#AND THEN LICK OFF THE BLOOD DRIPPING FROM HIS NOSE BEFORE IT REACHES HIS CRISP STARCHED SHIRT. WHO SAID THAT.

[carrionsong]

auhgh . guess whos mentally ill over a new man again !!! ive been livetweeting succession on twt and man. MANNNN HE FUCKING SUCKS AND I WANT HIM AND UHGHHHHH KILL ME IM ONE SEASON DOWN AND ALREADY MAKING A PLAYLISY

[avintagekiss24]

SIGN ON THE LINE || STEVE ROGERS

PRETTY WOMAN AU

pairing: Escort!Steve Rogers x bisexual!black!reader ; minor pairing: escort! steve rogers x bisexual!black!reader x bisexual!natasha romanov || word count: 14,446 || warnings: smut, sex, rough sex, ass eating, butt stuff, oral sex (male & female receiving), rough oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, face sitting/riding, 69, cockwarming, nipple play, consensual voyeurism, prostitution, daddy kink

authors note: right under the buzzer! this is for @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ marvel diversity challenge! my prompt was Pretty Woman AU. this is a pretty loose interpretation of the movie, but there are some similarities threaded throughout if you’re familiar with it. once again, a lot was inspired by @honeychicanawrites​ headcanons here, here, and here. there was also a black and white gif floating around of an animated woman, rubbing, sucking, and fucking her dude, but i lost the link! (i was gonna embed it, but i don’t want my post flagged). also, daily convos with @tropicalcap​ led to some of the filth. enjoy!

line divider by @firefly-graphics​

The wine glass clinks against the porcelain of the bathroom counter as you set it down gently, backing up to eye yourself in the mirror. You push your box braids off your shoulders and twist your body, smoothing your manicured hands down your hips as you primp. Sliding your fingers underneath the thin band of your thong, you adjust it slightly, pulling them up on your hips before letting the material snap back to your body, cutting into your flesh. The Zodiac tights come next, wiggling your hips to pull the crystal embedded fishnets up your smooth legs and up over your behind.

You dig your hands into your bra, pushing your tits up so they sit a little higher in it and pucker your lips, adding a little more gloss. A deep buzz sounds throughout the bathroom, your phone illuminating as a text slides through.

In the lobby

A smile spreads across your face. You grab the fluffy, white hotel robe and shrug into it, tying a tight bow at your waist before arranging your hair again and bringing the glass of white wine to your lips to finish it off. The small bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 is the last accessory you reach for— spritzing your neck and wrist, rubbing them together slowly to spread the sweet, floral aroma. Grabbing your phone, and the now empty wine glass, you move out of the bathroom and hit the light switch to cover the lavish room in darkness.

You’re wet already— tight muscles clamping around nothing as you pad back into your Presidential suite. Blood starts to race, skin heats up as your heart beat grows harder. You’re so fucking horny it hurts. Stomach is tight and knotted, your clit achy and sore— fingers not enough to quell the need. So you went out one night, found a sex shop, which isnt hard in the heart of L.A.; bought a pretty glass dildo and a diamond studed butt plug— even a pocket vibrator, but it wasn’t enough. You need the real thing, a big, hard, dripping, warm cock to put you out of your misery so you can focus on the reason you’re in L.A. in the first place.

“Oh girl,” Natasha winked, handing over an off white business card, “Having dick on retainer is a must.”

You flipped it over in your hand, your dark eyes skimming over the telephone number printed in the middle of the card, the initials S.G.R. scrawled out just underneath it, “Give him a call,” she winked, “He’ll keep you plenty occupied while you’re here.”

That was two days ago— over a business lunch when the VP of Operations and CEO of the company you’re trying to acquire stepped away from the table. You’d known Natasha Romanov for exactly one week at that point, but she knew the desperation of a woman going without— you're convinced she smelled it on you as soon as you walked into her office. It took her a few days to pry it out of you, but once she caught you discreetly making eyes at the waiter, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you in close.

You’re a woman of the world, you both realize and understand sex work is a valuable commodity, and champion it, for men and women alike. But you never honestly had to give it a second thought, you’ve always had options. A cute little black book that sits just inside of your nightstand, full of names that can satisfy your every mood.

Tony for a quickie when you’re buzzed and on the way to an event, Sam for a back breaking, fingers in your mouth, ‘call me daddy’ romp, sweet Bruce when you want it real nice and slow— somebody to love you just for the night. That little black book doesn’t help you in L.A., and you aren’t about to fly somebody out for a four hour layover.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks, “Just one second.” you call sweetly, slipping into a pair of Giuseppe heels— your favorite Giuseppe heels.

You untie the belt around your waist and throw the robe over the back of the couch as you click towards the door, leaving you in your black, strapless bra, thin thong, and waist high tights. There’s really no need to be modest— you’re both adults. Turning the square, stainless steel door handle, you pull gently, throwing it open for the tall, blonde man leaning against the far wall. He stands up straight, blue eyes going wide as they drop down your body, pink lips quirking into a lopsided grin.

You spin on your heels and retreat back into the room slowly, hearing the door as it hitches when he catches it with his palm. Eyes are on your body as you switch your hips seductively, moving towards the minibar. You can’t help the smile that curls onto your lips.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Rogers?” You purr, voice low and smooth.

“Steve’s fine,” his voice equally low, equally smooth, “What do you have?”

You hum, opening the small fridge and bending just slightly, poking out your ass, “Looks like Modelo, Vodka, Rum,” you point towards the ice bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon resting in the chips, “Champagne. I also have some white wine.”

You glance back at him, your braids dangling over your shoulder, swinging gently with each little movement you make. Steven Grant Rogers is a sight for sore eyes— and a sore pussy. He’s tall and lean, chest and shoulders wide and broad, biceps thick. His waist is small, but it adds a little allure to his frame, giving him a little shape. He has a sense of style about him too, another tick in the ‘pro’ column for him. His suit is a simple one but it reeks of great expense. Black, slim fit, no tie. Crisp, white button down with the first couple of buttons undone. Black red bottoms, and a titanium, black faced Hublot watch.

Creed Aventus fills your nostrils as you breathe in and your muscles clench again. You like a man with lavish taste.

“Champagne, please. Not too much though, I don’t like to drink when I’m with a client.” Curious eyes follow you as you move towards the ice bucket, staying on you as you pour two flutes, “I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings?”

His thick fingers brush along yours as you step close, handing him the tall, thin flute. They’re soft, his fingers. He nods gently, clinking the rim of his glass with yours before he lifts it to his pink lips, licking them slowly, “Gotta keep a clear head.”

A sharp inhale of air fills your lungs; a sly smile tugs at your lips. Through hooded eyes, the two of you keep watch of the other as you both down the bubbly champagne. Your lips tingle as you rub the glass along your bottom lip, your eyes bouncing around his handsome, heavily bearded face. His eyes twinkle underneath the lights as they roam— down your chest and stomach, down your long legs— slowly. Drinking you in. Taking stock of each curve, each dip, each line.

His eyes snap back to yours suddenly, but they’re different. Hungry. Aggressive. You take another breath, holding it in your chest for a tick before you exhale and cross your legs, squeezing them tight.

He takes a step forward, closing the already small distance between the two of you to a mere inch, maybe even less than that. He drops his eyes again, his eyelids closing to slits, the dark, delicate, long eyelashes lining them splash out on his cheeks. He inhales deep, a small, thin hum vibrating in his throat as he’s filled with the sweetness of your perfume.

“Nervous?”

The word greets your ears softly, just as it left his pretty mouth. You lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth, chewing as your eyes bounce between his. He smiles, pushing his face closer so the tips of your noses touch. He rubs your noses together slowly, up along your bridge, and then the tips again, his smile growing.

“There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll take it real nice and slow, okay?” his voice steady and smooth, low and soft, “You’ve never done this before?”

Two mammoth hands push along your hips, slowly dragging up and down, up and down, up and down. You swallow, a pathetic tremble sounding in your throat that gets him to smile again, “It’s that obvious?”

He chuckles, “It’s okay, honey.” he answers, hands pushing over your ass, “I’ll get you warmed up.”

He squeezes your behind; you inhale again, your hands settling on his chest. Your body is moving, swaying gently back and forth at his insistence, his hands pushing up to the small of your back. Blue eyes stay on deep browns as his warm palm settles in the center of your back, holding you in his orbit. You start to rub his chest, feeling the bulk, the muscles of him— the thick. Your index finger drifts; drifts towards the open buttons of his shirt, playing with them; eyes settling on the sliver of skin and dark hair showing through.

A knuckle pushes just underneath your chin, pressing, pressing, pressing until your head, more importantly your mouth, is tilted up to his. Your eyelids instantly— instinctively— droop, lips part in wait, in want; in need. Hooded blue eyes gaze back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“May I?”

Shudders ripple down your spine as reddened lips brush along yours, “Please.” It’s desperate— the way you ask.

Steve licks into you with his tongue, groaning a little when he sucks your top lip into his mouth. He pulls you in, right up against his hard body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. This mouth is skilled— tongue slipping along your bottom lip and caressing your own. Not too rough, not too gentle, just enough to make you melt into him; to make you go a little limp in his arms.

He nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling softly until he lets go, letting it snap back to your face. A giggle bubbles up, filling the air surrounding you and you swear you feel his dick twitch.

“Feel better?”

You smile sweetly, pulling out of his grasp and sauntering towards your abandoned phone. Tapping into the short text stream with him, you snap your eyes back to him when his phone chimes seconds later. You watch as he digs it out of his pocket and another grin cracks his face as his cash app alerts him to the fifteen hundred deposited into his account.

“Does that answer your question?”

Those pretty white teeth of his dig into his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide the grin that’s been brought upon by your quick wit. He pulls his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it over the back of the couch before ticking his head towards the bedroom, “Bed please.”

You do not hesitate. You pass by each other as you move towards the bedroom, him towards the ice bucket, plucking it from the table in the center of the room and turning on his heel to follow you. You toss your eyes over your shoulder as you flounce, hips switching again, heels clink, clink, clinking against the marble floor.

The lights of the bedroom rise automatically from the sudden motion in the room. You feel weightless as you fall onto the mattress hands first, crawling into the center of the king bed. His footsteps continue to sound as he enters behind you, setting the champagne bucket at the end of the bed as you prop against the headboard, drawing your legs up, swaying them back and forth slowly.

Steve keeps his eyes on you as he starts to pull on his cufflinks, unclipping the double knotted, sterling silver Tiffany & Co. accessories to free his arms. He rolls his sleeves up his forearms, revealing hair and thick veins— more flexing muscles. Blue eyes bounce between the task at hand and you, that soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips never wavering, never leaving. Foreplay at its best.

Once his forearms are free of the constricting material around them, he grabs the champagne bottle by the neck and plucks out a crystal flute, dropping his eyes from yours as he pours another glass. He moves around the side of the bed, champagne bottle in hand as he sits next to you, handing over the full glass. Lifting it to your lips, you snap your eyes to him when he tuts quickly, wagging that thick index finger back and forth.

Your mouth drops open, eyes go large as you watch him take a swig, right from the bottle. He then leans over you, pushing his index finger into your chin again, tilting your head up towards his. Warm, pink lips crowd your open mouth, his eyes closing gently, the cool, bubbly liquid slipping from his mouth right into yours. You sound— sweet, tiny, pitiful— as you swallow his offering, him kissing you quick after, not giving you time to reel from the intimacy of it.

He’s gone again, just as quickly as he came, heading back to the end of the bed. He knees onto the edge, large palms sliding over your bent knees, fingertips slipping down your calves, gripping and groping as they go. He drops one hand— right to his pants— sends his eyes back to yours as he pops the shiny button and unzips them at a snail's pace. Steve lets his pants hang open as he slides his hands down your thighs, all the way down to the juncture of your hips and legs, pushing his thumbs into the creases.

Steve pushes forward, forcing your legs open as he settles in, resting that hard, lean, strapping body on yours— kissing you again. Deep this time. Bruising. Tongue kneading yours, smacking and sucking your lips into his wet mouth. Moans, both his and yours, thrum and vibrate in your chests and throats. Your muscles clench again.

Lips and mouth are on the move— down your chin, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive crook of your neck. He licks, slow, before sucking the skin, finding that one little pesky spot that makes your hips jut up into his quick. He’s hard, and that makes you whimper again. You hold the champagne flute up high in your right hand, trying not to spill the contents as your hips start to roll, free hand wrapping around and digging into his thick bicep— but you aren’t so lucky. A few drops dribble from the glass and onto your chest, slipping down between your cleavage.

You shiver when his hot tongue slides between your tits to collect the cold droplets, his hands prying the silk material of your bra down. There’s a sound, a grunt, that cultivates deep in his throat at the sight of you, bare and wanton— nipples thick and perky. He slips his hands behind your back to unhook your bra, tossing it without a care to the floor once you’re free.

He inhales sharp, a hiss slipping through his teeth, “Fuck, these are beautiful.”

Your back arches up into his hands as he grabs your tits, squeezing gently, him moaning all the while. He thumbs your nipples before taking one into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and swirling, teeth grabbing. Your body jerks up into him, hips and chest, mouth falls open before your face twists in pleasure. He gives your other breast the same attention— kissing, licking, sucking before he ventures on, his fingers digging underneath the thin band of your tights and pulling gently.

Reddened lips follow his fingers, down your waist, down your hips, down your thighs, calves, ankles, toes until you’re free of the sheer garment. You sip on the bubbly champagne as his hot tongue pushes up the inside of your calf. Sweet kisses are pressed against the subtle curve of your knee, blue eyes through long, dark eyelashes on yours the whole while. Deep, stormy eyes— the kind of eyes that make you wanna think they’re only for you; aroused by you and you alone.

He draws that red bottom lip between his teeth, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief as he nuzzles into your thigh. His fingers curl around the strings of your thong as his eyes dip quickly. You close your eyes and take another sip of your drink when he starts to pull, a soft smile of your own spreading on your face as he exposes you.

There’s fingers— suddenly. Softly. Rubbing. A low hum vibrating in his throat as he touches you. A soft moan slips from between your lips as your hips start to roll, meeting each pass of his digits. Your slick already; clit hypersensitive, almost pained from going so long without. His touch is experienced, slow and deliberate as he presses soft, warm kisses against your thigh, rubbing his bearded cheek against the delicate skin.

The tips of his fingers start to drift. Down, down, down, away from your nub and to your slit where he rubs— caresses— gently. Then they’re pushing, his fingers, index and middle, sinking into you deep, pulling a sharp gasp from you.

He smiles wide before pushing out a breath, “That’s a tight fit, honey baby.” he purrs before blowing softly onto your hot, wet cunt, “It’s been a while, huh?” his voice soft, fingers pumping slowly, “Yeah, it’s been a while. Look at you squeezing down on me, baby.”

Your body jerks when Steve presses his lips to your pussy. He hums as he kisses you again and again and again, before he flattens his tongue against your clit, rubbing gently. He sucks you into his mouth, his eyes closing, eyelashes spreading over his cheeks. Your thin fingers thread into his long, blonde hair, gripping and tugging as your hooded eyes watch his head bob left and right, up and down while he devours you.

Heat blooms in your chest and stomach as you take another sip of champagne and it settles in your belly. You rest your heavy head against the headboard, licking your lips as uncontrolled moans spill from your mouth. Another sharp gasp fills the room as a third finger slips into your eager body. You can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in your chest, and the satisfied groan that follows.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His voice is as smooth as silk, the deepness of it rattling your fragile bones, “This isn’t all that I wanted, but this is a good start, Mr. Rog—” you pant, words cut off as you lift your hips when he starts to hit that little spot, “Ah, fuck.”

“Mmmm,” he purrs again, “I know this isn’t all you wanted, greedy girl.” Greedy girl. Your cunt clenches at the words, “Oooh,” he smiles as sitting up a little when he feels you tighten, “You like that? Are you Daddy’s greedy girl?”

The champagne flute slips from your fingers, the liquid spilling over your chest and stomach, pooling in your belly button, “Uh oh,” he coos, slipping his tongue up your body, sucking up the spill with his lips as he goes, “Responsive little thing.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you empty, causing a frustrated, childish grunt to rumble through your chest. Steve tuts at you again, although smiling all the while as he starts to work himself out of his shirt. You bite down into your bottom lip as you watch him, more and more of his buttery, tanned, smooth skin coming into view.

His chest is wide, thick with conditioned muscles. Dark hair is splashed across the pallet of his pecs, the little happy trail spreading out across his lower stomach. There’s a deep v carved into his hips— hard abs and biceps flex as he moves. His weight leaves the mattress as he stands and shoves his fingers into his pants, pushing them down sturdy, hairy thighs. Your eyes instantly fall to the dick print in his black Armani stretch boxer briefs. Fuck.

You slip your hand down your side, over your hip and right between your sticky folds, hissing gently as you start to rub yourself, impatient and needy.

“Good girl.” he praises, making your heart sing.

He drops his hand to his dick, squeezing himself as he smirks at you. What a fucking tease— but nonetheless, your pussy clenches around absolutely nothing from just the sight of him. Those fingers of his push underneath the stretchy band of his boxers and start to tug, slowly, slowly, slowly, exposing more and more of his wiry, dark hair and skin. You drag in a deep breath when his cock finally springs free, an impressive girth bouncing as the material pushes over it.

