of your bottom, shifting his grip, Steve’s hand lifted you higher. “Can I touch you, doll?  Will you let me?  I want to feel you so bad, baby.”  Broken, Steve’s voice was raw and rugged, ravenous for you. Flushing at his flagrant, frenzied urging, you threw your head back giving Steve a wild nod.  Latching onto your exposed collar bone, feeling the sharp sting of his straight teeth followed by the slick soothing of his tongue, Steve tagged you as his.  Mewling out his name, the feeling of his fingers against your damp panties made you shiver. Circling his neck, holding on tight, you preened at the press of Steve’s hand cupping your core so completely.  “Steve… please…” coming out of you in panted puffs, begging for something, anything, to crest the rising tide inside of you.  “That’s it doll.”  Slipping one finger into your clenching channel, “Beg me.  Ask me to touch you.  I need to hear you.  Hear that you want me, baby.” “Oh, yes… Steve… Don’t… don’t stop.  I want it.  I want it so bad!”  Slicking your slit, Steve added a second finger, his hips matching the rhythm of his probing digits.  “You are so sexy, doll.  Do you know that?” His fingers spread, working to widen your velvet walls, stretching you.  The heel of his hand ground against your swollen nub, ratcheting up your racing heartbeat, rolling you closer to release.  Curling his fingers, scraping against the spongy, sensitive spot of your satin tunnel, Steve felt you shake around him.  You were so close now, the pulsing power of your climax closing in on you, “Hmmm... Steve… Steve…” Pouring out of you in a never ending stream of sighs, Steve smirked against your skin, “Are you going to cum for me, doll?  I want you to.  I want you to show me how beautiful you look when you let go.” And you did.  Instead of a tidal wave, your orgasm was peaceful, a rippling pool.  A pouring pitcher.  A cool stream on a hot day. Your first time since Loki took you by surprise. Hearing the singing crickets in the meadow, the distant roar of a car on the road, your own release added to the music of the night.  Like summer rain, you melted into the sensation of satisfaction, even if it didn't come from hours of teasing or endless tasting.  

No, tonight's pleasure was pillow soft, downy and dewy. Complete and honest.  No frills, third base in the backseat sexual fulfillment.  And you liked it!  How could you not love the primal relief of release from so gifted a guy?  Steve was classic, vanilla, consistent and constant.  He got the job done. The only problem?  He wasn’t Loki.  Head back, breathing deeply after your indulgence, you shut your eyes.  Vanilla was a great flavor.  Perfect for apple pie.  But when you've had Dark Chocolate Cookie Dough Swirl, how could basic vanilla compete?

Pushing those thoughts out of your mind, slowly taking in the orchard as night's shadows lengthened, you felt Steve setting you to rights.  He looked impossibly proud, as if your orgasm proved something beyond biology, but you didn't mind it.  At least now you knew enjoying someone other than Loki was possible.

Realizing that this moment would be the beginning of your new relationship with Steve made your head spin.  It was startling but you had promised Natasha you would try.  Try to get out of your head, try to put the past where it belonged, try not to think about the torn way your heart pulled.

Live in this moment.  Breath in this moment.  Enjoy this moment. Kissing you kindly, adoringly, Steve slowly lowered you to standing.  Scarlet cheeked with hair in your face, he hadn’t thought you could look more perfect, yet here you were staring up at him with your huge shining eyes.  Brushing a stray lock away, grinning, “Hey doll…” “Hey yourself, Cap.” “I hope…”  What did he hope?  That you were happy?  Satisfied?  As madly in love with him and he was with you? Stopping him, pressing yourself into his chest, you kissed him lightly.  “I know.”  Cupping his smooth cheeks, rubbing your nose to his, “Why don’t you show me around?” “Yea?” Slipping your hand into his, comfortable and cozy with him for the first time, “Yes.” ---- Natasha didn't see you again until Monday morning and even that was a drive by visit.  Steve scooped you up for lunch, texted you all day and offered to take you to dinner.  She should have been upset about being ditched, but honestly, this was exactly what Nat wanted for you both. Over time dance class was forgotten as donuts were no longer on your radar.  Instead you started baking pies, fresh apple pies, bringing them into the office for everyone to share.  It seemed like your new found happiness was manifesting itself in flour and sugar.  

Weekends at the orchard, playing house with Steve, then staying in the compound during the week.  When the group got together, it was a blast, because you seemed at ease again.  More like your old self.  

Natasha was especially pleased to see the color creep back into your life, slowly and surely.Granted, your hair wasn't pink yet, but your cheeks were.  Between that and the dopey smile Steve sported all day, she felt vindicated.  Yet, in the back of her mind was the threat of Loki's imminent return.

“Cat got your tongue, agent?”  Nick Fury wasn’t great at being ignored for a daydream. “No, sir.” “Am I boring you?” Answering him with a curt nod, “No.” “Then what do you suggest?”  Throwing the file labeled Loki onto the table, the trickster God's profile on the transparent screen at his back, Fury glowered at the agents in front of him. “I suggest that we monitor the situation.  Engage Thor, if needed, and finish the holding cell, just in case Loki doesn't return to Earth as friendly as when he left.” Stiffly, Steve swiveled in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest.  "I agree with Agent Romanoff.  Plan for the problem we want to avoid."