He steps out of his boxers and starts to stroke himself, long, slow drags of his hand up and down his shaft as he watches you dip your fingers into your pussy. You tilt your hips upward as you pump your fingers, the heel of your palm pressing against your clit. Your mouth falls open, your eyes flutter, air chokes up in your throat as you fuck yourself for him, enjoying his hungry eyes on all of you.

But when he’s had enough, he’s had enough. He falls onto his knees, his weight dipping into the mattress and inches towards you, pulling your hand away. His fingers replace yours, rubbing your clit, pushing through your folds, teasing your slit quickly before he slides his hands underneath your butt and pulls you down the bed. His fingers dance over your knees before he pushes them apart and your legs fall open, pussy on full display.

Steve falls over you, hands on either side of your head, as he leans downs and captures your lips again, kissing you sweetly. There’s a sharp taste on his lips and tongue— it's you. You lean into his kiss, deepening it with your tongue as you push your hips upward, shivering when the tip of his cock glances over your clit. Shivers wrack your body again, prompting him to laugh, “Okay greedy girl, okay.”

He pulls back, rolling his shoulders as he slips his fingers between your breasts. You reach for him too— raking your fingers down his chest and stomach as he starts to push at your opening. You grip his side, digging your nails into his thick skin as the head of his cock breaks into you. He slides, agonizingly slow, his long fingers wrapping around your throat as he disappears into you, his own mouth dropping open as you envelope him.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head fall as he pushes a breath out of his mouth, his grip around your neck tightening slightly, “You fit me like a glove, honey.”

You push your hips, urging him to move as you wrap your small hand around his wrist and push it up his long arm, stroking gently, “Come on, baby.” You murmur, using your head to push away from the mattress slightly.

“What’s that, honey?” he asks, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

You mewl, husky, hips still pushing up into his, “God— fuck me, Steve. Please.”

You push your hips down into the mattress, his dick drawing out of you just slightly. You thrust back up, pushing him back in, deep, before you pull back again— over and over and over. He watches the connection, watching himself disappear and then reappear as he squeezes your throat, a steady, gentle pressure. You keep a hold of his large wrist, gasping and whimpering as you fuck up onto him.

“That’s right, doll,” he whispers, “You fuck my dick, baby. I should be paying you, shouldn’t I?”

You roll your shoulders, moaning loud, “Please,” you beg— nearly cry, “Please, fuck me. Please!”

He thrusts into you hard— biting off the words in your throat. You squeak when he fucks into you again, your tits bouncing with the force.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, thrusting into you a third time, “Hmm? Is that what you want, honey?”

You nod quickly, your face breaking, a long, strangled noise spilling out of you as he pushes his hips into yours. He sets a bruising pace after the first teasing thrusts. Hard, fast pumps of his hips into yours, skin against skin, the sound bouncing off the walls. Wet, choked sounds squeak out from you as he keeps a hold of your throat, your small hands still wrapped around his wrist and forearm. You swallow hard, the pressure from his hand making it slightly difficult but the sheer power— or the restraint he shows despite his obvious strength— makes you want to melt into the mattress.

Steve leans down, licking into your mouth with his tongue as he fucks. He kisses you hard, releasing with a loud smack before he grabs your face and chin, squeezing your cheeks as he shakes your head back and forth gently, “Does that feel good, baby?” he taunts, his red, full lips brushing along yours, “Come on sweetness, don’t go all quiet on me now.”

“S’good,” you grunt, slamming your eyes closed, “Fu— ah! Fuck!”

“That’s right, girl. This is exactly what you needed.”

You’re hoisted up, right up into his lap, your legs curling around his sides. Not missing a beat, you start to bounce and rock freely, throwing your head back as you hang on to his broad shoulders. His large hand wraps around your throat again, but his fingers creep up over your chin, the tips pushing into your mouth. You hum as you suck on them, sucking the salt of your slick right off the pads of his fingers.

Your wet muscles squeak with each push of his cock. Quick, hot spurts of precum dribbling into you as his hips thrust to meet yours. His free hand grips your hips, hefty fingers pushing into your skin, helping you move. Your nipples brush along his chest, the gentle sensation sending flashes of heat and electricity through your body— shudders racing down your spine. The hand around your waist snakes up your back, his fingers playing with the ends of your braids.

He pulls gently, then backs off, mouth agape and eyes wide as they search your face, seemingly asking permission. He tugs again and you let him— your head falling back as your tongue pushes down the length of the index and middle fingers still shoved in your mouth. Your scalp prickles with pain as he pulls harder, craning your head back further, exposing your neck. A screech explodes from your lips when his pearly whites sink into the crook of your neck before he sucks hard, pulling blood to the surface.

Faltering hips, wet smacks, damp skin to damp skin— it’s all so filthy. So crude— but exactly what you’ve needed. His hands leave your hair, leave your mouth; one wraps around your throat and the other thumbs your nipple. He keeps his eyes on you as he hisses, his hips pushing, fingers tweaking, hand tightening to push you closer and closer towards a release. Your pitch heightens, your grunts and cries shaky and desperate as he eggs you on.

“You gonna come for me, sugar?” he asks sweetly, kissing you quick and hard, “It’s okay baby, you can let go. You’ve earned it, sweet girl. You’ve been such a good girl.”

A broken moan chokes in your throat. He ruts harder and faster, each thrust pushing deeper, touching that sweet, vulnerable spot until—

Red hot is the orgasm that ripples through you. You wail as it blooms across your flesh, your toes curling and fingers digging into his shoulders. He grabs your hips as you come, guiding you down onto his cock, and then helping you rock back and forth to drain every last drop of your release. His grip around your waist tightens, his own grunts growing louder before a burst of heat swells in your cunt.

Steve punctuates his spurts with deep, sharp thrusts, hissing and groaning with each one until he’s spent. He murmurs sweet nothings into your neck, hot breath sticking to your damp skin. Your limbs turn to liquid, your head fuzzy and warm as he guides you down to the mattress. He slips out of you, strings of silk following, trickling down your hot, trembly cunt. Sweet, soft lips press against your chest and stomach, over your hips and down your legs as large hands massage your thighs and calves.

A calm washes through you as your eyes grow heavy, your breaths getting deeper and longer as you melt into the soft mattress. You feel Steve moving around, crawling back up to where you are. A long arm slips over your stomach, pulls you close, right into his warm chest and stomach. His beard and lips brush over your temple and cheek, soft fingertips run up and down your arm, pretty epithets lulling you into a gentle sleep.

You’re just as sweet as sugar, honey baby. Such a good girl.

~~~

You roll your shoulders as you shift, eyes fluttering as you start to wake. It takes a few long seconds before your eyes adjust, the room lights having long since dimmed. The moon is high in the jet black sky as bright stars smatter across the canvas. You're still cocooned underneath a heavy arm and crushed against a burly chest, a soft smile spreading on your face as he snores gently.

3:12am flashes on the digital clock on the nightstand as you feel him roll away from you in his sleep, rolling over onto his side, exposing his wide back. Your fingers instantly glance over his smooth skin, skimming down his spine before they curl over his bicep. You should have been sated, but there’s another pull— deep in your belly; still eager, still wanting. Closing the distance between your bodies, you push your bare breasts into his back as you slide your hand underneath the sheets and down his chest and stomach.

You push up onto your elbow and thread your fingers into his dirty blonde hair as your other fingers brush over his soft cock. You wrap your small hand around him and stroke him gently, right from his stomach to the tip of his pretty dick, your palm sweeping over his cockhead and slit. Another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as he stirs after a few minutes but doesn’t fully wake; just pushes his hips languidly into your hand.

His deep breathing soon turns shallow and choppy, soft moans scratching at the back of his throat but he never opens his eyes. Warm droplets of precum bubble from his slit and you brush the pads of your fingers over the wetness, dragging it back down his quickly hardening shaft. You rile him up, make his cock rigid and angry before you pull on his hip, rolling him over onto his back.

You throw your leg over his body and settle on top of him, ass up, lips mere inches from his hot sex. In one fell swoop, you follow your hand down his cock with your mouth, his hips jerking softly from the wet warmth surrounding him. Humming, you flatten your tongue along him, the tip tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his shaft. You bob your head up and down, sucking and swirling your tongue over his tip, teasing his slit as more drops of salt-sweet cum dribble on your tongue.

Steve’s hands slither up your thighs, grab your ass and squeeze as you suck him off, his hips jutting upward into your velvet mouth. Your mouth goes slack, your eyes fluttering when he slips two fingers into your wet cunt. He fingers you slow, his thumb pressing against your asshole as you start to writhe, rolling your hips against his hard abs to massage your clit.

You pull off of him, your hand still moving up and down, squeezing him as you pucker your lips— letting them gently brush against his cock. His hips rock up into your hand, his moans growing louder by the minute, deep gasps and sighs making his chest tighten underneath your body.

“Goddamn, baby,” his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Your muscles clench around his fingers as they delve and prod, his thumb pushing and circling your warm rim. A hot breath and a quick groan push out between your teeth, his dick jumping in your hand as the air tickles his skin. You swallow him again, taking every inch, relaxing your throat to accommodate him as you bury your face in the dark blonde hair at his groin.

Steve curls his fingers, lightly scratching at your insides, making you clamp down on them, squeezing them tight; holding them in.

Steve shifts underneath you, sucking in a sharp breath, “Get up here, baby. I wanna taste you.”

The sound of his voice rattles through you. His words still slurred with sleep, voice husky. You oblige, wanting his beard between your legs once more, sweeping along the inside of your thighs. You clamor up to him, straddling his face, your thighs closing in on either side of his head. Steve flattens his head on the pillow underneath him and opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out in anticipation of you.

You push your hips forward, rolling your cunt over his lips and tongue. Your head falls back, jaw goes slack as you start to ride his face, his tongue pushing through your sticky, puffy folds with ease. A wet noise fills the room— both his tongue and lips smacking and sucking on your messy flesh. Your hand finds his cock again, your fingers fondling his tip and that pulsing vein.

A chorus of whimpers and whines, quick gasps and deep growls roll through your chest as you grab his hair, pulling his face— if it’s possible— even closer to your cunt. Steve's face is flushed red in the moonlight. He balls the sheets in his hands as he flicks the tip of his tongue against you before he sucks your folds and clit into his mouth, his head shaking gently back and forth. He only releases you to drag in quick, wet breaths before closing back in on you, humming and moaning.

A soft burn spreads through your thighs as you canter your hips, using his chin and nose, along with his tongue and mouth to cop a feel. You’re close again, hips jerking with unexpectancy, your core also starting to burn as your body strains with its need.

Steve isn’t done with you yet. He rearranges you quickly, lifting you right off of him. Your knees sink into the mattress as he grabs your wrists and flattens your hands flat on the headboard.

He fucks into you from behind, not wasting a second in setting a brisk pace. He holds your hips in his hands, fingers digging into your skin as you drop your head, your braids swinging. Your tits bounce with his thrusts, your head knocking into the velvet headboard as you hold yourself up against it. Steve’s hips and balls slap against your ass as he gruffly pulls you back into him. A hand curls around your hip and travels up to your tits, grabbing your nipple between his index finger and thumb to tweak and pull and roll the thick nub.

You’re panting again, cursing and howling as your stomach tightens and your heart leaps, heat rippling through you. A quick sweat pops up on your brow, goosebumps prickle up along your body as your toes start to curl again. Steve’s hips are relentless, driving, driving, driving hard, his girth filling every inch that you have to offer. His fingers start to prod your asshole again, pushing gently against your rim as it constricts and relaxes.

It doesn’t take much. The soft pads of his fingers against your rim, and one, two, three more  strokes of his hips and you’re gone. Your mind going blank as your orgasm rushes. Steve fucks you right through it, dropping a hand to your clit as it jumps with the contractions of your cunt. He teases it— your clit— slapping and rubbing quick circles as your walls squeeze around him, finally coaxing him to come again.

You decide that you like the way it feels when he comes inside of you. His silk ribbons coating your squeaky muscles. You collapse against the mattress after your release washes through you. Steve falls beside you, rolling over onto his back and flattening his hand in the middle of his chest as he catches his breath.

“Gettin’ your money’s worth, huh?”

You dissolve into laughter, pushing your face into the blankets as you lay on your stomach, “I am a shrewd businesswoman, Mr. Rogers.”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

~~~

“It’s a financial risk, for sure,” you reiterate, hands shoved into the pockets of your slim fit pants, your suit jacket open, “But I assure you, we can turn this company around. Carter & Danvers hasn’t had an acquisition fail in over thirty years. I will personally oversee this transition through— until it’s turning a profit.”

All eyes are on you in the boardroom as Hank Prym, CEO and pain in the ass that just won’t sign the goddamn contract, of Lang & Prym Inc. stares back at you, fingers threaded over his lips. For whatever reason, he doesn’t trust you or anything that you have to say, despite the fact that within six months— or less— his company will have to file bankruptcy. Natasha Romanov, CFO of Lang & Prym, sits to his left, green eyes sliding between his and yours. Her delicate fingers play with the pen between them, rolling it slowly as she tosses her short, red hair.

“Mr. Prym,” she starts, “We have to do something. We aren’t going to last much longer without their help. I crunched the numbers for you multiple times.”

He shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes glancing off towards the windows, “We have time, right?”

“We do,” Natasha nods, “But—“

“I’m not ready to sign yet. Not yet,” he stands, and everyone else placed around the table follows his lead. He moves around the table and up to where you are, extending his hand and shaking yours gently, “You’re good, but I’m just not ready yet.”

You smile softly, tapping the back of his hand with your free one, “That’s alright, this is tough, I realize that.”

“I’m glad they sent you instead of that Wade Wilson,” he chuckles, “How long are you in town for?”

“Indefinitely. Until you sign with us, Mr. Prym, I’m a Los Angelean.”

“Well,” he starts, taking a step towards the door, “Have Natasha show you around town. She knows this little taco place that’s to die for.”

You toss your eyes towards Natasha as she approaches and wink, “I’ll take her up on that. She’s already given me a tip or two about the lays of the land.”

You shake hands with the rest of the board members as they exit the room, finally leaving you and the smirking redhead alone. There may be a little underlying tension between you and her, you aren’t entirely sure yet, but you know that her eyes tend to linger on your frame just a tad longer than they should— not that you mind the extra attention, especially from someone as effortlessly attractive as she is.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she sits on the edge of the mahogany table. A tight, black pencil skirt accentuates her shapely hips and long legs. A red satin blouse, unbuttoned strategically to show off her soft, pretty, full breasts.

“You’re looking a little more lively today.” Her silk smooth voice floats towards you, making you smile, “You gave my pal a call, eh?”

A devilish smile curls on your lips as you push your hands back into your pockets, “He was worth every fucking cent.”

“Glad to hear it.” She winks, and pushes away from the table, her manicured fingers reaching for your tie. She steps in close as she drags her hand down the length of the skinny tie, her big eyes following, “Maybe the three of us can get dinner sometime, hmm?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “You just name the time and place, Ms. Romanov.”

She hums approvingly before smoothing down your tie and turning on her heel, clicking out of the boardroom with her file folders in hand.

You plop down in the chair behind your open laptop, exiting out of your powerpoint and bringing up your email. You work for a while, but your mind drifts, back to the night before, back to one Steve Rogers. Broad shoulders, smooth skin, sweet, pretty mouth… soon, the thoughts keep you from working. Soon, you’re leaning back in your chair, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as you sway gently back and forth.

You slide your phone out of your pocket and thumb through your messages, landing on his number. Tapping the screen, you stand and bring it to your ear as you take a few steps towards the windows, your eyes scanning over the city as the phone rings.

“Back so soon?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as his warm voice fills your ears, “You make it hard to stay away, I must admit. How are you, I’m not disturbing you am I? I mean, you’re probably a busy man.”

He laughs, a warm, deep laugh and your body tightens “I do take breaks, you know.” You giggle, a sudden nervous energy filling you, which is strange. You usually have no problem asking for things you want, “Don’t get all shy on me now, girl.”

“God,” you scoff, tittering again, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I thought we were passed all this? Do I need to come over there and help you relax again?”

Muscles you weren’t even sure you had, clench tight, “Are you free tonight, Mr. Rogers?”

“You know, I like that. All that Mr. Rogers stuff,” You hear him moving around, then a deep exhale, “I wish I were, doll, but I’ve got a date. Dinner and a function.”

You click your tongue, your shoulders dropping as a quick flash of disappointment washes through you. It doesn’t last long, the disappointment— hell, you make deals for a living, “I’ll double whatever she’s paying you.”

“Oooh,” he purrs, “Jealous, baby?”

“Not jealous,” you point out, “I just don’t like to wait, and I don’t like to lose. It’s not in my nature.”

“That’s very flattering, but I can’t do that. I have a reputation in this city.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! I can’t cancel on such short notice.”

“Then meet me for dessert.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He laughs earnestly, “Listen, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

You cover your face with your hand, laughing again, “Oh my god,” you sigh, “Well, fuck. I’ll get with Natasha and see if she can recommend another option for the evening...”

You hear him shuffle through the phone again, another deep sigh pushing out of his nose. He’s quiet for a beat as you tap your index finger against the edge of your phone, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Let me get back to you a little later tonight, alright? You and Ms. Romanov behave over there.”

“I told you I was shrewd.”

“You sure did. Wait up for me, babe.”

You smile big, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “Will do.”

~~~

His knock sounds through the hotel room, making you tear your eyes from your laptop. You finish your email before pushing away from the small table and padding towards the door, your lace, burgundy kimono flailing with the air. You pull open the door and step to the side instinctively as Steve traipses through the threshold. You let it close with a soft click before you lean against it, crossing your legs and tilting your head as you find two crystal blue eyes on you.

The two of you blink at each other, eyes traveling over one anothers frames. He shrugs out of his black velvet jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch before he starts on his cufflinks. You watch in silence as he rolls up his sleeves, one by one, exposing his forearms just how you like— all veins and hair. His biceps bulge in the white button down, chest rippling underneath his black vest. He keeps flipping his eyes towards you, peeking through those lashes as he smiles.

He beckons you with his index finger and without hesitation, you’re moving towards him, pushing away from the door with your hands. Once you’re within range, he reaches for you, wrapping his long arm around your waist to pull you into him. Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you crash against him, his lips capturing yours in a flurry of kisses.

His hands push over your ass, squeezing your flesh before his palms push up and down your hips, “You look beautiful.” He says softly, his eyes drifting down your matching burgundy and navy bra and panties

You toss your braids over your shoulder before placing your hands back on his chest, “Thank you. How was your dinner?”

“Filling,” he smiles, “But I left room for dessert.”

“Well,” you start, pulling out of his grasp and moving back towards the table, “Hopefully you like chocolate.”

You spin on the balls of your feet to face him again, holding up a small plate with a large piece of chocolate cake. You smile as he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps up to you, leaning down just a tad to take a whiff of the freshly baked German chocolate cake. He opens his mouth, flicking those big blue eyes up to yours again, waiting patiently. You pluck the fork that’s dug into the spongy cake and cut off a small piece before placing it at his lips.

He takes it slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he slides his tongue along the bottom of the fork, sucking the cake into his mouth. He chews it carefully, closing his eyes as he hums in satisfaction, licking his lips, “That is good.”

You pop a piece into your mouth, agreeing with his sentiments, “Mmhmm, this is really good.”

Cutting off another piece, you slide it into your mouth, closing your eyes and moaning again. You feel his gaze, drifting down your chest and stomach, down your legs and then back up again. It feels nice— having his full attention. You don’t intend to go without it for the rest of your stay in L.A. While waiting for him, you came up with the perfect solution— your greatest deal yet.

With a gentle flutter, your eyes are open again, finding his staring back into yours. A flush of red seeps into his cheeks and lips, down his neck as his eyes drop to your chest quickly.

“Something the matter?” You ask coolly.

He shakes his head slowly, sucking his teeth, “Rethinking my decision to have dinner, that’s all.”

A smile quirks onto your lips, “A man has to eat, Mr. Rogers.”

“I can survive on chocolate cake and champagne.”

“Not for too long; unless…” your words drift away with ease as you step away from him again, grabbing your phone and heading towards the bedroom.

The soft click of his Christian Loubotin slip ons against the marble floor greets your ears as he follows. You point the fork towards your champagne glass still sitting on the table but keep walking, passing through the threshold of the sprawling bedroom and plopping onto the equally big bed. He enters moments later, hands full of a champagne glass and bottle. The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge, right next to you, where he watches you chew on another piece of the rich cake intently, his gaze only leaving to top off the bubbly, golden liquid.

Steve waits until you pause to pass the square champagne flute your way, thick fingers brushing along your thin, manicured ones. That strong gaze stays on you as you sip, a lopsided grin pinching his cheek, slow blinks until you hand the flute back and cut into the cake once more.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

He clears his throat at your sudden aloof demeanor, “Don’t be coy, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He laughs, “Maybe a spanking will help rejog your memory.”

You cut your eyes towards him, inhaling sharply at the notion, “Do you charge extra for that?”

“Only for naughty girls.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.”

You throw your legs over the side of the bed to stand playfully, but he catches your calf with his palm and gently rearranges you on the bed. He takes the fork from your fingers and digs it into the half eaten cake before bringing it to your lips.

“Answer me, please.”

You accept his offering slowly as your body constricts at the firm tone of his voice. You bat your eyes while you chew before slipping your hand down his wrist and forearm, stroking gently, “I was just thinking that you could possibly survive off of chocolate and champagne if that someone indulging you is also offering other vital nutrients.”

His eyes squint as he goes for another piece of cake, this time eating the bite himself, “Ah,” he says after a minute or two, his eyes towards the ceiling as he works it over in his mind, “You’re saying you’d also like to be my dinner.”

“Precisely. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense to leave one restaurant after the main course just to go to another for dessert.”

“It is timely; and, as you know, my time is extremely valuable.” He nods slowly, “My clients are a demanding bunch.”

You smile, “And don’t like to share.”

Steve pushes in close, brushing his lips against yours just to tease. He drops his face and nuzzles into you, the soft hair of his beard caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck before his lips start to nip and nibble.

“So you are jealous.”

The husky fullness of his voice sends a targeted missile to your core— your heart skipping a beat as the air freezes in your lungs. The feeling sinks right to your bones. A devilish hand slips along your bare stomach and around your hip to squeeze, before pulling you closer. A pink, velvet tongue presses against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sliding up to your ear before he plants gentle, gentle kisses.

“How are we going to solve this problem?” He whispers, teeth nibbling at your earlobe.

“Mmm,” you hum, “Maybe we should talk when you aren’t so full. I’m a woman of class— I don’t eat leftovers.” Your sentence ends in a whisper as you lean up and get right next to his ear.

His chuckle is deep, vibrating through you. He takes a breath, his chest puffing up, straining his shirt and vest before he pushes it out slowly, “I still have two hands and a mouth.”

“I don’t know where those have been either.”

“Well then why don’t you give me a bath? That way you can be assured I’m clean.” He stands, extending his hand towards you, “Maybe I can work up a second appetite.”

Steve whisks you into the bathroom, only dropping your hand to start the bath. You lean against the long counter, crossing your legs as you watch him undress. He takes his time of course, flicking those eyes up at you every now and again as he sheds the rest of his Tom Ford suit, taking the time to fold it up and set it aside. Your eyes can’t help but drift, down that chest and hard stomach, over the smattering of coarse, dark blonde hair at his lower stomach, right to his thick, long cock.

“I usually make clients pay before letting them ogle me,” he winks, “You’re getting a freebie. Come.” He beckons again, curling his index finger towards you.

“Oh?” you purr, pushing away from the counter and sauntering to him, “Why am I so lucky to get such a perk?”

Steve inhales deep again as he slides his hands underneath your kimono at the shoulders, pushing it right off, “I like you.”

“You barely know me.”

He spins you around, fingers unhooking your bra before he crushes his chest to your back, “I have a feeling that’s going to change.” He whispers, pressing his cheek against yours as he stares at you through the mirror.

He pushes his hands over your hips, fingers curling around the strings of your thong, slipping it down your thighs. He bends to lift each leg, pulling the undergarment from you and tossing it atop his pile of clothes. A large hand encases yours and moves you to the edge of the tub, keeping a tight hold as you step into the hot water.

“My phone, please?” you ask sweetly as you settle down, resting your back against the porcelain.

Steve disappears momentarily only to return with your phone and another flute of champagne. He sits the items on the edge of the tub and slips into the opposite end, grabbing your feet and placing them against his chest. He lifts your right leg and starts pressing his thumbs into the bottom of your foot, rubbing firm circles, smiling slowly when you moan. Grabbing your phone, you thumb through your music before Prince fills the bathroom.

“I thought I was supposed to give you a bath?”

“We’ll get to that,” he says easily, lifting your toes to his lips, kissing them softly, “I want to hear this plan of yours.”

You pull your foot from his grasp and reach for your loofah and shower gel before pulling on his wrist to get him to move towards you. Steve slides between your legs as you separate them, wrapping them around his waist as he lays against your chest. You dip the loofah into the water, letting it soak it up before you squeeze it over his chest. A smile and a laugh bubble from you when you start to wash his chest as low groans rumble through his chest.

You push him up to sweep the soap over his shoulders and back, admiring the smooth canvas of tanned skin. He relaxes easy, muscles cooling and calming under your fingers, his breaths getting deep and long. The length of his body captivates you as you push the sudsy loofah over his bicep and down his arm, not able to reach his wrist without straining.

“You alright back there?”

“Shut up,” another giggle pushes through your lips, “You know, my legs are forty four inches from hip to toe, so that means you have eighty eight inches wrapped around you right now and you’re still longer than I am.” You kiss the tiny spot just underneath his ear, “Your mama fed you well.”

“She was a good woman, my mama. Hell of a cook.”

“Was?”

He sighs deeply as he runs his hands up and down your legs, “She died, a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, “That’s the meaning of life, right? You live, you love, you lose. I was lucky to have been able to take care of her until the end, some people don’t get that.” He tips his head up to yours, his eyes searching your face, “But that’s enough about me. How was your day?”

“Long,” you smile, anchoring your left hand in the middle of his chest as you continue to push the loofah around his body, “I couldn’t close my deal, so it looks like I’ll be in Los Angeles indefinitely.”

“We’re not that bad, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re not a Los Angelean,” you tease, poking him gently, “I can hear that Brooklyn in you, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

His laughter fills the bathroom, making you smile wide. It’s a nice sound, his laugh. It’s also nice knowing you can pull such a genuine response from him— the slight distance he’s worked so hard to build over the years slowly starting to slip away.

“I miss New York sometimes. I haven’t been back since—” he cuts the words off, but you know what he was going to say. He clears his throat, visibly catching himself slipping and tenses, trying to regain his control, “I’m sure this news has something to do with you wanting to be my dinner and dessert?”

“Yes, so,” you start, clearing your throat as well, “If it isn’t obvious, I quite enjoyed my night with you, and I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I hate to share.”

“Only child, huh?”

“Shush,” you slap at him, “I don’t want to have to wait my turn for you, and I’m much too active, if you catch my drift, to go days between having you.”

He nods slowly, “I’m with you.”

“I’ll have business dinners and such, actually I’m attending a polo match on Saturday and I um, well, I’d like you to be… mine… while I’m here. Be at my every beck and call.” You click your tongue, “You know, like an employee of sorts.”

You peer at the side of his face as he sucks his teeth, nodding slowly, hands still dragging along and squeezing your legs, “That’s an idea, isn’t it?” he turns his head towards you, “You’re a very attractive woman, you could have anybody you want, for free. Ms. Romanov to start.”

“She talks about me?” you gasp, giggling a little, biting your lip, “But I can’t flaunt her around the way I want to, we’re technically working together, imagine if HR gets a whiff. No, I’d like a professional, although if you don’t mind, we could invite Ms. Romanov over to play every now and again.”

“Whew,” Steve chuckles, pecking your lips quickly, “I like the sound of that. Well, if you’re talking indefinitely, it’s gonna cost ya.”

You nod, “Of course. We’re both business people, we can work this out.”

He pulls in another breath, blinking towards the opposite walls, “That sounds lovely, and I’m flattered but,”

“Steve,” you whine, “Come on, you’re not even thinking about it.”

“I have dates lined up already.”

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t do that,” you scoff, “I can’t! Once you head back to New York, I’ll be the one dealing with a horde of angry women— if they’ll even want to see me again!”

“Okay,” you cut him off, “I’ll let you finish out your week. How’s that? Then, starting Saturday, you’re mine until my deal is closed.”

“That could be a month, or more.”

“It could be a day,” you shrug, “Name your price, I’ll pay it either way.” He grows silent, “The uncertainty makes you the real winner here.”

You walk your fingers up and down his chest, nuzzling against his cheek and wet beard as he thinks it over, “Let’s do some math,” you say after a while, grabbing your phone, “You charge fifteen hundred a night, right?”

“Yeah, but you want twenty four hours a day, and you want to show me off like some boy-toy,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows, “Price goes up.”

“Say it.”

He knocks his head around a few times, “Twelve thousand a week.”

“Fifteen hundred times seven is ten thousand and change, and even so, that alludes to you having a date every night of the week— which I doubt. Try again.”

“Fine, nine.”

“Five thousand a week,” you counter, “And I’ll pop for dinner on nights I don’t have a business engagement.”

“Eight thousand and I won’t charge you for threesomes with Ms. Romanov, which, I can easily talk her into.”

You laugh, “That’s not fair, we’ll both be enjoying those threesomes with Natasha. Six thousand, threesomes included,” you wink playfully, “You can stay here while I’m at work, and you can use up my thousand dollars a day per diem. The hotel has a spa, a gym, a world renowned five star chef in the twenty four hour restaurant— you can book a masseuse everyday for god sakes.”

Steve sucks his teeth, “Seventy five hundred.”

“Sixty five hundred.”

He smiles, “Seven thousand. You pay upfront, every Monday, and no refunds— no matter when your deal closes.”

You grab your phone, flipping over to your cash app. His phone vibrates in his pant pocket as you turn the face towards him, the seventy five hundred dollar transaction still lighting up the screen.

“A tip?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at the extra money.

“For humoring me. We got a deal, Mr. Rogers?”

He stands, water falling off his body as he steps out and grabs one of the fluffy, white towels, “Let’s fuck on it.”

You smile wide.

“You know,” he starts, wrapping your shoulders with the towel as you stand, “I would have stayed for five.”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “I would have paid twelve.”

~~~

It’s been a little over a week since your deal with Steve was struck, and the two of you have fallen into quite a lovely little routine. You’ve already gotten used to falling asleep on his chest, his long arms wrapped around your middle. Waking up at random times in the night to find him rutting into you softly, his warm breath on the back of your neck, hot lips pressed against your shoulder, fingers digging into your hips.

The two of you get along well— having dinner together every night, laughing and talking aimlessly whether it’s down in the restaurant or curled up on the couch, you in Steve’s lap as a random show plays in the distance (not that you’re ever paying attention to it). He’s a charmer, becoming an instant hit with the businessmen and women at the polo match and business dinner you were invited to. He looks good on your arm, and you like having him there.

Waking up with Steve is also fun. You currently stand in the bathroom, brushing your teeth as CNN plays in the embedded TV in the long mirror. There’s a shift in the reflection of the bed, Steve rolling over and letting out a deep sigh as he drifts back to sleep. Blinking back towards yourself, you glance down at your phone, tapping it to illuminate the time. You’ve got a few minutes to spare.

You rinse your mouth quickly and pad back into the bedroom, pulling the white sheets away from his naked body. The mattress dips under your knees as you climb onto it and place your hands on his thighs, raking your painted fingernails down his flesh. You knead the muscles, squeezing gently as you massage each thigh, working your way up from his knees. Within minutes, he’s growing, cock twitching before towering up, the light from the bathroom helping cast its shadow over his stomach.

There’s a quick sound from him, a half grunt, half moan, and you can’t help but smile— you’ve learned he’s a light sleeper. You sink your warm mouth over the head of his cock, your tongue swishing and teasing his slit. He gasps, and it sends a quick shiver down your spine, your pussy constricting as you push down his length, taking him all in.

You only bob your head a few times before his hips start to join in, pushing up into your mouth gently. Soft little moans choke up in his throat. Breaths hitching before he squeaks, his body twitching with each pass of your tongue. Hums vibrate through his throat and chest as he licks his lips and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip— a deep red flushing through his fair skin.

Each tiny sound from him, long hisses, desperate pants, quick, sharp whines as you work him over, sends jolts through your own body, your pussy wet and achy, stomach tight. But you have an early Zoom meeting, and time is slipping away. You reach for his hands and place them on your head as you slow down, giving him a clear signal.

He slips one of his hands down your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently against your skin to get you to peek up at him. You nod quickly, and not a second goes by before he grabs a handful of your braids and fucks hard up into your awaiting mouth. You moan with him as he forces your head down with his hands, his hard, long cock slipping down your throat.

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks, spit and cum bubbling out of your mouth as he fucks your face. Steve leans up to watch you take him, his hips still grinding hard.

“Tha’s right, baby,” he slurs, pushing out heavy breaths, “You take my cock so good, baby. That’s s’good, sugar. That mouth is so fucking pretty around my cock.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at his praise, the stroking of your ego making your body clench. You keep your nails dug into his thighs as he fucks into your messy mouth, lips flushed red, swollen and slippery. Steve whines loud, his octave high, the sound bitten off and broken as he slams his head back on the pillow, his mouth falling open. His hips pulse as he nearly cries, your scalp burning as he grips your head and hair.

You fight the urge to touch yourself, wanting to keep the delicious ache with you throughout the day. Steve lifts his head to make eye contact with you again, his face strained and broken as he whimpers, “Fuck, I’m gonna co— ,” he groans, loud and drawn-out, “That mouth is perfect. Ugh, I’m gonna paint that pretty mouth with my cum, baby— ah!”

He freezes suddenly and then pushes his hips upward, pushing his rigid cock deep before he spills, your warm, rough, pink tongue helping to coax him. He slams his head back down on the pillow, chest and muscles tense hard as each pass of his orgasm grows stronger, his spurts long and hot.