"And how is our backup plan, Captain?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Steve met Fury's eye with his even stare.  "Fine."

"Any word from Loki?"

"Not that I've heard."  Looking at the illuminated image of your previous partner made Steve anxious but his voice betrayed nothing.

"And you would hear, correct?", Nick's hands found his hips, mild irritation radiating off of him.

Glaring openly at the director now, Steve questioned, "What are you implying?"

"I just want to make sure we cover our bases.  She's one of those bases."

Smoothing over the tension, Natasha interceded quietly,  "Steve has been… on top of the situation for three months now.  And I would've been told if Loki made contact.  It's just how she is.  This wouldn't be a kept secret."

"Fine.  For now.  Natasha, you know what to do.  Play this one close, people.  We might be over preparing, but I won't have another 2012 on my hands."

"Yes sir."  

Steve rose quickly, turning to Nick Fury, "Sir."

Leaving the conference room that served as Nick's office, Natasha released a held breath, "How is it going, really?"

"Which part?  The part where I'm lying to the woman I love, or the part where I'm using her?"

"Steve."

"Natasha?"

"You heard Fury… it's probably overkill."

"That won't matter if she finds out."  

He wasn't wrong, Nat had to give Steve that,"Are you still planning on asking her?  This weekend?"

"I don't know anymore.  She-" Jamming his finger into the elevator call button, taking his frustration out on the plastic circle, "-she deserves better."

"This will all be over soon, Steve.  When Loki finds out she's yours, that he has no chance, he'll walk away."

"I wish I had your confidence."

Stopping short, furrowing her brow, "What makes you say that?"

Stepping into the lift, Steve faced Natasha full on, "Loki... he is no quitter.  I know I wouldn't leave her, not without a fight, not if I didn't have to."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Yea.  See you tomorrow night?"

Natasha patted Steve's shoulder as the car stopped on her floor, "Assuming this goes to plan… Of course, you will!  I can't miss my best friend's engagement, can I?"

---

When Loki had said goodbye to you, it was with the expectation of a speedy return, victorious negotiations and no bloodshed.  He was coming back to you, years later, battle tested, talked out, but triumphant.  Oh, how he had missed you.

Thoughts of you raced through his mind.  His base need to bury himself in your sunshine, your warmth, was Loki's sole focus now.  Too long he had denied the ache in his heart at being away from you.  You were, at this moment, the only thing Loki wanted.  Which is why the welcome home from Agent Romanoff was a let down, a bruise to his ego, a blocking of his desire.

Surely you knew he was home.  Hadn’t Loki communicated with Fury regularly?  Reported, as asked, on all the goings on off world to ensure that danger never knocked on Earth’s door.  Returned, eager to reunite, ready to reconnect with you and you alone, Loki was confused by your absence.  You had promised to wait, after all.

“Agent Romanoff.  It is truly lovely to see you, but I can’t help noticing that my pet isn't here yet.”  

Shoving her hands into the pockets of the black leather she wore, “She won't be coming.”

That brought Loki up short.  Not coming?  That couldn’t possibly be accurate.  “Excuse me?”

“She's not coming.  She's uh… she's moved on.”  Raising her chin, defiant, Natasha locked eyes with the demi-God.

Flashing Nat that spreading smirk, “Moved on?  Impossible.”

“Oh it’s possible.  More than possible.  You’re too late, Loki.  She picked someone else.  Got engaged and everything.”  

Anger, red and raw, flashed through him at the thought. Risking a step closer to the mere mortal in front of him, Loki roared, “To who?  Who dares claim what is mine?”

Sighing at the dramatics, “Calm down, Loki.  If you don't, this could go south, real fast.”  Pulling the small, glowing device from her pocket, Natasha pressed a button.  Behind Loki, from the floor, a set of electric charged rails emerged, sending beams of light to the ceiling.  A cage made of light and energy.  

Laughing mirthlessly, “Is this the plan then?  Keep me from my pet, push my proverbial buttons, and provoke me to anger.  Then with enough justification you can lock me up?  Lovely.  And I had so hoped that we were passed all this.”

Without looking, Loki snapped his fingers, cutting the current and effectively disabling SHIELD’s light show.  Bristling now, feral and fierce, advancing towards Natasha again, “Loki…”

“Agent Romanoff, I have one question for you.  Where is she?”

Standing her ground, unwavering, Natasha started, “I'm not-” 

Bellowing out his unchecked rage, “WHERE IS SHE?!” Flinching, that was the most she would give Loki’s outburst, “I’m not at liberty to tell you, Loki.”  

Natasha had already triggered the alert system.  Nick Fury and his team would be en route, ready to mitigate Loki’s threat, Steve would be briefed.  She didn’t have anything to worry about as long as she could keep Loki and his furious figure here, away from you. Reaching for her sidearm, Natasha felt the most alarming sensation, an ice cream headache that radiated through her whole body.  “It’s an effective restraint, courtesy of the Frost Giants and, I’m a fan, to be honest.” “Loki, this won’t work.  SHIELD already knows you’re here, they’re going to catch you.” “Probably.”  Leaning close to her ear, dropping his voice, Loki changed tactics, “Just tell me where to find her.  If I have to do it myself I will.  But it will take longer and be… messier.” “Don’t threaten me, Loki.  I’ve danced with you before, or have you forgotten?” “My previous time on Earth will look like a vacation if any harm has come to my pet.  This is my vow to you… to Fury.  To anyone who might keep me from what’s been promised.” Striding towards the door, Loki turned his back on Natasha, “She’s not yours, Loki.  You don’t own her!” Looking at her over his armoured shoulder, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “She’s in love with Steve!  And it’s real, Loki.  She’s so happy… He gives her everything!  More than what you could give her.” Loki stopped then.  Watching his spine stiffen, Natasha saw him turn, his eyes narrowed into slits.  Tilting his dark head, a half smile on his lips, “Thank you, Agent.”

---

Spending hours setting up the homestead, just so, had been worth it.  Looking around the yard, you smiled, pleased with the finished results.  Lights twinkling brightly, the old picnic table covered in a simple cloth, bowls filled with flowers from your garden.  It was a farmland fairy tale and you were itching to show it off only a few hours from now.

You had taken Friday off.  Cleaning, shopping up a storm, prepping food for the crew took time and Pepper had been so good about giving you leave.  It was no secret that she and Tony were both rooting for you guys. Steve had opted to work, telling you that the gang would be arriving around six or so Saturday night, they'd be hungry, and ready to have a good time.  There was a lot to do, there always was, but you wanted this night to be a special one.  After all it was your first time hosting everyone at the orchard, kind of a big deal cementing you and Steve as a stable, functional couple.

Staying in the city until Saturday, you weren't expecting your boyfriend to show up much before your guests, and frankly, sometimes it was easier to get through your "to do" list without him hovering.  He had a tendency to crowd you, linger over your shoulder, follow you with his big blue eyes.  At times you felt like Steve was monitoring you, watching out for something, cautiously testing your bond.

Setting bottles of beer and rose’ into the ice filled buckets, you were startled when that reliable honeyed voice called out, "Honey?  I'm home."

"Steve?  You're early.  Like, really early.  Everything ok?"

Stepping onto the sun dappled stone walkway, blonde hair brilliant, Steve's smile was wolfish and wide.  He was almost hopping, making his way towards you, his gaze never leaving your own.  At close range now, Steve dragged you to him tightly, nibbling on your neck until you squirmed free, giggling.

"Steve!  What's gotten into you?"  Normally so formal, proper, guarded, this wasn't like the man you'd lived with for months now.

"Couldn't keep away.  Didn't want to, really.  Damn, but you do look good."

Hands framing your face pulled your mouth to his.  Swiping his tongue over your teeth, testing the taste of you, Steve's lips demanded more.  Bumping into the edge of your fancy set table, you couldn't outmaneuver the man in front of you, and he knew it.  Bending you back, Steve's arm supporting your weight, your fingers carded through those golden curls.  Hearing his breath hitch made your stomach flutter.  This kiss was getting to him too.

Whispering in your ear, husky and hot, "I missed you, pet.  So, so much."

Resting your forehead to his, head bowed, "I guess so!"

Steve pulled you to standing, taking your hand in his, marching toward the house.  "Where are we going?  I have so much to…"

"Leave it.  Just, come with me, pet.  Please?"

Once you crossed over the threshold to your kitchen he was on you again, fingers fiddling with your belt, ripping your work shirt free.  Scalding, Steve slid his rough hands over your rib cage, cupping your breasts through the basic cotton bra you'd thrown on to start your day.  "Oh, god!  Steve!!"

"You like that, don't you?"

"Yes!  God!"  Dropping your near shout to a humble hum, "Don't stop… please?"

"I don't plan to.  Come on."  Practically running, Steve had you tripping over your feet to keep up as he rounded the stairs for the second floor.  He couldn't keep his hands off of you.  Losing your top completely at the door, it fell to the floor in a heap, soon to be joined by your bra.  Feeling his skin on yours made you shiver.  For the first time since you'd been together, Steve felt wild, free.  And if you were honest, you had missed the open wanting that Loki inspired, which, until now, Steve had been unable to express.  

"Why?  Why are you so… different today?"  Your sentence was broken up by Steve's never ending licking and biting over your chest.  Tonguing your taut nipples, tasting your torso, Steve savored your tantalizing form.  Tangling his hair in your fist, holding him too close to hear his muffled answer, "What?"

"I realized what a treasure I had.  Needed to show you, pet."  And with that said, Steve striped you of your jeans.  Grinning lewdly, eyebrow quirked, "No panties?"

Reaching for his tight body once more, your lips licking along his throat, "Didn't need 'em!"

"Naughty!"  Steve, punctuating his joyful admonishment with a firm slap on your round bottom, nudged you onto the bed.  Rolling you onto your back, Steve crawled between your spread legs, resting his broad chest over your own.