When his hips stop thrusting, he softens into the mattress, his limbs damn near liquid. His eyes flutter as he drags in deep, ragged, audible breaths, each one shaky and wet. You clean him up with your tongue, bobbing your head again, gripping his hips as filthy little noises and sweet cries squeak out of his throat. His body jerking and jutting. Once you’re finished, you kiss his tummy and smile before pushing off the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he mumbles, reaching for you as move back into the bathroom, “Hey, come’re”

You spin around to wink at him before closing the door a little to finish getting ready for your day.

“That’s not fair,” he shouts, making you giggle, “Fuck.”

~~~

One Zoom meeting turns into two, turns into three and beyond. You jot down notes, shaking your head slightly in agreement as you grab your phone, calculating a few numbers before you recite them for the rest of the group. It’s kind of amazing how you all deal with millions of dollars like it’s absolutely nothing.

You’ve had your nose so stuck in your laptop and phone all morning, you haven’t had a chance to pay any attention to the tall blonde traipsing around the place, shooting you little looks and quick smiles as you work, in hopes to garner a glance. It hasn’t worked so far; until now that is, as he saunters out of the bedroom after his trip to the gym and a late shower, chest bare, grey sweats hanging low on his lips.

Water still beads on his shoulders, a few strays slipping down his pecs into the dark hair that covers his chest. You cut your eyes towards him and slide them with him as he moves into the dining area, watching as he bends over to pluck a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He stands back tall, rolling his broad shoulders a bit before he tips his head and guzzles the cool liquid, Adam's apple bobbing.

“Hello? You still with us?”

You snap your eyes back towards your laptop, a smirking Natasha Romanov staring back at you, “Sorry, I think my, uh, connection got a little wonky,” you lie, sending your eyes quickly back towards the chuckling Steve, “What were you saying, Ms. Romanov?”

“Scott Lang, our other CEO is flying in next week from Chicago, he wants to set a meeting with you but was wondering if you could carve out sometime to call him beforehand. He just wants a run down of the numbers you’re proposing.”

“Sure, I’ll pencil him into my schedule later today, if that’s okay? Around three?”

Natasha taps on your phone, “Perfect, looks like he’s free. Mr. Prym also would like to see you and Mr. Parker again to go over the construction plans of the possible new building.”

“Okay,” you nod, turning your attention to your phone to text Peter, “I’ll get back to you whenever Peter shoots me his schedule. He’s kinda busy though, so it might not be until next week.”

“That’s alright.” she answers absentmindedly, “Clint? Do you have anything for her?”

“Nope, I’m good I think.” The short blonde says.

“Nick? Wanda?”

After a chorus of no’s, you all say your goodbyes before you end the call, returning to your notebook, forgetting all about the burly man stalking towards you. Your phone buzzes, and you grab it up, skimming over Peter’s text message before you respond quickly, setting up a quick call with him for the following day and asking him to share his calendar with you. A soft ding sounds from your computer and you’re immediately turning back towards it, bouncing slightly when a weight pushes into the couch next to you.

The taps of the keys on your keyboard are followed by the swoosh of your outbound email before you grab your pen and start scribbling again. A constantly buzzing phone, more taps, more swooshes, and your gentle, random hums are all sounds you’re used to; not so much your sudden roomie. He’s bored and slightly annoyed by your snubs all morning— also wanting a little payback for your shenanigans so early in the morning.

You haven’t even noticed that he’s now completely naked.

You lean up a little, squinting as you study the growth chart on your screen, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as your mind crunches the information. A gasp fills your chest as you’re lifted from your spot and settled right onto his lap. Before you can protest, he shimmies the short shorts covering your lower half down your thighs and over your knees, and pushes your white satin panties to the side.

Steve sweeps your box braids over your shoulder as the head of his cock pushes through your folds. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, that soft beard brushing against your jaw as he rocks his hips slowly, teasing your clit and opening with his dick. He grazes his fingers over your thighs before he cups your hot sex in his palm and uses his fingers to spread you open.

With a firm press, he slips inside of you, pushing until he bottoms out. He wiggles his hips, just so you can feel him moving inside of you before he grabs your laptop and places it back in your lap, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

You squirm on top of him, your hips rolling slightly as he starts to play with your clit, rubbing slow circles against your soft, wet skin. Your mind is blank as you stare at the computer screen, breath light and choppy, body tightening around his rigid cock. You want him to move, to thrust up into you real nice and slow while he thumbs and pulls at your nipple, breathing hot, hushed words into your ear. Trying to coax him, you wiggle again, pushing down onto him but he doesn’t relent— he just turns on the tv and settles back into the couch, throwing his arm over the back like you’re not even sitting on his dick right now.

He continues to rub your clit lazily, keeping his eyes on Sports Center as your body tenses every now and again, tiny, needy moans vibrating your vocal chords. You try to focus on the numbers and emails in front of you, but your mind is mush— a dull ache throbbing in the pit of your stomach, your teased clit starting to sting from his gentle pressure.

Natasha’s name flashes across your laptop, sending a sudden strike of fear through you, heart dropping to your feet, “Steve—”

“Answer it,” he says gently, “I’ll be quiet.”

“She’ll see you!” You hiss.

He just chuckles in return, “Not if you stay still, she won’t. Answer it.”

Your fingers tremble over the mouse pad, the arrow hovering over the accept button. Steve reaches around and taps the button before relaxing back into the couch, sinking lower into it as Natasha’s smiling face pops up on your screen.

“Hi,” she greets happily, her chin in her palm, a pair of red, thick rimmed glasses over her eyes, “Are you busy?”

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat as your voice quivers, “Not, um, not really. What’s, uh, what’s—” you grunt when Steve finally thrusts into you.

Natasha’s eyes squint as she tilts her head, “You okay?”

Smiling quickly, you nod, “Yeah, sorry. What’s up? Does Mr. Prym need something else from me?”

“Oh, no, this isn’t work related.” She laughs lightly, “We’ve missed each other in the office this past week, I was just wondering if you were doing okay, see how L.A. is treating you.”

Steve shifts underneath you, pushing his hips hard. You tense hard, muscles quivering around him as you dig your nails into his thigh, trying to muffle the squeak that rises in your throat.

“It’s great,” you strain— high pitched and shaky, “It’s um, I l-like it here.”

“Have you seen Steve lately?”

Your eyes widen when Steve snakes his free hand up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your left tit. You turn the laptop away from you quickly as Steve leans up, resting his chin on your shoulder, another deep rumble of laughter falling from his lips.

He centers the screen on the two of you again, kissing your shoulder as Natasha feins shock, “She’s seen quite a bit of me lately.”

Embarrassment flushes through you— heat rising in your cheeks, but Steve rolls his hips slowly and jossles you on his lap and you can’t help but sound, a wet little whimper as he thumbs your nipple underneath your shirt, “S-Steve.”

“It’s okay honey,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, his eyes cutting back towards the laptop as Natasha leans back in her chair, teeth dug into her bottom lip as a pretty pink blush blooms across her cheeks, “Little Natasha has a voyeur kink,” he pushes his mouth right next to your ear, his octave dropping, “She loves watching me fuck pretty girls like you,” he lifts your top up, exposing your see-through bra as he turns his attention back to the screen, “Don’t you, baby?”

“Are you fucking her right now?” Natasha breathes, her voice thick and deep, “I wanna see.”

Steve sets the laptop on the glass table in front of you, pushing it back until your lower halves are exposed— his cock rooted deep in your cunt. You hear Natasha groan, watch as she starts to drag the pads of her fingers across her chest as she sways gently back and forth in her swivel chair.

“Does she feel good, Steve?” She asks.

“Oh,” Steve purrs, lifting your bra slowly so your tits fall out one by one, bouncing softly, “She is so tight, Nat. So warm. You’d fall in love with this pussy.”

You fall back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle into the side of his face as he gropes your tits in his massive hands, squeezing hard as he pinches your nipples between his index fingers and thumbs. Languid thrusts start to push you up and down, the fingers on your pussy spreading you open for Natasha as she stands, wiggling her hips to hike her skirt up.

She sits back in her chair and lifts her left leg, resting her foot against the edge of her desk. Her thin fingers push through her slick, wet folds as she watches Steve fuck you slow, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. You open your eyes just enough to watch her unbutton her blouse, slipping her hand in to pull her left breast out, exposing her pierced, pink nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan quick, before hissing as Steve pushes in and out, humming soft as he starts to let it go to his head, “You’ve been hiding those from me.”

“You can see them in person soon,” she purrs, her head falling back on the chair as she pushes two fingers into her cunt, “I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my tits.”

You tense at her words, Steve cursing as your muscles squeeze around him. He bites down on your shoulder as he starts to fuck into you faster. He rolls your nipples in his fingers as the sound of your skin slapping against his gets louder— sharper. Natasha blinks slowly through hooded eyes, her sweet mouth falling open as her hips buck, one hand slapping at her reddened clit and puffy, slick folds, the other pumping in her slit.

A shudder races up your spine— hips jerk unexpectedly, digging down into Steve’s, “Sugar’s getting close, Nat,” he breathes, sliding his hand back to your clit, “God, I wish you could feel how tight she’s squeezing me. Hear how wet she is?”

You should be embarrassed; how spread open you are, the wet, filthy squeaks and squishes of your cunt as he ruts into you. But watching Natasha as she fucks herself to you, hearing her mewl and curse, her fair, smooth skin blushing red while she loses herself. It’s all obscene. Sleazy; but that’s why you like it.

“Oh, make her come, Steve,” Natasha groans, her tongue slipping out to lick at her nipple, “I want to see that pussy quiver.”

Steve wraps his arm around your middle, holding you tight, breathing into your ear as his hips go into overdrive. He fucks into you fast and hard, bouncing you on his lap. He shoves his fingers into your mouth, hissing and groaning as you suck them. The sweet whimpers and whines of Natasha make you shiver, the sight of her hips thrashing and the sun glinting off of the diamond studded bar nipple rings accenting her perfect tits, send you right over the edge.

You throw your head back as your orgasm blooms, spreading through your veins like fire. You whail as you slam your eyes shut, Steve dropping his wet fingers to slap your cunt, teasing your clit as it jumps with contractions.

“Oh, God, yes,” Natasha pants, her fingers rubbing quick, hard circles against her clit, hips pulsing, “Yeah, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna... come, baby— you’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl.”

“You are perfect, honey,” Steve moans into your ear as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, “That tight pussy feels so good around me. So sweet— that’s why I call you honey.” He wraps his fingers around your neck, “You want me to come in her, Nat? Huh? You wanna see my hot cum spilling out of her?”

“Yes!” She cries, hunched over as she thrashes her hand back and forth, her mouth hanging, “Yes, Steve.”

As if on cue, he grunts deep, his cock jumping as he starts to spurt. He keeps a tight grip around your neck as he fucks hard with each spit, the hot ribbons coating your slick muscles. He pulls out of you unceremoniously, cantering your hips to give Natasha the full view of his silk dribbling out of you, your spasming, tight cunt pushing it out.

Natasha comes hard, her moans growing louder and higher as the coil finally snaps. Her tits tremble with the aftershocks, her hips jutting upward randomly as she creams. Her fingers slow as her eyes close, her head tilts back and resting against the back of her swivel chair as she licks her lips. Deep, smooth breathes swelling her chest as her hips come to rest.

Steve kisses you deep— tongue pushing into your wet warmth to massage the roof of your mouth. He sucks on your top lip, smacks on you loud as he palms your thighs before kneading gently. Smiling against his lips, you let your body go limp; melt right into his burly chest and stomach, his cock resting against your balmy, used, sticky cunt.

“Goodness, me,” Natasha purrs, a sated, soft smile on her lips, “That was sweet. We really need to get together now.” She laughs.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into Steve’s hair, “Steve let me work threesomes into his base price, so you’re welcome any time, babe.”

“Oh, he did, did he? That’s not fair Steven Grant, you nickel and dime the shit out of me.”

Steve shrugs, “What can I say, she’s a better business woman than you.”

“I can see that. I hate to come and run, but I need to freshen up. I have a meeting with Hank in a half hour. Maybe we can all have dinner Friday night?”

“I’ll make reservations. The restaurant in the hotel is fabulous.”

She winks, her lips curled in a smile, “Text me.”

The connection ends and you fall back into Steve’s chest, brushing your cheek against his, “Now that your debauchery has ended, can I get back to work now?” you laugh.

“Nope,” he answers quickly, slapping your laptop shut and lifting you with him as he stands, “It’s lunch time.”

“Steve,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you back into the bedroom, “I have so much to do. I’m waiting for the architect to call me back, I have a presentation I have to put together—”

“Numbers to crunch, businesses to buy, blah, blah, blah,” he drops you onto the mattress and grabs the menu from the nightstand before plopping down next to you, “They got sushi today, yummy.”

Work becomes an afterthought. You and Steve lay in your nakedness, eating slowly as you stare at each other, rogue fingers reaching out and sliding along hips and arms and tummies. Lingering blue eyes skip along your face and body, his deep laugh rattling every bone, every muscle, every vein you possess. He opens up a little more, talking aimlessly about he and Natasha’s friendship, how they met through his friend, and fellow escort Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky,” you lay on your back, leg bent at the knee as it sways back and forth slowly, Steve curled around you, “Even his name is kinky.”

He nuzzles into your neck, exhaling deep as he rests his eyes. His long arm is slung over your chest, legs tangled with yours, “He’s a good guy. I might let you meet him one day.”

“Might?”

“I don’t want him stealing you away from me.”

The words hang over you like a cloud. You blink slowly up at the ceiling as they, the words, swirl around you, filling your chest and head. Maybe you’re thinking too much into it, putting too much weight on them. He probably says this to all of his clients while in a post sex haze. You’re being silly, you don’t even know this man… but you want to.

That scares you.

After only a week, you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. What started out as just needing some company every now and again, has turned into looking forward to seeing him after work. Not being able to wait until you're across a dinner table from him, being squeezed against his body while in the tub, not wanting to pry yourself out of his arms in the morning. There was a time where you thought nothing of work— buying, selling, making money, climbing the corporate ladder— you ate and breathed your work.

Now?

All you want to do is eat sushi and nap the days away, with Steven Grant Rogers wrapped around you like a blanket.

~~~

Steve glances over his shoulder at your sleeping body as he sits on the edge of the bed. He stands slowly, running his hand through his hair as he moves towards the double doors and out onto the balcony. Night is falling over L.A., the sky dark as the moon and stars start to shine through. He leans over the concrete columns as he thumbs through his phone, casting his eyes out over the streets as he taps on a name.

“Steve,” a deep voice says, “Shit, I thought you died, man. Where have you been?”

“Sorry Buck, I’ve been with a client all week.”

“All week? Wow, big spender.”

“She’s from New York, in town on business.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome. Where are you?”

“The Waldorf Astoria, Presidential suite.” Steve turns, tilting his head as he watches you sleep.

“Oh, shit! You lucky bastard!”

Steve continues to stare at you, blinking slowly as you roll over onto your side, “You know, she hasn’t been out on the balcony once since she’s been here,” He says absentmindedly, nibbling on his bottom lip, “She’s afraid of heights.”

“O-kay?” Bucky chuckles as he draws out the word, slightly confused, “Why do you sound so sad? What’s going on?”

“I’m breaking rule number one.” Steve answers softly, dropping his head.

“Steve,” Bucky warns, his octave dropping.