His arms, so impossibly thick, caged you in as a long, leisurely kiss danced over your mouth.  Tugging his shirt off, tousling his blonde locks in the process, you were amazed at Steve’s transformation.  No longer timid, testing, Steve put your hands on his belt, “Go on then.” At his order, you found his mouth again, fingers fumbling with the silver buckle at his waist.  Pushing his pants down to his hips, almost enough to free him, “Help?”, you asked cutely. “Of course, pet.”  Kneeling up, you watched as Steve shucked his trousers, throwing them to the floor before growling, “Where were we?” Patting the bed beside you, “Right here, babe!” Crawling now, Steve slithered between your parted thighs, “Here is better, I think.” Giggling again, you smiled, “Oh, you think so?” Pressing scorching smooches to the skin of your calf, coasting across your knobby knee, then licking along your thick quad, Steve tortured his way to your core. Your clawing hands scratched into the thick, golden hair of his head, trying to direct him to your need.  “Look at how wet you are, pet.  Is all this for me?  All of this for your Captain?” “Yes… Yes, Steve!” You felt his thick fingers part your lower lips, exposing your secret skin to the air, shivering at the intimacy of the act.  “Hmm… I’ve missed you, you know?” “It’s only been a day, Steve… but oh… Oh!”  Silencing you with a swipe of his talented tongue, Steve teased your bundled nerves in long, slow strokes.  Licking into your clenching channel, tasting your uniqueness, Steve sighed contentedly, lapping up all you could give him. When licking was no longer enough, Steve sucked on your tiny tense, pearl making you shout, “Shit!  Steve!  Oh, God!  I’m… I’m…” “Yes, pet, cum for me!”  Lightning fast, your pleasure peaked, ripping through your body.  Thighs quaking, you pulled against Steve’s scalp, bucking your hips against his ravishing mouth.  Soundless, lips parted in a silent scream, Steve lapped up your creamy release. Breathless, reaching for his stiff steel, “Please… I need it, Steve.” Damp from your discharge, Steve’s smile was savage, “I’m going to give it to you pet.  Get on your knees now. “ Biting your bottom lip, you raced to comply, happy that Steve was trying something new.  You’d asked him to switch positions, change things up, but routine was a comfort to your new beau.  Something had shaken him loose and you were grateful when you felt him hard and hot behind you. Skating his palms up your spine, tugging at your hair, Steve turned your head, “I won’t be gentle, pet.” Breathing ragged, “Good.  I’ve tried to tell you, I won’t break, Steve.” “Don’t I know it.”  Guiding his thick cock closer to your quivering center, his tip brushed against your outer folds, gathering your slick.  When his wide head pushed inward, you sucked in a breath, “Oh god…” With a husky laugh, “Your so tight, pet.  So tight.  This might hurt… but in the best possible way.” “Please…”  Whining openly now, over eager to feel the rigid length of Steve, you arched your back, hoping for more.  Answering your plea, Steve growled lowly, gripping your hips.  Pulling you back slowly, ensuring that every ridge and valley of his rod was imprinted on your slick channel, he forced you to savor the stretching burn of his size. Reaching around you, one arm circled your chest, lifting you off your elbows.  The other, skating over your pelvis, seeking and finding your throbbing nub with a vicious pinch that made you cry out.  Your back was plastered to his chest, Steve sucking on the soft skin behind your ear, claiming you. “I can’t hold back, pet.  I am going to fill you up.  Make you mine.”, each promise was punctuated with a vicious thrust, deeper than the last. Curling your hands over the powerful thighs banging against your own, “Yes!  Please, Steve!  Please!”  

The change in Steve was pushing you further and faster towards unraveling.  Every spot that sent you soaring was filled, flicked or fondled.  Even his words were electric, sending shock waves through you, shoving you closer to satisfaction.

"I'm cumming, Steve!  Holy… shit!"  Shuddering in his arms, you felt his driving thrusts stutter, heard his shivery sigh of your name.  Steve exploded into you, squeezing you tight enough to bruise, rocking his hips until he was completely spent.

Behind you, the sound of clapping hands made you jump, your head swinging towards the bedroom door.  Applause were swell, but who'd be brave enough to sneak up here?  Stealthy enough for spying?  

"That good, doll?"  You'd never heard him like this before.  Steely and cold, Steve was leaning into the door jamb wearing an unreadable look.  Pushing off the frame, he stalked toward the bed, eyes full of blue fury.

But Steve was also wrapped around you like a second skin, nosing the nape of your neck, his softening length still inside of you, "What the…?" 

"Loki."

"Loki?"  Squeaking, you swung your head between the two Steves.

"Captain." the Steve behind you wavered slightly, an evil glint in his eye.

"Captain?"  Your voice was high pitched and panic filled.  Your breathing got shorter, your face hot, your skin prickly.

"Doll?"  Grabbing the fleshy part of your arm, trying to remove you from the Steve behind you, Second Steve gave you a fierce tug.  Feet on the floor, you shrugged your arm free and spun to face the Steve who was still naked and hard in your bed.

"My pet."  And before your eyes the broad body of Steve Rogers that had so recently brought you to paradise, shimmered green, revealing the long, lean figure of Loki Odinson.

"Loki…?  Is it…?  Are you… really here?", barely whispering, barely controlling your rising panic.

"Surprise."  Harsh and hurt, Loki glared in your direction.  Flinching at the sting of his tone, your eyes filled with tears, your lower lip trembling.

Sighing, Steve worked to redirect you, "Doll.  Come on, let's get you out of here."

Shaking your head, "Steve?  I… I thought…"  Struggling to connect the dots, you weren't sure what to do, where to turn.

"I know, doll.  I forgive you.  You thought it was me…"

Tsking, Loki chimed up, "Believe what you want, Captain.  No one knows my pet's body better than me."

Taking a moment to look over your naked form, Steve saw the deepening plum bruises on your hips, the scarlet stains on your neck, the wetness on your thighs.  Suddenly disgusted, Steve threw something at you, "Cover up, for Pete's sake."

Slipping your thin robe over your shoulders, mindlessly tying the belt, you started to shake.  Again, perplexed, "Loki?"

"Pet.  It's been a while."

Nodding, you felt your knees wobble before they buckled completely.  Your vision fuzzed over like a disconnected television and your ears were filled with buzzing.  "Loki?", once again whispering his name before everything went black.

~ Part 3 Coming Soon! ~

My Rag Tag Crew:  @sammy-jo1977​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @wolfsmom1​ @thenatallie​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @mizfit2​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @jessiejunebug​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @iamverity​ @lokislittlecorner​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @jamielea81​ @lots-of-loki​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @brokenthelovely​ @just-random-obsessions​ @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @capcapcapsicle​

[sleepywinchester]

Fool For You Pt. 2 ⏤ Oscar Díaz.

Summary: You are back in your hometown Freeridge to take care of your sister Jasmine and your father after being away for six years. You left Freeridge looking for a better life but in that process you had to let go of someone you loved. But you’re back and things are not the same but they sure feel like it.

Words: 4,038

Warnings: Smut (ish) - Abusive Ex Mentions 

A/N: I usually don’t write smutish fics (honestlyyyy i think i suck) but I TRY. On this part things get heated and you guys can see a bit more of their backstory but there’s still so much more to be revealed. 😈

(english is not my first language, might be some typos around)

❤

The continuous loud hard knocks on the window woke you up. Sitting up from the bed you let a loud groan, glaring at your sister on the other side of the window. 

“Open the door!” Jasmine shouted.

She watched you stand up from the bed. After what happened last night you didn’t want to talk about it because you are still processing it. But you knew Jasmine and she wouldn’t leave you alone until you two talked. Opening the door she barged in, standing in the middle of the room and taking a hit of her inhalator. 

Closing the door you turned to see her in the eye, “¿Que?”

Jasmine’s eyes got wide open, “¡¿Que?! LAST NIGHT I CAUGHT YOU ALMOST BONING SPOOKY AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS ‘¿QUE?’ BITCH I NEED ALL THE DETAILS. ¿Cuéntamelo todo?”

You rolled your eyes walking by her, “I told you I buried that shit when I left.” Turning on the coffee pot, you turned and she was glaring at you. 

“Well it seems like last night he was going to bury his D!” Jasmine shouted.

“JASMINE!” You shouted with wide eyes. “Gosh,” you leaned against the counter.

“In that spot,” she mocked and you rolled your eyes. “Okay fine, I’m being extra but this shit is huge. Like freaking Spooky and my sister? Bitch! Who knew you had it in you?!”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Had it in me? Bitch! I got needs too.” 

Jasmine busted on laughter, “Yass Queen! I can’t believe you’re actually my sister!”

Shaking your head you turned and began to pour coffee. “Anyways,” you looked at her over your shoulder, “Oscar and I have a lot of history. We have known each other since we were kids. We were together until-,”

“you left his ass and went to New York City,” she cut you off completely bluntly. 

Your head tilted to the left as you shrugged, “Pues si, lo deje. I wanted to leave Freeridge, I wanted so much more than just this hood.”

“And he didn’t?” 

“He did,” you sighed and your head dropped. Thoughts of all that could have been rushed through your mind. You and Oscar often talked about a life together out of Freeridge but there was also one major factor in between. Turning around you met her confused eyes, “He couldn’t leave Cesar alone with his mom. She-.” It was so hard to talk about this because his story and yours reflected. “She was a drug addict.”

Instantly Jasmine’s face transitioned into a sadder one. It wasn’t about gossip anymore, this shit was real and it made her think about mom. 

“I’m sorry,” you sat next to her, placing the coffee mug on the table and holding her hand. “This shit hits hard for us especially with mom…” Jasmine was holding in her tears. You felt guilty for not being here for her, she was the one dealing with mom being everywhere but her home taking care of her kid. “Perdón por no estar para ti cuando mas me necesitaste. I know you said you got it but you shouldn’t, you should be going around with your friends being as crazy and loud as you want.”

“I mean I still did that…” she smiled softly, “I just didn’t want to spoil what you had with Alex in NYC.”

“Boo,” you slightly fixed her hair, “that shit was already spoiled.”

She frowned, “What do you mean?” 

“He hurt me, Jas. In so many ways and the fucked up thing is that I thought it was my fault that I deserved that until one day it got out of control and I said no mas. I remembered who I was and my value.” Your voice broke a little, talking made you think about the awful times. Jasmine holds your hand tightly. Showing you she was there for you. “I was at my lowest point but you called me and…” you smiled, “you saved me, mana.”

“I love you, girl. I’m so sorry,” Jasmine stood up from the seat and hugged you so tightly. Knowing you were unhappy and being mistreated made her mad and sad. But you were safe now and she finally had her sister back.

Hugging her built tears in your eyes, “I love you too.” 