“I don’t want her to go.” Steve answers softly, “I’m— fuck, I think I’m falling for her, Buck.”

~~~

Your phone vibrates softly against the couch, illuminating in the darkness as a text from Natasha slides in.

Good news! Hank’s ready to sign the deal first thing tomorrow morning!

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

You Can Be The Boss

Summary- 2.2k Mob!Steve x You x Mob!Bucky. Business Deals are done in the club most nights over liquor, drugs and you. Tonight is just like any other. You leave the stage to join your men while they deal with an ongoing issue.  Warnings- Sexual themes, smut, weapon use, drug use, threats, swears. This is an 18+ Only Blog. Written for @donutloverxo​ 4k Challenge. 

A/N- I would love to write more for this trio. Lyrics in the beginning and title taken by Lana Del Rey’s You Can Be The Boss. 

Owned Sinfully Sweet Masterlist

You can be the boss, daddy You can be the boss Bad to the bone, sick as a dog You know that I like, like you a lot Don't let it stop...

The cold steel of the pole easily slicked along your heated thighs as you spun around it, your head tipping back as the rush of the club's sultry lights turned into blurs will you easily landed on your toes. 

Of course eager men awaited at the edge of the landing, wanting a mere glance of interest from you as you worked your curves under the stage lights. Sensuous sways back and forth as the unforgiving lights created beads of sweat to roll down your back and past your bare flexing shoulder blades. 

They flashed dollar bills like you should be crawling to them, pursing your lips in a pout and begging them to stuff your panties and bra with the filth. Little did they know you were here out of sheer joy. Hooking your leg once more and pulling yourself up, a siren at her craft as you contorted your body to the pole, defying gravity with your spins. 

Casually you danced across to the end, the crowd parting easily as you eased from the stage, hungry starved men still hovered, but never quite reached out to graze you, although if you gave them the go ahead they would swarm like hungry Jackals. 

Starving blood thirsty jackals. But you were a lioness and your men ruled here, waiting for you like devils at the end of your walk, they would easily kill any that came near you. 

Your gaze lifted to them, Steve lounging back against his seat, cigar laced between his fingers as drifts of smoke curled around gold ring clad fingers, up around his face where tendrils of smoke caught in his hair before dissipating. The smoke couldn't curb the hungry blue eyes that watched you in your glittery sparse outfit making its way towards him. 

Next to him sat your other companion, in his hand expensive crystal swaying amber color liquor pooled at the bottom of the glass, the liquor would make his lips intoxicating, darts of his tongue catching the droplets and curling wickedly in greeting when he caught sight of you, Bucky was unashamed at the way he shifted in his seat, patting his thick thigh for you to perch on. 

Easing into his lap, your arm locked around his neck so fingers could run through the short crisps at the back of his head, manicured nails making him groan appreciative with a tilt of his head catching your mouth with his. 

Just as you knew it tasted of rich dirty money, your tongue lapping through the brandy and coke lacing his mouth while he took you apart. A hand grasping your ass and flexing the muscle, sure to show those hungry bystanders that you were theirs. 

Steve nearby tilted his head back to inhale his cigar and let it swirl above him before sticking the smokey cigar in a nearby ashtray. You glanced up at him from where you were nipping on Bucky's lip and he reached to pick up a tiny pill and held it up for you. Bucky yanked you away, muttering in your ear. 

“Stick that tongue out Doll.” Which you obediently did and Steve stuck the pill on your tongue, and you let it roll on your tongue for Steve before tipping your head back to swallow, meanwhile Steve’s thumb traced your lip, winking at you. 

“Such a good girl.” He praised while Bucky lifted you off his lap so you could go to Steve, his arm circling around your waist while you settled in against his chest, turning now to the guest at your table. Your eyes roamed him up and down before tilting your head to kiss Steve’s cheek, purring at him. 

“Say hi to the Chief of Police Doll.” Bucky leaned forward with a smirk, his hand possessively on your thigh dangling over Steve’s lap. You were still nuzzling Steve’s cheek before turning to your guest and swirling your fingers at him with a small grin. 

“Pretty isn't she, our Doll?” Steve trailed fingers along your collarbone and dipped into your cleavage, the chief’s eyes following with a lust filled drugged haze. Steve's hand went to your throat, his thumb stroking along your pulse as the cold rings of his bit into your skin. On instinct you purred again, tilting your head to him so he could kiss you slowly, this kiss was different from Bucky’s. More demanding, drawing out little mewls of need and his hand pressed against your hip to rock you in his lap till you settled your ass cheeks against his hard on. 

“Do you want to try her out?” Bucky cocked his head with his signature grin, his hand sweeping up your thigh to cup your mound under your dress, stroking his fingers through your panties. You tilted your head back while Steve nipped at your neck before he tilted back to watch you rotate your hips to meet Bucky's fingers. “She’s excellent, aren't you baby?” Bucky asked and you whimpered in response, pulling at your bottom lip as Bucky dipped beyond your panties stroking your folds. 

The Chief stuttered from across the table, his eyes wide in shock at seeing the Mobsters offering you up to him. “I-I can’t, she is yours and I wouldn’t ever want to cross that line.” 

Steve patted your ass. “Go on Doll.” He insisted and you moved to a stand, hooded eyes roaming the Chief as you made your way beyond the table, your fingers trailing his shoulder while giving a pout to luscious red lips. 

“Am I not pretty enough Sir?” 

He sputtered again, holding his hands up and looking warily over at Steve and Bucky, who both were watching intently, waiting. 

“No Dear, your stunning.” He tried to assure you while going back to Bucky and Steve. “I can't, she's your girl.” He said firmly and you leaned in close, running your nose over the shell of his ear, whispering softly in his ear. His fear dripped like a poison in the air, feeding your men from across the table while they admired you working. 

“You really think refusing their gift will save you Chief?” You bit on his lobe before pulling away, Bucky holding out his hand to tug you back into his lap. Steve glowered with a snarl, reaching in his suit to pull out his glock and set it on the table in front of him before picking up his cigar and dragging from it. 

“You refuse our gift, yet you feel like you can just take our warehouse in a raid?” Steve snapped out and you arched a brow at the Chief who was breaking out in a sweat. 

“I warned you ahead of time that the precinct was getting interested over that location.” The Chief tried defending himself, his hand slamming down on the table in agitation at the situation. 

You tutted while Bucky shook his head, pulling out his own blade from his suit, letting it dance in his hand lazily. “And we told you to handle it Chief. You have been paid well by us, we don’t fuck with your men, they stay away from us. Yet now we're out of a warehouse with all its goods. Not good business.” 

“Not good business indeed.” Steve said darkly and the Chief turned red in anger at their accusations. 

“I keep most of your shit under the radar, I warn you every time there is an upcoming bust in your area. I can't control everything, SHIT. I have people I work for. If i'm caught, I can do some real time.” 

Steve now just looked amused at the Chief, you stroked Bucky's cheek while the blade spun faster in his hold. 

“You think that matters to us?” Steve scoffed and Bucky flicked his wrist so that the blade flew across the table and planted in the man's shoulder before he could escape, making him gasp in surprise while Steve pushed to a stand, grabbing the glock and shoving it in the Chiefs gaping mouth, the barrel snapping against his teeth and pushing to the back of his throat, making him squeal in fear and pain, his hands going from trying to pull out the deeply embedded knife to around the barrel shoved in his mouth while Steve clicked the safety off, making his eyes grow wider and cross eyed looking down at the weapon. 

Bucky tapped your thigh to have you stand, and he moved to approach the Chief after you lifted yourself from his lap, his hand grasping the knife and twisting. Blood curled up from the wound to tinge the air with a copper hot scent. 

“This is your last warning Chief, get this shit under control. Or you will be sporting another hole in your head, got it?” Bucky hissed while yanking out the knife, making the man sink in his seat with a pained groan, sweat and tears mixing on his face. He tried mumbling out a yes, slurred around Steve’s glock. 

“Yossss” he gagged out and Steve yanked the gun from his mouth. “YES! Yes, I promise.” 

Steve settled back down while Bucky wiped his blood stained knife against the Chief’s shirt. You slid in the booth next to Steve, your hand stroking along the inside of his thigh and palming his erection that was now raging, throbbing as you squeezed lightly, making him give you a warning look. 

You couldn't help but get turned on watching them work though, licking your lips hungrily and he grasped your chin, looking at you sternly. “Behave Doll.” 

Turning back to the Chief while Bucky sat down next to you and loped his arm over your shoulder and tucking his knife back inside his suit, Steve waved his hand. “I think we're done here, be sure to think about what we said when you go back to your family tonight.” 

The Chief fisted a nearby napkin against his shoulder to stop the blood and he grunted in pain as he got up from the table to stumble away, get out of the club as fast as possible. Bucky pulled out his phone and placed a quick call. “I want you to send a nice gift to Chief Baron’s wife, make sure to leave a nice note from Barnes and Rogers in it specifically for her and her husband.” He shoved his phone away, knowing that the gift would be an excellent reminder that the Chief’s family wasn't safe either, further incentive for him to take care of business. 

Steve reached under the table to stroke you once more as Bucky had before, leaning into you to kiss on your neck, leaving a nice sting that would blossom darker later. “Fuck you are so hot when you are working.” Steve praised while sliding a thick finger in you, the rings cold in your heat, hard metal following gentle come hither strokes that had you gasping. Bucky tilted your head to kiss you while Steve continued fingering you, adding another to scissor you open. 

“Got all wet didn't she? She loves being teased in front of others.” Bucky smirked as his tongue trailed over your mouth, chuckling darkly at the needy mewl of acknowledgment you gave them. 

“Cause she's a little slut.” Steve stated, pulling his fingers out to show your arousal dripping down his fingers and shoved them in his mouth. 

Bucky yanked you into his lap, pulling your dress up around your hips and shoved your panties aside while he pulled out his cock, making you sink onto it with a cry, he fucked into you while the music in the club picked up. Dancers mingled on the stage before their table, but Steve lounged back. The last of his cigar picked up from the ash tray and relight it while he watched you ride Bucky next to him. 

His finger crooked at one of the passing waitresses who ignored the two of you professionally. You grabbed the back of Bucky's head and started arching faster while he thrusted into you with demanding grunts, pulling down on your hips harder. “Have our car pulled around for us.” He instructed and a final cry of Bucky's name had you coming on his cock and sagging forward while he finished, leaving you dripping around him. Hiding your smile against Bucky's shoulder till he eased you to sit up again, his hands cupping your face as you gave him a blissed out smile as that little pill started to take effect. 

You couldn’t help the rush the drug and orgasm gave you, spiraling through your system in the most addictive way that made you want and crave more from them, your eyes glassy in pleasure while your body hummed happily, flexing around Bucky’s cock still filling you.  

“Starting to kick in, isn't it?” He asked, referring to what Steve had given you earlier and you nodded, tilting forward to lick over his lips with a hum of satisfaction. 

“Good, cause she started something she needs to finish in the car.” Steve chuckled while moving to a stand, holding his hand out to you. You grasped it while moving to a stand, easing off Bucky’s softening cock. He tucked himself away as Steve led you from the club and out into the night, the cool fresh air rejuvenating your senses when you inhaled deeply. 

Steve opened the door for you and you slipped into the back of the limo, he followed behind. Bucky wasn't long as he climbed in and shut the door behind him. 

“On the floor Doll, you got some work to do with that mouth, going to smear that lipstick all over with my cock and leave you ruined.” Steve demanded while the limo pulled away, the tent in his slacks evident. 

Your tongue trailed along your dark red lips as you sunk to the floor, sliding your hands up Steve's thick thighs. 

Anticipation quivered up your spine as his hand cupped around your mouth when your hands rested on his belt. 

“Make sure you get me off Doll before we get home or else.” 

You knew well what ‘Or Else’ meant, with a nod you unbuckled his belt, ready to reaffirm your place as Steve and Bucky’s Doll. 

[dokifluffs]

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Tendo, Himekawa, Miya Twins

Pairings: Tendo X Reader (gender neutral), Himekawa X Reader (gender neutral), Osamu X Reader X Atsumu (not romantically though) ((gender neutral)) 

Genre: v a m p i r e, fluffffff, fantasyyyy

Author’s Note: asdkakahd fantasyyyyy i love fantasy so much so i hope yiu all enjoy!! Happy reading!! 

Warnings: blood, passing out from loss of blood

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Kenma, Bokuto, Kuroo 

Tendo: 

The night sky was clear with not even a cloud floating in the sky, the crisp air flowing through your slightly open window, keeping your room cool throughout the night

You could hear the outside world so clearly- the crickets in the grass, the owls hooting in their trees, occasional sounds from other students’ in their own dorms

Testing season had fallen over university and it was time for everyone to spend this next month studying their eyes out, including you

You had been stuck in your room all day, leaving your seat at your desk as sparingly as possible to use the bathroom and to eat

Your stomach grumbled for the nth time tonight just thinking about dinner with your friends that you had to miss, instead stuck with a few granola bars you had left instead

There was absolutely no time to waste and you were on a clear schedule you made for yourself to get the most out of studying yet it meant sleeping and even eating less

Your single dorm was empty, simple and plain to your liking though you wished there were more pops of color to make it actually feel more enjoyable as you stayed in here

A small pile of clothes was formed in the corner of the room right outside your closet doors, your bed unmade from this morning when you woke

Your lamp light flickered from the old bulb that was near the end of its usable life

“No, no, no, not now,” your voice frantic, eyes heavy and body begging for sleep and sustenance as the light finally went out, a large gust of wind blowing through your window, making the pages of your notebook and textbooks flip

The pale moonlight shined in onto your desk as it peeked from beyond the tall oak tree that sat right outside your window

You groaned, your voice bouncing off the painted over concrete blocks of your dorm walls that matched everyone else’s as you leaned back in your chair

It was a weird feeling- your head spinning slowly, the burning sensation in your eyes as they watered when you finally shut them, pressing the palm of your hand over your eyes and forehead to relieve all the pressures you had pent up

“You’re up quite late…” You jumped in your seat, heart skipping a beat at the sudden silky voice of Tendo in your ears

His crimson eyes glowed in the dark, his two red orbs looking directly into your tired ones as you sat up in your seat, spinning to face him

He wore an oversized uni shirt that flowed with the breeze in the room, his hair down and the ends of his red locks obscuring his vision ever so slightly

“Don’t tell me you want to become nocturnal, now~” he teased playfully as he reached down, his icy hands taking yours in his, amused hearing the way you swallowed when he touched you

He tilted his head into your hand, his skin pleasantly cold against your worn, hot one from all the writing you did to review your notes and course

“I’m just studying, Satori. Are you hungry, again?” You asked, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone

“Always,” he mumbled into your skin as he narrowed looking down to you, bending himself down ever so slightly as your arm was stretched upward in his grasp

He lowered his head, never breaking his gaze with you as he brought his lips across your flawless skin, his mouth already salivating at the faint feeling and sound of your blood pumping through your ulnar artery in your wrist

He closed his eyes as he closed his lips around your wrist, his teeth sinking in, humming in delight at the sensation of your blood over his tongue

You let out a wince at the pinching feeling

He removed himself from your wrist, the dark liquid slowly dripping from his teeth marks as he licked his lips

“You haven’t been eating properly, Y/N,” his voice dropped as your name rolled off his tongue. “You taste different,” he said almost disappointedly yet sounded completely different

You couldn’t tell if it was the darkness in the room with the moon shining behind the leaves and branches of the tree but it seemed his eyes were glowing even brighter

“I need to make sure you take care of yourself or else my meals won’t be as enjoyable anymore~” he cooed as he licked up the blood gliding down your arm, the corners of his lips curling in enjoyment when he felt your arm tense up as his tongue dragged up your arm

You bit your lip feeling his teeth sink back into the bite he made, taking in your blood to fill his hunger

The pads of his fingers holding your hand squeezed as he held your hand, stretching it

Your breaths grew longer and deeper, your vision clouding as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier

You let out a big yawn, your body letting go

Tendo caught you in his arms as you almost collapsed to the ground from your seat, never letting your body even touch the cold tiled floor

He lapped his tongue over his bite before he let go of your wrist once again, bringing you to your bed before laying you down, joining beside you

He licked your wrist until it stopped bleeding as you caught up on some much needed rest

“You should’ve taken care of yourself more,” he playfully poked your forehead, brushing your hair with his fingers, your body naturally curling and moving impossibly closer to his to reach the cool feel of his body in your sleep

Your nose was filled with the scent of tendo, his hand holding yours as you peeked open your tired eyes, tilting your head up on your pillow to meet his red eyes

“Good morning~” he chimed happily after being awake all night since he never needed sleep ever since he became immortal. “You really needed that,” he brushed his index finger down the bridge of your nose, smiling at the way your cheek was squished into your pillow

“Today, you’re taking a break and I’m going to make sure you eat and stay hydrated properly,” he leaned forward and kissed your forehead before you let out a small “mm” before closing your eyes again, bringing your forehead to his chest, his hand resting on your back draped over your side, legs intertwined on your bed

He hummed content holding you close, imprinting the feel and shape of your body close with his, relishing in your warmth, one he hadn’t felt in a while

It was a feeling he was determined to get used to for the rest of his immortal life

Himekawa: 

“Aoi, I’m here,” you shed off your raincoat and slipped out of your partially rained on shoes, calling into the darkened house, the curtains closed tightly to not let a single ounce of light in from anywhere. “Aoi?” You called into what seemed like an empty house

No movement or signs of anything or anyone

You walked carefully through the eerily dark house as rain showered over the house and entire neighborhood

“Aoi?” You knocked in his bedroom door standing ajar, creaking open with a haunting whine that made goosebumps rise over your arms

You shuffled in seeing the dark lump of his covers bundled up shift at the sound of your voice