She was on her way out when she turned, “I never told you this because it didn’t really make sense but… Santos helped us so much when mom left. They are scary as hell but they take care of their own.”

Your lips created a small thin smile, “How did they help?” 

“Groceries and utilities, papi’s check doesn’t cover all of it,” she shrugged. “Anyways, I’ll see ya at school, need to prep dad before leaving.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it. You get to school,” you told her. She smiled and walked away.

You got dressed quickly, put on a pencil skirt and paired it with a yellow blouse that had small flowers and went into the house. 

“Hola pa’,” you spoke sweetly to your dad sitting on his wheelchair. He wasn’t the same man after being deployed in Afghanistan.  Before the war he was the most optimistic man you ever met. He would always have the biggest grin on his face. “¿Te acuerdas cuando me ayudabas con las tareas?” You spoke as you got him ready for his day. “Those were the days and I did not even know it,” you continued. “I miss those days.”

You looked down at him, his eyesight was lost in the background, oblivious of what was happening. A part of you envied that, being able just to be numb to everything happening around. 

“Jasmine?” You heard a thick Mexican accent walking inside the house. 

“Hola,” you said cheerfully walking out of the bedroom to see Milagros, the woman who used to babysit you so many times as a kid was the same person who took care of your dad.

It took her a couple a seconds to recognize the little girl that had transformed into a woman. Milagros eyes sparkled when she placed the dots together. Instantly she flashed a big grin as she walked forward and wrapped you in her arms.

“¡Muchacha!” she exclaimed, “It’s been so long.”

The way she was reacting to you being home made you grin widely. Hugging her back brought memories of when she would pick you and your sister from school and babysit. Every time your mother would go away, Milagros would always be there for your family. She filled the void of not having a mother at all times. 

“Estas igualita,” you grinned. 

She grinned so much her eyes were difficult to find. Cupping your cheeks with her hands she placed a kiss on your forehead. “Estas hermosisima, mija.”

You shook your head, “Not as beautiful as you.”

Milagros laughed and gave you another kiss, “¿Cuando volviste chamaca?”

“Hace tres días,” you told her, “volví y I’m already working at the school teaching.”

“Siempre quisiste ser una teacher,” she grinned, “me da mucha alegría que estés de vuelta. We missed you so much.”

You kissed her forehead, “I missed you too. Take care of my pa’ por favor.”

“Pos claro,” she said glancing at your dad, “I have a full day planned.”

You chuckled and grabbed your bag saying goodbye at the same time you strolled out of the house. Couple of kids rode their bicycles by your house, all of them laughing. 

As you walked down the street the events of last night appeared in your mind. The thought  of that prophet trying to do something made you so nervous. But instead of drowning in your own thoughts, you decided to raise your chin and focus on other things. This was Freeridge and shit like that happened all the time. 

Looking around you noticed a Santo sitting by his porch, he looked at you as he took a drag of his cigarette. Changing your eyesight to another house, another Santo catches your eye. Soon enough you noticed a good amount of Santos outside which was really rare at that time in the morning. 

The sound of a car made your head turn, another Santo. 

“Oscar…” you said under your breath continuing the path to school. 

You had no time left to go and talk to him but it was definitely in your to do list. He had almost the entire Santo gang on subtle escort duty, all of them around the neighborhood from your house to the school.  

That day you saw Cesar and his friends at school talking and mostly scheming, they seemed troubled about something. 

Is he in the gang too? You asked yourself.

That wouldn’t be a surprise if he was a Santo, it was his family’s legacy to be part of that gang. Learning from the past events you left right at four after the bell rings.  Once again a couple Santos were spread around the block. You smirked, shaking your head as you strolled. You wanted to be upset and even mad at him for taking what happened that night to the extreme but there was no way you could be mad at him for making sure you got home safe.  

You thought that after a couple days the subtle escorts would stop but they never did. Couple weeks passed and The Santos were like clock work, always out and watching. Oscar hasn’t been seen around that much, it’s like after that night he got into a business or something. You’d lie if you say you didn’t want to see him because you did but your pride got the best of you and pulled you away from walking by his house and looking for him yourself. 

When the colmado came to sight the thought of a couple things crossed your mind and you went with it. Going in Selena Quintanilla sounded on the speakers, the viejita was dancing to the cumbia behind the counter as she restocked the cigarettes. She looked at you and engaged you to dance with her. Shaking your head you said no but gifted her a smile. 

“Vamos, vamos,” she walked out of the back, continuing to dance. 

You chuckled and slowly following her moves, somewhere else this would be such an unusual thing. In this hood even though everyone was going through their own bullshit, they still put it aside to laugh and have fun. 

Bidi Bidi Bom Bom rhythm was so contagious that La Abuelita did the infamous washing machine dance.  “Come on, mija!” Her smile brought light to the store. You couldn’t leave her hanging and started to do the dance yourself. Dancing to this song brought you memories of your mother teaching these moves to you and Jasmine. You moved your hips in circular motions to the rhythm of the song.

“Se emociona, ya no razona, no lo puedo controlar,” you sang with her. 

You haven’t been or felt this carefree in years, this moment filled you with joy. 

“Bidi bidi bom bom,” she sang, “mijo baila con ella!” 

Turning to see who she was talking to, your sight locked with Oscar’s brown sparkling eyes. You slowly stopped dancing, his grin didn’t show any of his white pearls but his eyes were so bright. 

“Hey,” you fixed your hair, catching your breath. 

“Muy bonita. ¿Que no, Spooky?” La viejita told him.

Oscar looked you up and down, nodding to the lady. “She is.”

She softly patted your hands a couple times, “I haven’t had that much fun in a while. Thank you, mija.”

You chuckled, “Neither have I.” 

“Spooky?” She said his name walking by him, “She knows how to dance and she’s not wearing a ring. Ándale,” Her whisper was everything but a whisper which you thought was hilarious. The old lady patted his arm softly as she continued to the back of the store. 

The two laughed at what she told Oscar. He had both hands inside his pockets as he reached closer to you. Seeing him made you realize you actually missed him after not bumping into him for weeks.

“What up?” He looked you in the eye.  

You shrugged, grabbing a basket, “Nothing much. You?”

“Igual,” he also took a basket.

Oscar and you walked side by side around the corner store both picking similar items. This would be a perfect moment to ask him about the cholo security you felt you had as you walked on the block but you didn’t want to ruin what was going on. 

“You still got moves,” he said as he got a corona from the fridge. He glanced at you, asking if you wanted one with his eyes. You nodded and he grabbed it and placed it on your basket. “La batidora siempre me volvió loco.”

You chuckled, “Everything makes you crazy, Oscar.” 

Oscar smirked at your words, he grabbed a handful of limes that were right next to you. Pouring a couple of those limes in your basket as well. His chest was pressed against you, “Everything you do makes me crazy.” His whisper turned on all your senses throughout your body. 

You grabbed hot sauce, looking back at him to see if he wanted any. Understanding his small nod you grabbed a second one and handled it to him. 

“Any plans tonight?” He asked, grabbing nopales and placing them inside his basket. You grabbed the sweet potatoes next to them and added them to your haul. 

“Aside from grading quizzes and maybe unpacking,” you turned to him, “nada.”

“You still got all those boxes laying around?” You shrugged guilty of being a procrastinator. The click of his tongue was followed by a soft chuckle. “Wanna go to a party?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Santos party?” He nodded. “I don’t know... Don’t wanna get behind on grading those quizzes.”

“It’s all good,” he told you. Deep down he knew you weren’t the biggest fan of being around his gang and he didn’t judge for that. 

The two paid and walked out of the corner store, you were holding your bags with both hands. The sunset was in full effect, pastels of pink and blue painting the sky. Oscar gazed at you as your eyes were lost in the beauty of the colors. 

Licking your bottom lip, your eyes met with his. “Thanks for the protection.”

He looked away flashing a grin, “You noticed…”

“Your crew is really hard to miss,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Oscar shrugged, “Just making sure you’re safe.”

Without asking for consent, you tiptoed your way to his cheek and placed a kiss on it. “I know,” you said, turning around and walking away. You looked over your shoulder when you felt his eyes on you. “Te veo, fool.”

“Nos vemos, fool,” he said watching you walk.

The corner store was a couple houses away from your place. You couldn’t see it but Oscar put his bags inside the car and leaned against the hood of his car. Lighting a cigarette he watched you stroll to your house and got in safely. 

/ / / 

Your skin felt refreshed after taking a shower and washing your hair. Only wearing a towel wrapped around your body, you began to look for something to wear.

“Where are my freaking t-shirts?” you roamed around the boxes on the floor. 

There were too many unopened boxes to find the one that had your sleeping t-shirts in them. Meanwhile the ones that were open had everything but you work blouses. The Harley Davison’s ones you’ve been using have become dirty. Your eyes roamed around the floor and found Oscar’s black flannel lying by one of the boxes. You sighed walking towards it and picking it from the floor. Your finger tips instantly feeling the softness of the material. Taking a quick sniff you noticed Oscar’s scent on it and better yet, it wasn’t dirty.

“What the hell,” you shrugged, putting it on. 

You could smell him on the shirt, God how much you loved his scent. Wearing his shirt made you feel close to him even though he wasn’t there with you.

Grabbing a Corona from your fridge, you took a sip from it and began to unpack. You’ve been procrastinating about it for almost weeks now but tonight was the night all of these boxes were going to be empty.

You were drinking the last of your beer when the knock on the door made you look over your shoulder and pause on the sixth box. ‘It’s probably Jasmine’ you thought, not worrying to stand up.

“It’s open, Jas!” You shouted, turning your focus back to the box of old pictures. 

“Not Jasmine,” Oscar's deep voice filled the room.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him standing by your door with one 40’s on both hands. You stood up quickly noticing how Oscar fully scanned your body. Seeing you wearing his shirt turned him on. How the shirt covered enough to see most of your thighs and legs. It helped that you didn’t buttoned the flannel all the way through, giving him a good sight of your cleavage. He couldn’t help but roam his eyes, admiring every inch of you. 

Oscar cleared his throat, licking his lips before speaking. “You said you were going to be here unpacking and grading papers…” He paused, his eyes were lost on you. “Uh-,” he shook his head, “I just wanted to pass by and maybe help.”

Your eyebrows rose, “You want to help me unpack?”