“What’re you doing in there?” You peeked through a small opening that showed his face buried in the plush covers. “It’s time to feed, Aoi, it’s been too long.”

You tried to remove the blanket from him but was unable to budge

Ever since he changed, feeding became the thing he absolutely hated the most yet it was the one thing he needed to do

His eyes glowed bright red in the dark, no light natural or artificial could hold a candle to his eyes when they shined

He shook his head, one of the things he always did before he had to give in to feeding

He spent weeks after weeks, starving himself if it meant he didn’t have to feed on anyone or anything, most importantly, you but this also meant him gradually losing his strength

There were too many times in his early years where the hunger took over his humanity although no longer being one but what little he had left, even if he had to act like it, he wanted to keep it

This was a life he never asked for but he didn’t want a wooden stake through his heart or for his body to petrify- he didn’t want the bloodlust to consume him from the inside out again

“I know you don’t like this but you’re starving,” your voice was the calm in his storm that never went away as you brushed your fingers through his soft locks as they slid in between. “Please? I promise you won’t hurt me, you know I won’t let you.”

You could hear his quivering voice when he told you about his nightmares, seeing them so vividly at night, he could taste all the blood of those he had unintentionally drained, the horrors of what he was capable of, what he did to so many innocent people and the ones he loved most in the world

All he had left was you and he never wanted to lose you

He hesitantly sat up, the blankets falling off os his back and pooling all around his body, his fists clenched over his thighs, gaze avoiding yours

You pricked your index finger with a safety pin, bringing it to his lips

He gently took your hand in his, barely holding yours, his skin icy to the touch, it felt like as if he was standing outside during winter with nothing to keep him warm

He could feel his fangs protruding when his tongue made contact with the bead of your blood that formed on your fingertip and sucked

It was like an instant feeling when one drank water after being dehydrated for a day, however, in this case, it was hunger and thirst combined for weeks for Himekawa

Nothing had ever tasted so good in his lifetime

A shiver ran down your spine feeling his sharp teeth graze down the side of your finger, his lips ghosting over your palm before they found the soft spot in your palm, his teeth biting in and sinking into what felt like your radial artery

You winced at the pain but clamped your mouth shut, not wanting Aoi to stop because he surely would

It took a lot to get him to feed and almost nothing to get him to stop

He let the taste overcome him, all the fears he had was slowly dissipating as the black hole of hunger was taking over his mind

You blinked away, taking deep breaths as you kept yourself sitting upright, ignoring the sudden feeling of your body temperature dropping, the sudden rapid beating of your heart in your chest

You could feel your head drooping, swaying side to side as your vision blurred, the room beginning to spinning all around you

You bit into your knuckle, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggled to keep yourself conscious

He could feel all the energy and his strength returning with every ounce he consumed but fear pierced through his chest sharper than any stake when your body collapsed to the ground

His body froze seeing your unconscious body on the ground

You could hear soft whimpers in your ear, slowly becoming clearer and clearer as you slowly regained consciousness

“Y/N,” Aoi choked on his breaths with his eyes swelled and red from all the tears he cried and continued to drip off his chin. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, apologizing profusely as you woke, his hand automatically reaching for yours but instantly pulling back feeling the bandage he wrapped your hand in

He felt so heart broken, he wanted to disappear from existence the moment he realized you collapsed

It made him sick to his stomach despite ever being unable to feel sick

“I’m a monster,” he sunk back on his knees

“No, no, Aoi, you’re not,” you sat up, the damp towel he laid on your head falling onto his bed you laid on. “You are no monster to anyone,” you cupped his face, playfully squishing his wet cheeks, using your sleeves to wipe him dry

“You’ve been alive for centuries and who you are now is not the same person as centuries ago.” You pulled him close, peppering kisses to his forehead

“But I almost killed you.” He wanted to so badly to rip himself out of your hold so you wouldn’t have to touch him, touch someone who was supposed to love you yet almost ended your life

“But you didn’t and I’m still here and I will be til the end,” you reassured and hugged him close, pulling him to stand and making room beside you in his bed, your turn to dissipate his fears while more content that he actually fed compared to the past times

The Twins: 

Ravens cawed at you, perched on the branches of the oak trees in front of the house of your best friends, Osamu and Atsumu

As soon as you knocked on their front door, it felt as if life had fast forwarded itself now that you were suddenly upstairs

This always happened whenever you came over- it was feeding time

Your eyes were always squeezed shut and it felt like the breath was taken out of your lungs whenever either of them brought you inside to wherever they planned to feed on you

“You can open your eyes,” Osamu’s voice calm and light in your ear as your feet made contact with the plush rug over the cold wooden floors

He took your hand in his, his touch icy to your warm, living skin, as he led you toward one of the lounging chairs by the fireplace as the wooden logs crackled in the flame

“About time, I’m starvin’” Atsumu pushes himself off the couch and snatching your grasp out of Osamu’s, bringing you to the couch

But Osamu didn’t let go. He was much more gentle with you than Atsumu, the more hangry of them two

Your back was pressed into Osamu’s chest with your legs stretched out, Atsumu already advancing between your legs, preferring to feed from your thighs and Osamu your neck

You had been their feeder for what felt like sll your life at this point, but it always made you squeamish

“Stop squirmin’,” Atsumu grumbled hungrily as he firmly held down your legs as he spread them, his breath tickling you before he found his spot and sunk his teeth in

You let out a small yelp, adjusting to the feeling

Osamu’s body was cool to the feel even through yours and his clothes

Unlike his brother, he was a lot gentler with you

Looping his arm from behind around your head, he gently tilted it to the side with the guidance of his fingers loosely holding your jaw

“I won’t make it hurt as bad,” he whispered into your ear, making your heart race, you wondered if he could feel or even hear it

He ghosted his lips along your shoulder and neck until he found his spot, slowly bringing his teeth to your skin and pierced through your skin like needles

Atsumu repositioned his fangs, holding your leg up, digging his fingers into your thighs that would be sure to leave bruises, biting deeper into your flesh to taste as much as he could

Osamu held one of your hands from behind, the other moving from your jaw to your eyes, tilting your head back

It felt as if Osamu’s grasp on your hand was tightening as a wave of fatigue washed through your body

The crackling sound of the fire began to echo and drift around your darkened vision from Osamu’s hand covering your eyes, your heart beat gradually slowing down until your consciousness slipped away

Osamu’s eyes opened as he removed himself from your neck, his hunger satiated, his bite clean and pressed a gauze from his pocket to your neck when he felt your body go limp in his hold

“Atsumu, stop.” He kicked his brother off of your thigh, only for the blonde one to latch back on, biting into your other thigh with ease

“I said. Stop.” Osamu pulled you closer as your crimson liquid came out of Atsumu’s messy, numerous bites

Atsumu’s hunger was insatiable after having to wait a week every single time you fed them and this time, he was worse than the last

He glared at his brother, eyes glowing bright red even with the fireplace illuminating the entire room as Osamu held you close, your body curled up in his lap as his own eyes glowing at his twin

Your mind slowly began to wake as your eyes fluttered open

You could hear your heart beating slowly in your ears as if you were asleep- yet you were awake

Your hands felt about as you laid still in a dim bedroom with the curtains closed and a small lamp on a desk in the corner of the room

“Finally awake,” Atsumu huffed

Sitting up, your arms trembled weakly holding your body up

You didn’t even notice the twin until he moved in his seat beside the bed, your nose filling with the scent of Osamu but also the scent of Atsumu

“You’ve been out for the last three hours,” he sounded almost annoyed as you leaned back and rested into the pillows, half your face pressed into the bed you assumed was Osamu’s based on the smell

“Take it easy,” he pulled the blanket a bit higher over your body with a sigh

You were dressed in a big, dark red long sleeve you assumed was Atsumu’s

“Out.” You could hear Osamu’s voice as the door opened with a thud as it hit the wall. Atsumu grumbled beneath his breath as he got up from his seat, closing the door firmly behind him

Osamu came into vision as he brought the tray with something hot sitting upon it, steam rising from it but whatever it was, it smelled delicious

He peeked his head to you as he sat in the seat Atsumu sat in moments ago, pulling the seat closer

“I’m sorry for my brother... you know how ‘tsumtsum gets when he’s hungry,” he sighed. “How do you feel?” He asked, moving the blanket down from your face ever so slightly to see more of you

“Tired like I could sleep... forever,” you yawned, the tear rolling from your eye, over the bridge of your nose to the pillows

“You need to eat, I made some soup.” Osamu helped sit you up, careful with his strength before he poured you a bowl of soup, insisting on spoor feeding you when he felt how weak you really were

The hot liquid went down your throat, the savory taste lingering on your tastebuds and fed a hunger in your stomach you weren’t even aware of until now

For the rest of the night, Osamu and Atsumu took turns looking over you, mostly Osamu, though so he could change your gauzes, making sure their bites weren’t causing injections

Though it never really seemed like it, Atsumu was grateful having you in his and his brother’s life, feeding them, continuing to come back even after all the times he over fed from you

He peeked beneath the gauze to make sure he didn’t actually hurt you as you slept, bidding the two of them farewell till next week

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046  @mazey-chan  @sunboikyo00  @kara-grayson04​  @fortheloveofbakugo​ @tsumtsumsemi​ @osamuonigiri @1-800-wholesome @yamagucci​ @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi​ @pink-panda-pancakes​ @differentballooncollection​ @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction​ @euphorihan@turquoiselace​ @macaronnv  @oxmaddy​​ @mrkoala4prsdnt​​ @curiouslilbeast​ @plantisnotplant@therestless101​ @abcdaichi​ @oyasenpai​ @kaaidalupita​ @lovinnoya​

[hisoknen]

kinktober day 3: predatory prey pairing: shindou x fem!reader warnings: noncon, vampire au, blood, gore? (you get bitten) wc: 2.1k

a/n: i was imagining of kol from vampire diaries while writing this oop. thank you @tomurasprincess and @10millionyearsdungeon for both beta reading and feeding me your thoughts. i am so fortunate to be in your webs. the running scene was fun and challenging as heck to write i hope you enjoy reading friends!!

You stumble against a bed of rocks at the forests entrance, quickly twisting your neck around to make sure you still have distance between you and your assailant. The crunch of leaves under your feet and shallow breathing is filling the air, hand pressed against the leaking wound spilling out at your neck. 

You were out walking, the time had escaped you and the weather was beautiful. The fall air was chilly, and leaves were scattered about. Taking a deep breath, you could smell the earth heavy in the air, the breeze crisp and flooding your senses. 

There was a feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach the second you saw the man. His skin was pale and soft, eyes piercing and dark. The smile he gave you as he glided toward you made you feel weightless. His voice was deep and commanding, pulling you into him. 

You looked around and noticed that you’d gone too far out this time. There were no houses around you, no people in sight except for him. You were drawn in, and he inhaled softly against your neck, his nose trailing the sensitive flesh, licking a line to your pulse point before biting down. 

The searing pain that jolted through your body quickly melted into pleasure, your mind fluttering as you leaned into his touch. The sound of a crow cawing broke you out of your trance, and in your pained confusion, you pushed him away from you and began running. 

The blood was steadily dripping down your neck, covering your collarbones and soaking through your shirt. You didn’t believe in a god, but that didn’t stop you from frantically mumbling prayers under your breath in hopes that something, anything would save you. Your lips tremble, and adrenaline spiking through your body as you trip over roots and stumble across the uneven ground.

“You have fast legs, little thing,” his gravelly yet cheerful voice seemed to echo all around you. You stop cold in your tracks, turning your head to search for the direction he was coming from. 

Your throat burns and tastes like blood. Heart is pounding against your eardrums, beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest. 

Crouching down you try to take breaths, willing yourself to take air into your lungs. Blood seeping through your fingers, dripping everywhere. No matter how much pressure you applied, it just wouldn’t stop. There was a soft dripping against the leaves below you like raindrops lazily falling from the sky.

"Wow, you’re really quick. I might have to take this serious huh," shooting up from your spot, you begin sprinting blindly ahead, scrambling over large rocks and jumping over fallen trees. A branch catches your arm, tearing into it, legs cut from the tall grass and weeds you'd pass. Your clothes are tattered from the falls and catches on sharp edges around you. 

The further you go into the forest, the foggier it becomes—your anxiety spikes when you slip on mud. The crows scattering from the trees as if they, too, are trying to escape the presence that is following you. You can no longer feel the sting of the branches hitting your face, only the shaking of your numb limbs desperately trying to stay upright on the uneven landscape. 

"It's really too bad that you're leaking blood everywhere," his voice whips around you like the air rushing past your face. Your legs are jelly, only running on adrenaline to push you forward out of harm's way. Your vision was becoming spotty and tilted. Each breath you take threatens to send you to the ground. 

“You can’t run forever, little thing. Aren’t you getting tired?” A dark sadistic chuckle encases the space surrounding you. You lurch forward, your foot tangled in a tree root. You’re wheezing as you grab onto a tree to hold yourself up. 

Where were you running to? If anything, you were running even further into the forest, where no one would hear your pleas and screams. But what other choice did you have? You had to get away from that thing.

“I do have to say, you’re making this fun.” Your knees buckle below you, chest rising and falling quickly as you try to draw in ragged breaths. You had to take a break before you could keep going, but there wasn’t time. 

The moment you relaxed, your head swam with dizziness. You had to get out of here before he found you. The forest was silent, only the crow's sound cawing in the distance with the sun beginning to fall out of sight entirely.

“Hey, there, little thing.” You let out a shrill scream, throwing your body to the side. He was looming over you, crouched down where you once sat. He was right behind you, and you hadn’t even heard him coming.

“You smell amazing, you know that?” His attention is focused on the runny handprint on the tree, his fingers gathering up the blood as he brings it close to his face. He dips his tongue out to pull in his finger, closing his eyes and sighing as he tastes the crimson stain.

“So sweet, leaving a trail behind for me to follow,” the taste of copper begins to crawl up your throat, your hand losing its strength and falling to your side, blood spurting from the wound he left behind. A raged sob escaping from your trembling lips, you try with all your might to scoot away from him. 

He stares at you like an eagle watching its prey struggle in vain, studying its movements for the right time to attack. Elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, head cocked to the side. He smiles at you, sharp pointy fangs catching your eyes. There is no longer much in light, only the sun setting behind his form. 

“While hide and seek was fun, I think I’m done playing for now,” He reaches out, squeezing your leg and tugging your body toward his. With such little effort, he’d swiftly pulled you away from your safety. 

He climbs onto you, grabbing your hands as you try to slam weak fists against his chest. Pushing them over your head, he bends over, running his tongue across your jaw and inhaling deeply.

“Plea-” you sputter out, blood leaking from your lips.

“What’s the matter, little thing?” his hand reaches behind you to tug the shorts down to your knees. Your breath comes and goes in small whimpers as he traces your bundle of nerves through flimsy panties. Wincing when you hear the fabric tear and a cold breeze catch your skin. He stares deep into your eyes, gauging your reactions as he begins to probe your cunt, running his fingers over your slit. 

“It looks like you enjoyed the chase too.” He’s not asking you a question as he pulls his soaked fingers up for you to see. Warmth spreads across your belly as he picks up the speed, rubbing and tapping at your clit while you let out garbled gasps. His finger teases your hole, a vibration coursing through his fingertips snaps you out of the lust-driven trance.

“I didn’t,” You try to look at him through tear-filled eyes, chest rising and falling as you wait for his reply. 

"No?" You cry out as he thrusts a cold finger into your tight hole, curving his fingers up and rubbing lightly at your gooey insides. There was only gruff moaning above you as he coaxes your insides, searching for the places that will make your head spin. 

Your cunt opens wide for him, sucking the digits in. There seems to be something inside of you that pulls you against his fingers in rhythmic pulses like a desperate whore seeking her release.

He retracts his fingers moving down your body. You try to move, but your body is overcome with the chase's exhaustion, not a single muscle moving no matter how much you beg your body. He pulls your numb legs apart, running his fingers along your dribbling cunt absentmindedly. He sinks his fangs into your inner thigh. You let out a silent scream laced with a moan as his tears into your flesh. 

The bleeding at your neck has clotted, caked dried heavily against the skin. Each time he bit into you, it felt like your mind was being pumped full of aphrodisiacs. Unwilling to comprehend the fear you were feeling, turning hot and sensitive as he fed on your body. His tongue lapped at the skin in his mouth, sucking in your life force bit by bit while you writhed in pleasure underneath him.

He flips your limp body over with ease, you taste the dirt and leaves mixing with the lingering copper setting in your mouth. He rubs his cock against your glistening hole, gathering your arousal before plunging into you. His cock slowly sliding into your unwilling core, bottoming out impossibly deep. 

You try to buck against him to get him off of you, helplessly clawing at the dirt. With each struggle and bite, your energy is sucked away from you. Forcing you to only feel what he’s doing to you.

“You really hate this that much, little thing?” He holds your hips tight, pushing them against the damp ground as he grinds against you. The motion has your head spinning despite your desire to escape. In some twisted way, your body is responding to each of his movements. Bile rising in your throat at how strongly your cunt is tugging him in for more.

“So how about this? If you don’t cum I’ll let you go.” His hips grind against your clit, his tongue trailing across the back of your shoulder. “But If you do cum, I’ll go ahead and kill you since you hate this so much.” He purrs, trailing his fingers across your exposed skin.