“Yep,” he spat. 

“Don’t you have a party going on?”

He shrugged with no worry, “Me vale. I can go if you want.”

You shook your head obviously not wanting him to leave, slowly licking your lower lip as you walked towards him. He took a deep breath once you were in front of him. You smirked, grabbing one of the 40’s, “You can stay and help. I’m actually opening the old picture box.”

He watched you turn and sit on the middle of your bed. Oscar having a seat by the edge of it. You handled him your beer for him to open and watched him twist open his.

“I was wondering where my flannel ended up,” he teased, grabbing the box next to him and opening it. 

“I actually didn’t see it until today. Needed clean clothes and,” you looked down at the flannel, “this was clean enough.”

Oscar chuckled softly as he started to take out old photo albums. 

“I can give it back if you want…” you teased.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, “Keep it, te queda mejor a ti.” 

You smiled at his response, looking down to the photos laying in your lap. There were a couple of you with baby Jasmine in her crib. Your abuelita always got you guys the biggest and colorful bows.

Oscar looked back at the album on his hand, brushing through the pages he found an old picture of the two of you in High School. “Mira,” he said.

You got slightly up and looked over his shoulder. Oscar clenched his jaw and his breathing began to get heavy as he felt you so close to him.

Flashing a grin you chuckled looking at your younger self sitting on his lap both with big wide smiles. “This was the first day we missed school to go to the beach.”

Oscar nodded with a small smile, “Si.”

“Todo era mas fácil,” you let out a sigh.

Looking at him, Oscar continued to look at the picture with nostalgia. You wished to be able to listen to his thoughts. Once again you were unsure if you should do what you felt. Kneeling next to him, you rested your chin on top of his shoulder. 

“You remember what happened that day?” you said softly. 

Oscar looked over his shoulder locking his brown eyes with yours. “Como olvidarlo.” 

You smirked, “We didn’t know what the fuck we were doing.”

He clicked his tongue, “We still enjoyed it though.”

“Hell yes,” out of habit your lips touched his skin for a second before placing your chin back on his shoulder glancing down to the picture. 

Oscar froze, his sight going down to your lips as he licked his and looked up back to your eyes. Being that close to each other was the only approval both needed to do what both were craving. He pressed his lips with yours, his right hand grabbing the back of your neck as he kissed you with passion. Your body followed your instincts and got on top of him. His fingers roamed inside your hair as his lips moved in sync with yours. 

The taste of his tongue is warm and lemon from the beer. He moaned when you bit his lower lip, listening to his moan turn you on even more. Your hands were holding the back of his neck. You could feel his hardness between your legs as you slowly moved your hips. 

His hands went under the flannel shirt you were wearing, gripping on your thighs and his fingertips finally finding the thin waistband of your panties. You stood up for a second, eyes locked with his as he slid them off your body. 

You wanted to tease him, you wanted him to build up the level of him wanting you. Slowly you began to undo your buttons, Oscar growing impatient. 

“Don’t tease, mami,” his voice was so deep and his accent so thick it made your skin tingle. He reached a hand over to you but you stood back, clicking your tongue as you moved your index finger left and right. 

“Paciencia, Oscar,” you said softly. 

Oscar smirked looking down at his lap before looking up to watch flannel drop to the floor, his hand reaching your nalgas and gripping tightly, pulling you forward. Looking down to your hip, he realized the black ink still on it. “Todavía lo tienes?” Oscar’s eyes linked with yours.

You looked down to the small cross tattoo on your hip. Turning so slightly you gave him a better look of it. Oscar’s hand touched it, reminiscing of when you first got it. That night was one neither was able to erase. 

“Damn,” he caressed it, “that was the night we-,”

You cut his words with another passionate kiss. He ignored his thoughts or what he wanted to say and continued tasting your lips. Oscar turned you over, laying you flat on the bed. You looked down at him, biting your lower lip watching him take his clothes off. His strong arms flexed as he crawled on top of you leaving trails of kisses all over your body, moans escaping with every kiss he left. Your lower back arched while your eyes shut to the sensation.

“Mírame,” he said, kissing right under your belly button. 

Biting your lip, your eyes locked with his, “I-,” you moaned when his hands cupped your breast. 

“Use your words, mi amor,” he said against your delicate skin. 

His tongue danced in a way only Oscar fucking Diaz could make it dance. He knew all your spots and how to work them. Your hands gripped the sheets of your bed tightly as you bit your lips holding the loud moans that wanted to escape your inside. 

“I can feel you holding your moans out,” Oscar told you, his look full of lust and hunger for you. “Let it out, bebe. Let it all out.”

“Fuck!” you let out a loud moan as he continued to eat you. In a matter of seconds he built you up back again. With every second, you could reach the stars more and more, until there was a full explosion. “Oscar!”

He kissed his way up to your lips, “Así me gusta.” 

“Me llevaste a las estrellas,” you kissed him. 

“Si?” He arched an eyebrow, his hand on your hip. Oscar kissed first kissed your chest, then kissed the left side of your collar bone. He left a trail of wet kisses all the way up your neck. He kissed your earlobe, you could hear his steady breathing. 

“Tonight I’ll take you to the whole damn galaxy,” he whispered in your ear.

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CHAPTER TRES

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