“Fair enough?” He ruts against you, his ice-cold skin almost burning against you, a cold chill running up your spine. You were just a toy to him—a thing to play with. You shudder, taking a sharp inhale through your nose to slow your breathing. 

He was using you against your will. He was going to kill you either way, yet you couldn’t stop letting out pathetic mewls each time his hips snapped against you, cunt to be drooling onto his balls.

He tugs your hips off the ground forcing an arch in your back. Hands finding yours and pulling them behind your back. He uses them to drag you onto him with each thrust. His cock begins to shake inside of you, rattling against your walls uncontrollably. You bring your thighs together, trying not to focus on the pleasure riddling your veins. 

The coil inside of you begins to tighten. If you came from this, he would kill you. Thick tears run down your cheeks as you play his words on repeat in hopes that something in your body would obey you and stop responding. You start to feel cold, your vision spotty from the blood loss, arms numb being tugged relentlessly behind you. 

“You were such a good thing to play with,” His voice rings in your ears. “But I don’t think you’re going to last much longer.” He chuckles darkly, tugging on your arms and arching your back against his chest. 

You let out a whimper as his cock grazes your cervix. The intensity of the vibrations pick up as he latches onto the other side of your neck, the breath from his nose tickling your skin as he feeds from you.

There is a weight building up inside of you. The small pulses of your cunt on his cock turn into a wave of pulses as you pull him in further. The coil in the hollow of your belly snaps weak, whines rippling past your lips as he stills against you,  letting you swallow his cock.

“Fuck little thing,” he slowly thrusts in and out of your sopping pussy, your quivering walls hypersensitive to the veins on his cock. The agonizing pain you felt before begins to fade into numbness, your body growing cold.

This was it. This was how you died. Pathetically wrapped around a stranger's cock, begging him for more while he bled you dry. Your eyes feel heavy as the soft numb overtakes you.

Shindou looks down at your abused body. He pulls up his pants, scooping you into his arms. He pauses, looking down at your closed eyes, and sickly completion. Biting into his wrist he holds it over your mouth. The blood trickling in rapidly, his wound healing almost immediately. 

The color starts to return to your face. Your breathing not as shallow. Your bites begin to slowly close, only the crimson stains remaining caked on.

"I think I'll keep you around just a little longer, little thing." He quietly hums to himself as he carries you further into the forest.

—

kinktober masterlist

tags <3 @linestrider​ @pleasantanathema​ @idratherliveinbooks​ @mx-minxx​ @kenmasmyvibe​ @leeswritingworld​ @katsukis-sad-angel​ @trafalgar-temptress​ @dabis-kitten​ @stainedglass-wings​ @thirsthourdemon​ @zyrielwolf​

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: ghost!jihoon x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 9242 ⚬ warnings: abusive relationship, suicide ⚬ genres: heavy angst, romance, ample fluff

✧✎ synopsis: freedom was a word that had completely lost its meaning - unable to escape from a toxic relationship, you can only find happiness upon confiding in jihoon, the spirit of a writer who died a century ago. 

✧✎ a/n: SORRY this took so long to post! i have a habit of holding onto completed fics for a while, bc i feel the need to endlessly proofread. i rly appreciate everyone’s patience :D

You didn’t understand him. You hated him. 

You wanted to conjure a pair of scissors and cut the invisible rope that connected your piteous relationship. Tight around your wrist, you could still feel the indents left by his fingernails, how they pushed blunt into your skin like a stamp to a liquid, wax seal. There was no taste of freedom unless you left him, and yet, you lacked the strength, instead rotting in your own indolence.

The doorway to your cottage home burst open as you thundered inside. Smells of the cinnamon bread and ginger tea you had for breakfast lingered in the air, when the morning was soft and you were unaware of his incoming anger that would inevitably cumulate. Gleaming on the edge of the kitchen table was an old pocket mirror, a century-dull shade of gold with a rose engrained into its shallow dome.

Within the next moment, you were sitting inside your closet, frustrated tears pooling slowly down each cheek as you held onto an ignited candle. The flame rippled and danced in response to your ragged breaths. It was the only source of light, for darkness pressed in from every angle. Hands shaky, you set the candle to crackle on the floor, behind the pocket mirror you had opened. Looking into its small reflection, you saw the wet flakes of mascara stuck to your skin, how your lips were so bitten they became mottled with blood spots.

“If I ask for you,” you sighed, eyes falling shut, “will you come to me?”

You waited and listened to the dancing wick, then snuck a peak at the mirror. 

Nothing.

Inhaling a deep breath, you closed your eyes and warbled again: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

The mirror was still open, casting an image of your broken countenance, marred by viscid trails of tears and a patience that turned thinner than the air itself. Every mark, every scratch left by his fingernails only sunk further into your wrist, establishing this control he had over you, until one day, his reign might become permanent. The thought forced you to hiccup a burning sob.

“Please!” You whimpered, tasting the sharp salt on your lips, “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

Snap.

The sound of the pocket mirror being shut was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of cold, like an arctic breath had just been exhaled into your face. Cautiously, you eyed the candle, in which its flame had stopped dancing and instead stood tall, almost as though it were afraid to flicker. The gentle light glinted off the mirror’s gold dome. At last, you picked your head up and met his eyes, honey-brown, like crisped sugar.

The noise that crawled up from your throat was a feeble squeak.

“Jihoon.” You said his name.

Even though each syllable felt like solace, that didn’t smooth the tremors in between. Unlike your boyfriend who was so assailing in nature and unreceptive to your heart, Jihoon read the pain from your body like it had been scrawled with thick ink. He reached out his hand for you to grab. 

Head bent down, tears streaming toward your chin, you cried to him in that small halo of light, squeezing his glacial fingers, crushing his bones, yet he never protested or shook you off.

You had asked for him. And if it’s you, then Jihoon will always be there.

“A peach?” Jihoon murmured, staring at the sunset colour of the fruit in his palm. “I haven’t eaten a peach since… Since…”

“Since a century ago?”

Jihoon looked up at you, his face illuminated by the wax candle. “Yeah.”

He seemed hesitant to sink his teeth past the fuzzy, orange flesh, and kept stealing oblique glances at you. Wiping away a delicious trail of juice that streaked your chin, you encouraged him to just take a bite and stop ogling the fruit like it was plucked from outer space. 

A peach was nowhere close to the strangest item you’d brought him. In fact, the sole manner in which Jihoon could connect with the simple indulgences of when he’d been alive was through you.

At first, he sighed, followed by slight apprehension, and then he stopped prevaricating. Jihoon brought the peach to his mouth and buried in his teeth, a loud slurp indicating he’d suckled out the juice just before tearing away a reasonable chunk. He chewed, chewed a little bit more, crinkled his nose and continued chewing. You raised an eyebrow once he swallowed, curious if its sweetness still held true to when he’d eaten the fruit in his youth.

“Not bad. Rather messy.” Jihoon rated with little mirth, his tongue then licking at a trail of liquid dripping to his wrist.

You eyed him whilst taking another bite into your own fruit.

The next time you met, you brought him purple orchids, wrapped in a crinkly, pale mint packaging. He buried his nose into their petals and took a breath. Jihoon had long forgotten the rain, it’s scent, but that’s exactly what the aroma reminded him of.

It was close to midnight, the autumn wetness clinging in a sheer mist, a cobweb almost, that drifted down the road. You stared into the fog, wondering if it might swath around you until you couldn’t see or breathe, only to thin away at the last moment, revealing a place that was warm and brushed with sunshine. There would be no boyfriend, no pain or fear, and you’d have freedom— a word that seemed to have lost its meaning as time wore its grit against you.

Leaning into the side of your boyfriend’s car, you watched him pace back and forth next to the gas pump, cellphone at his ear, occasionally tossing his head back in a splitting chortle whilst he blew plumes from a cigarette. A light rain pattered against the roof of the gas station.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be tucked in bed, beneath sheets that smelled like summer lilacs. You wanted to close your eyes and dream about the phantom boy who lived in the closet, where your fingers would trace his skin and you might feel the heat from his blood. Yet you lacked bravery. Taking one look at your wrist constantly sore from his steel grip was enough to snuff out any defying fire. He laughed again, kicked his boot into the gravel, brought the cigarette up to his mouth in order to fulfill a toxic addiction.

Headlights suddenly pierced through the mist and tires rolled against the damp pavement. You thought about running onto the road with your arms flailing, hoping the driver would pull over and let you into their vehicle. They might ask where you wanted to go.

You’d say, “just get me away from him. Anywhere, I’m begging.”

“Hey!”

Turning your head, you saw him stalking toward you. In an unconscious attempt to give yourself space, you unpeeled from the vehicle and a took a step back, intimidated.

“Get in the car,” he spat, opening the driver’s side, “m’taking you home.”

With the decaying cigarette hanging from his lips, cellphone now stowed into his pants pocket, he slammed the door. The air inside the vehicle was acrid, stifling, ashes tumbling onto his lap as the engine revved to life. Grey smoke prickled against your eyes until they lined with water and glass. Just before you exited the gas station, your boyfriend rolled down his window and tossed the cigarette, only to reveal another from the glove compartment.

Sticking the wand in his mouth, he tossed you the lighter.

“Spark.” He demanded.

Your whole arm was trembling whilst you positioned the lighter close to the cigarette, thumb pressing down in an anxious flurry, teeth grinding together as you piously prayed the stupid flame would just blossom already so he wouldn’t get foul. Once he exhaled the first puff and took back the lighter, you sunk into the upholstery, hoping he didn’t see your tears.

“Jihoon?”

The boy had been occupied pulling pink tufts of cotton candy apart. The last time you two met within the closet, you were discussing an autumn carnival that took place each year in your town, how you spent the night with a pocket full of tickets and sugar floss melting against your tongue. Jihoon said he couldn’t remember the taste, the smell, the texture, so you promised to bring him a large bag stuffed with cotton candy. He glanced up at you, candlelight swimming in his eyes like a brightly coloured coy fish.

“What did you write about?”

He paused. Then, Jihoon was sitting with a straight spine, rubbing his index finger and thumb together, as though he were attempting to lure an ancient memory from hiding. You wondered if he missed literature, how a ballpoint pen glides across cream paper, the specific click that echoes from a typewriter, running fingertips across a leathered hardcover just to feel every bump and divot. You wished it was possible to read one of his books. He told you he burned them all, every page disintegrating into dust and cinders.

Jihoon looked at the last clump of cotton candy in his hands. 

Delicately, he tore the floss in two pieces. Something deep inside your chest fluttered when Jihoon gave you the other tuft.

“Love.” He said, finding the vivacious reflection in your eyes, “I wrote about love.”

As a child, the darkness used to scare you. It was impossible to fall asleep without the dim glow of your aquarium or the fluorescent stars tacked to your ceiling. Things looked different in the dark, they became unfamiliar and colourless and shapeshifted into malignant creations that stopped moving only when the light touched them. Even now, the darkness was still harrowing, but you’d grown to realize that tenebrosity was much scarier when it lived inside human beings.

No light existed which could freeze them in their intent to hurt, no light which transformed them back into the coat over the back of your chair or the laundry pile lumped in its basket. And as you sat next to Jihoon on the closet floor, his gaze thoughtlessly wandering to your wrist, he knew you’d give anything to stay in the dark closet if it meant you never had to see your boyfriend again. You kept rubbing at your skin, squeezing in an anxious pattern.

“Stop.” Jihoon couldn’t stand to watch you repeat yourself. It felt like you were going to erase the flesh clean off.

“It helps.” You told him, though your argument was inconceivably frail, emaciated.

Suddenly, Jihoon reached across the space, his fingers falling over your wrist to bump away your pesky hand. The second you were unable to scrub at the fingernail indents, the scratches, the dull throb of every bruise he’d ever printed upon your skin, the breath died in your throat and there was a stinging sensation that burnt your eyes. Your boyfriend had ruined you. The wounds controlled you, left you in prostration and agony. 

Before you could erupt into tears, Jihoon’s thumb began stroking back and forth over a fading scratch, a rhythmic movement, one that managed to calm you down until the tears slowly dried up and the flame no longer illuminated the glossiness of your eyes. He urged you to take a breath whilst he continued to brush soft reassurances across your skin. At first, you were offended by Jihoon’s interference, even slightly angered.

But the way he was so gentle with you brought you to capitulate.

“I’d never try to hurt you.” Jihoon whispered when you caught his gaze in the candlelight.

“I know.” You sighed, placing your hand over top his, “thank you.”

Your hands curled around the handlebars of the bicycle, slightly raised from the uncomfortable seat as you pedalled into town that autumn morning. An impending cold front gushed from the north, sweeping against your face in a harsh frigidity that caressed away any remnants of sleep. Tucking your chin into the fleece of your pullover, you stopped pedalling and allowed the bicycle to simply glide, maneuvering over the small pebbles and gorges in the cement.  

A familiar house at the end of the block became closer, closer, closer, to which you bit down on your cheek’s inner flesh, your knuckles tensing like they could burst from the thin covering of skin. You stared straight ahead. It was too early for him to be outside. He was too lethargic.

Or was he?

“Hey!”

You’d been caught, a disarrayed haze momentarily warping your vision. The tires skidded to a halt on the sidewalk, your sneaker touching the ground whilst the northern wind nipped at your cheeks. He sat on his porch, wearing a burly-looking coat that appeared to be seldom washed, a flimsy cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth. Blowing a weak cloud of smoke from between his lips, he gestured for you to approach him, and your heart dropped.

Step by step, you walked the bicycle up his driveway, a few scarlet leaves from an oak tree spiralling down and colouring the gravel. Not even their warm tint could sugar coat that wicked, tight-lipped smile dancing from one spot of his mouth to the other. It was like the devil sat behind him, a myriad of strings on his fingers, and he was pulling each and every one.

“Where’re you off to, sunshine?”

“Into town. I’m getting some groceries.”

His eyes, bloodshot, much too hollowed at the early hour, gave you a once-over. You felt the sponge in your bones deflate. If a person’s stare could be washed from your skin, then you’d find the nearest hot shower and lock yourself inside.  

He tapped some ash off his cigarette. “You don’t need to do that now, do you?”

“I-It’s a good time, actually. It won’t be busy.”

Don’t break down, don’t break down, do not let him infiltrate.

In an abasing fashion, your boyfriend laughed, like it was impossible to fathom that you could uphold a life, responsibilities, independence, beyond him and his fallacy of omniscience. He stood up and took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette. Then he was balancing the wand between his teeth, smiling down at you again, the devil’s strings metallic and unbreaking.

“Come inside,” he said, tipping his head toward the door, “leave your bike and we’ll share a nice drink, sunshine.”

You knew through mistake that it would be an unkind fate to deny him. Resting your bicycle against the porch, you trailed a few steps behind him into the house. Just before you closed the door, you drew in a long breath, examining the leaves on the oak tree, feeling that crisp air touch your face, looking up at small gaps of morning light between the grey clouds. 

You always tried to remember the natural world, just in case you prematurely became a part of it.

Jihoon had set the notepad overtop his knee, one hand holding the papers still whilst the other clasped a black pen. Upon waiting for him to finish his prose, you fidgeted with the gold pocket mirror, pressing the edge of your nail into its infinitesimal grooves that created the rose. Time and time again, you wondered about the pocket mirror, a robust relic from the nineteen-twenties that the boy had gifted you.

“Done.” Jihoon announced, lifting the pen from the notepad.

The candle was rather inept at providing sufficient light, though you managed to read his looped, cursive writing with a surprising ease, with familiarity, like the words had been from a love letter you read every dusk.  

Peaches and cotton candy are sweet. Orchids smell like rain. Scratches can fade.

You smiled at him. The inside of your chest was warmer than a July heatwave. After exchanging the gold mirror for the pen, you brainstormed a set of prose to match his. Jihoon had never looked at his reflection since he was alive, when oxygen still pumped to his heart and his veins hadn’t been replaced with frost. Suddenly, an idea sparked, and you wrote quickly.

Once you handed him back the notepad, he returned the mirror.

I’ll admire you so that you don’t have to. I’ll keep your beauty alive.

He circled the pen between his fingers. With knees pressed tight against your chest, you watched Jihoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip before he hunched over the notepad, printing a line of clean cursive. Out of all the items you’d brought him, this seemed to be his favourite.

Jihoon passed you the notepad. 

Letting the pocket mirror sit between your crossed legs, you held the paper close to your face, hoping it would help conceal the flustered grin.

If I had a second life, I would find you. I would take you away from the pain you have now.

“I wish you had a second life too.” You told Jihoon in a delicate, almost trembling voice. “I wish I could bring you into my life, even if it were just for one night.”

The boy nodded whilst he stared at the wax candle, one that a priest let you take home after you spent a visit to the church, hoping to discover some sense of purpose, some form of guidance. That was two years ago. Even though you had thanked the priest for the candle, it seemed completely useless. Or so you thought. Now, it was the only way you could differentiate every detail of Jihoon’s face, his skin constantly basked in a golden aurora.

“I think…” Jihoon murmured, sitting up slowly and staring into the warm light, “I think there is a way.”

Something seemed to be revolving in his mind, something that planted hope in your belly, and as he explained to you the procedure, you hadn’t realized his fingers gradually interlacing with yours.

The night of October thirty-first, that was the only sliver in which Jihoon could ever separate from the closet, the cottage house, and reacquaint himself with the earthy air and moonlight. It was the only time when the barrier between the human realm and spirit realm was significantly thin enough. Jihoon stood in your bedroom, dressed in an auburn, corduroy button-up vest, the sleeves of his white dress shirt cuffed to his elbows, his trousers hemmed along the leg.

Could those be the same clothes he wore upon taking his own life? You were always curious, though refrained from acting too inquisitive. The boy suddenly reached into his right pants pocket, shifting his fingers as though he were attempting to fish something out, until he glanced at the gold dome in your hand and a pink dust developed along the arch of his cheeks. These days, you’d been holding onto his mirror like it was a personal ligament.

He shrugged. “Old habit.”

Jihoon followed you into the living room. Whilst you tossed on a water-proof jacket and wriggled each foot into a pair of degrading tennis sneakers, the boy paused just in front of the fireplace. He touched the crimson brick, then stuck out two ice-cold palms. The embers were radiant and warm. They drew a beautiful glow to his skin. If Jihoon felt the energy of the heat, he didn’t express it. You stuffed the mirror into your pocket and called for him.

There was a slight drag as Jihoon seemed hesitant to part from the flames, twirling and alive, like he’d been trying to seek for a lost artifact that might still remain amongst the ashes.

“Nothing is the same.”

With his head constantly pivoting in order to gauge every detail, Jihoon seemed to realize that the town he moved into during the last century was starkly and scarily different. Houses now built over cobalt roads, where the wealthy had once let exhaust tumble from the pipes of their timely vehicles. A shopping centre stuck the middle of what was once a cornfield, always rife with healthy, luminous green stalks during the balmy summers. His favourite diner, where he used to gather all his papers and write until his pen lost its ink, listening to revolving tunes on the jukebox, had been replaced by a furniture store.

Jihoon didn’t sound upset, but jaded perhaps.

He’d moved from his homeland, Busan, South Korea, at twenty years old, taking with him little to no belongings apart from some clothes and a pocket mirror his girlfriend had gifted him. He desired a meaningful existence with his writing, hoping to make something, be somebody.

And yet, three years after leaving Busan, Jihoon had killed himself in his cottage home.

“A lot can change in a hundred years. Good and bad. ” You sighed whilst waiting at a crosswalk.

The boy shivered due to the crisp, autumn wind. “It appears so.”  

He then clenched his teeth together. “Say, do you think I could get some new clothes? These have a few holes. They’re scratchy too.”

You glanced at the enormous, neon sign anchored to the shopping centre across the street.

“I think I can help you out.”

For the first time in a century, Jihoon stared at himself in a mirror. It was a tall, thin mirror stuck to a changeroom door. His decaying articles were folded on the bench, faintly stitched with the scent of wood pyres and dust and potent ink. It took Jihoon less than a minute to discover his new clothes, a dark blue hoodie and black sweatpants. The hoodie swallowed his upper-half. He seemed comfortable, warm, his fingers rubbing the inside of the fleece sleeve.

In a peculiar way, it hurt. 

He no longer held the appearance of a middleclass writer who’d burn out his cigars on paper, always had a whisky shot coursing through his blood, some ash from the fireplace constantly rubbed to his cheek. He had no longer just stepped through a time portal into the most recent era. Instead, Jihoon looked like a student you might brush shoulders with before a lecture, or a modest stranger who’d catch your eye at a party.

If only Jihoon had actually been that stranger, rather than the boyfriend you have now.

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

You asked Jihoon wearily whilst stepping onto a cement ledge next to the sidewalk. Truthfully, it wasn’t that high. Truthfully, you just wanted feel his cold touch caress your skin.

He blinked up at your figure, the moonlight glowing behind you, outlining you in a silver, narrow frame. 

“I won’t. I promise.”

Once you were steadied on the ledge, you began placing one foot in front of the other, taking attentive steps that had little to no breadth, and yet they felt like immeasurable strides. Jihoon held your fingers with a sweet pressure. You were almost near the end of the ledge when that autumn wind decided to ripple hard and fierce, and as you braced against the current, you lost your balance. With a small shriek you nearly stumbled over the edge.

Jihoon didn’t waver. His hands fastened upon your waist and he caught you in his arms, feeling your heartbeat that drummed through your chest and into his.

“W-Whoops…” Your laughter was anxious, embarrassed.

Never having been pressed against each other before, there was slight uneasiness. There was racing thoughts and cotton-hearts, a fleeting catch of the other’s eye and faces so close that you shared the same breath. His hands cupped at your waist; your palms flat against his shoulders. If you kissed him, would he taste like a Cuban cigar? Or a soft, warm peach grown beneath summer sunshine? Jihoon thought you smelled like an orchid.

However, you both peeled away from each other.

“Wait—” you remarked before continuing down the sidewalk, “you promised not to let go of my hand.”

Jihoon intertwined your fingers, his thumb smoothing quickly over the ridges of your knuckles.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

The stars burned in their own soot, twinkling intermittently and spread apart across the blackness. Some were passionate and lurid, whilst others were dim, barely there, only glistering to indicate that their radiance still lived. You sat next to Jihoon on the train station bench, the heated rim of a paper cup touching your lips, stained with hot chocolate. After taking a sip and feeling the velvet against your throat, you handed him the drink.

Upon purchasing Jihoon’s new cloths, you’d emptied all the bills wadded in your pocket. A small palm of coins remained and you counted them aside to buy two train tickets in addition to a hot chocolate. The tip of his nose was slightly pinkish from the cold. His eyes focused on the steam, which he impatiently dispersed by forming his lips into a tiny O shape. You continued exchanging the cup until there was nothing more than a ring of wet cocoa powder at the base.

Jihoon began softly bumping his knee against yours whilst you waited for the train. He seemed unaware, though you couldn’t be certain. He had quite the array of small, endearing habits.

Suddenly, you felt a slight vibration inside your coat pocket. And then another, another, and one more after that. Once you slid out the device, something that was thicker than dread surrounded you, absorbing every ray of starlight. His snarl jeered at you through the texts.

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Why haven’t you responded to me?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Where are you??

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: What did I tell you about going out and not saying anything?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: You don’t just fucking do something like that.

You could already feel his ironclad grip suctioned around your wrist, his fingernails submerging into your flesh, carving out new scratches to replace the ones that had faded. 

In the distance, you heard the train rattling and smelled the burning coal. You stuffed the phone into your pocket and pretended the texts were non-existent, yet, that characteristic glint in your eyes was much too candour. How was there a point in pretending when you gave away your own lies?

“Come on,” Jihoon stood from the bench, his breath ghosting into the nighttime air, “you have the tickets ready?”

As the train slowed to a trill halt, you nodded, revealing the two tickets from your pocket.

“Good, good.” He gently traced his fingertips down the back of your wrist before encompassing your hand in his. Jihoon squeezed firmly, leaned into your ear where his breath was ticklish.

Somehow, you didn’t feel afraid anymore when he whispered, “let’s go home, alright? I’ll help warm you up and we’ll go to bed together.”

The conductor accepted your tickets with a tight-lipped smile, and Jihoon’s fingers played with yours whilst the man readied his hole-punch. For some reason, your eyes drifted to the side of the boy’s neck, where ever so faintly, a reddish-pink scar curled around his pearl skin. It was the first time you ever noticed the mark now that Jihoon was no longer blanketed in the closet’s meagre light. The mark seemed painful, like something had been taunt against his windpipe.

You knew Jihoon had taken his own life three years after leaving the comfort and familiarity of Busan. You knew Jihoon had a girlfriend back in his hometown that he wanted to marry. He put love on hold to become a writer. He sacrificed everything yet gained nothing.

The universe was awfully typical.

Upon exhaling a soft breath through your nose, eyelids droopy from the drowsiness, you rested your temple against Jihoon’s shoulder during the train ride home. He must have thought you’d fallen asleep, for his fingertips brushed sweetly against your exposed cheek, his lips pressing to the top of your forehead, leaving behind the warmth of a tender kiss. Jihoon’s touch was always cool, yet it translated into heat.

Forcibly, you gulped down a surprised cough. You knew that was what an intimate relationship should be.

It was more so the fact you had never experienced it.

You kissed the boy’s jaw. His shoulder became rigid, though you were smiling with eyes shut tighter than a locket.

Jihoon mumbled lowly against your forehead, “you were supposed to be asleep.”

Refusing to open your eyes, somewhat petrified that gazing upon his face would further embolden just how attached were to him, you simply shook your head.

“I am asleep. I talk in my sleep. I’m sleep-talking.”

“Do you kiss people in your sleep too?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Didn’t you just kiss me?”

“Because I thought you were asleep.”

“I am aslee—”

Jihoon’s palm gently cupped overtop your mouth, muffling the syllables. Your laughter was hot against his skin, and your eyes finally opened. No, you didn’t want to fall asleep. It just meant that the next morning Jihoon would be gone.

You removed the little mirror from your jacket and placed it on the night table, then pulled the cloth curtains shut as though you were going to disrobe. However, you only removed your jacket and flung off your bra, much too cognisant of your dwindling time with Jihoon, afraid that even changing into your pyjamas would waste the precious minutes. He observed each of your movements as he lounged on his side, taking up the left half of your bed. 

How long had it been since he last sunk into a mattress, since he last had a warm body to share the space with?

Jihoon stared at the dull, golden dome of the pocket mirror. He remembered his past lover’s face, the pain she attempted to make imperceptible as Jihoon stood with only a single luggage case at the Gyeongbu Line station. It was the nearing the terminal of nineteen-seventeen.

His twentieth birthday had transpired only a week ago.

“Just come back, alright?” She had been thumping her fists lightly against his chest, long strands of black hair draping her cheeks, “promise you’ll come back to me?”

“I promise, Jieun. Everything I am is you.”

He framed her beautiful face in his hands, kissed her slowly, wanted to permanently grain the taste of her lip gloss against his taste buds as well as the powdery notes of her perfume. Before he could leave, she slipped her gold, shiny mirror into his hand, a momentum, a memory, something that would preserve her significance to him. 

Three years after leaving Busan and Jihoon would only remove the mirror from his pocket so that he could polish the surface. He wrote her love letters, filled every one of his notebooks with limerence-indulgent poems until the twine could no longer keep the pages from bulging open. His typewriter clicked from every pale-yellow morning to the midnight crickets. Being in love felt like a high. He dreamed of their wedding, their first house, a baby tucked in their arms.

Three years later and Jihoon’s rotary phone started wildly buzzing. It was his best friend, Soonyoung. He was sobbing, pouring out hiccups and inarticulate fragments that Jihoon could hardly understand. It wasn’t until the impatient boy snapped at him to clear his nose and take a breath that those words pulled taunt and impaled straight through Jihoon’s heart like a crossbow. There was no blood, and yet it seemed to fill his lungs and bubble thickly in his throat.

“I’ve been sleeping with Jieun. For almost a year now. I had to tell you. It’s eating me alive.”

That same day, Jihoon received a postcard with a picture of cheerful Songdo beach, a place they had often visited to walk the waterline, wondering about their future The back was blanketed in Jieun’s rushed, tear-stained handwriting. 

It was true.

They both admitted it.

In that cottage home, Jihoon threw a match into the brick fireplace. Every poem, every notebook, every piece of literature he’d ever written were gradually enveloped and burnt up by the monstrous flames. An hour later and he was standing in his closet, an apple crate under his feet and a segment of durable rope in his hands. The fire continued to crackle in the living room whilst the smoke drifted from the chimney. Buried in his pocket was the gold rose mirror.

In due time, the flames had become the only live part of the house.

As Jihoon continued to stare at the mirror sitting on your night table, he was consistently poked with a truth that made him ache so terribly: his spirit could only be freed if the mirror broke.

But if the mirror broke, there was no possible method for you to contact him. Jihoon could not be summoned, and in no way, shape, or form could he interact with your life, rather he’d be an invisible observer with infinite freedom. This became information he never shared. The conflict was too saturated, and as much as Jihoon despised his condemnation to that dark little space, it was how he discovered you. He’d quickly learned you didn’t have freedom either.

Your freedom only seemed to develop in the presence of each other.

Suddenly, the bed dipped. Jihoon snapped from his musing. The sheets wrinkled below your hands and knees as you crawled toward him, eyes sleepy, intent to create the comfortable position where the curve of your spine was seamless with his front. When your gaze flitted downward, you spotted Jihoon’s hand resting on your hipbone. He waited, and you grinned.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, “I want you closer. Please?”

Jihoon’s small huff tickled your ear whilst he slid his palm flat under your t-shirt. It stilled, pressing to your abdomen, the cold of his fingers meeting your soft warmth. His thumb began drawing strokes just under your navel, to which your eyes fluttered shut and a calm sigh rose in your chest. Somehow, you wanted to preserve this moment, like how petals could be sealed inside an amber stone so that their beauty never degraded. Jihoon’s hand etched further up your torso, his fingertips tracing the supple underside of your breast.

He kissed that tender sweet spot just below your ear, until your eyes opened, gaze falling directly onto the pocket mirror. Aside from the intense heat, another sensation overwhelmed you, and with a breath that was nothing short of unease you looked back over your shoulder at the boy who’d be gone by morning.

“I don’t want you to leave,” your voice emerged in a telling crack, “I need you.”

Jihoon shook his head. Leaning forward, his lips brushed yours in a gentle kiss.

“I’m not leaving. You know that. I’m always here.”

The tears brimmed your eyes. “N-No, I need you out here. In physicality. Not just in a c-closet.”

Your emotions mimicked a violet insurrection, where they could not be quelled no matter how fiercely you took your bottom lip under your teeth, or how rapidly you blinked, hoping the liquid would retract itself. Instead, they flowered in one big uprooting. You suckled in a sharp inhalation that gave them even more fuel and greed.

“Dammit—I didn’t want to cry, but I c-can’t help it!” You covered your eyes with your palms. “I had so much fun with you tonight, Jihoon – I just don’t want this to end. I don’t want to have this pain. My happiness is ripped away every time I see him. I want it to be you but it’s not!”

The boy tugged at your wrists, urging you to uncover yourself. He succeeded at catching your eyes despite how distorted they were with water.

“Relax, alright?” He cooed, his face hovering over yours. “Let yourself breathe.”

The backs of his fingers brushed up and down your far cheek. Before a tear could roll onto his thumb Jihoon had already pecked it away. Heeding his words, you drew in a slow breath and felt the coolness fill each lung, all whilst he comforted you using a benign hand.  

“You have me. You’ll always have me. Whether I’m palpable or not doesn’t change that.”

“I-I know…” It squeaked out with little conviction, “If I couldn’t have that mirror, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Jihoon traced his thumb below your teary eye. “You’d be fine, even without the mirror.”

He was met with a doubtful glance.

“Trust me,” his reverence shone through each word, “whenever you speak to me, I will always listen. Even if you can’t see me, or grab my hand. Even if you feel completely alone. I will always hear you. It seems unlikely, but it’s true.”

Honesty consumed the boy’s gaze. His reassurance was akin to a sewing needle that wove back together the collapsing fabric of your heart.

Jihoon’s tone then became even more earnest, and your eyes burned into his.

“I love you. It’s a bit cheap of me to say that considering my circumstances, but I need you to know that having met you… You reunited me with what love is, when I thought it was impossible to feel it again. Life is cruel. We can’t be together in the way we want. I can’t steal you away from him and make you mine no matter how badly I wish I could.”

His fingers paused atop your cheek. Jihoon swallowed and pressed his forehead to yours.

“It’s too late for me, but you have your whole life.”

He kissed you deeply, slid in his tongue to taste the cheap hot chocolate, his chest aching when he heard one of your soft gasps melt into his mouth. Your fingers carded through his hair, but then Jihoon pulled away, rubbing his thumb to your bottom lip whilst you cradled his nape.

“You deserve someone who will cherish you, protect you, sing to you, let you be vulnerable in every way and adore you all the same.”

With a ginger smile, Jihoon looked deep into your eyes.

“And you need to have strength. Okay, my love? Will you promise me?”

Another tear trickled and soaked into your hair. Jihoon was right. There was no second life, and you didn’t want to spend any remainder of your first anchored to a boyfriend who would never love you like Jihoon did.

“I promise.” You spoke quietly, printing a kiss to his thumb. “I love you too. I always will.”

Then it was time for bed.

After reaching toward the night table and plucking off the lamp, you nestled your head against the smooth slope connecting his neck and shoulder, smelling the faint tang of an ancient cigar on his skin. One arm draped across his waist, your leg over his hip, every bit of your warmth seeping through Jihoon’s cloths and into his cold body. As a goodnight rhythm, Jihoon’s fingertips swept along your arm, the contact slightly ticklish but a reminder he was still tangible, still holding you, still positively in love with everything that fabricated you.

His heart wouldn’t change, even if he was no longer burying kisses to the top of your head by morning.

“You better watch your tone, sunshine. That’s all I’m saying.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, next to the sink crammed with grimy, porcelain dishes that had most likely been collecting for a week. The windowsill above the faucet was lined with dead flies, the glass adapting a sallow hue, as though some type of algae was beginning to develop. A vase sat on the small dining table, filled with orchids, though the purple petals were shrivelled and the bulbs drooped like they were trying to escape the stem.

A cigarette was held between his fingers, to which he smeared off the ashes by rubbing it against the countertop. Squeezing your hand even tighter around the pocket mirror, you stood ground.

“I’ve been watching my tone for the last two years. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, folding an arm over his chest. “Then I taught you well. Don’t make me teach you again.” The smoke wafted from between his lips, and he hacked dryly.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. The only reason you weren’t blubbering through every word was due to your unwavering grip on the mirror and the tearful promise you made to Jihoon. Maintaining an ember of hope, you prayed this would be the last time you smelled the poison from his cigarette. Freedom felt like a walk out his front door.

“The way you treat me is disgusting. You don’t know anything about a real relationship.”

He might have been dense, but his instinctual evil knew contempt like the back of his palm. His eyes flashed, recognizing your defiance, your desperation to break free. Rather than the slumped posture against the countertop, he started to straighten himself out and bare his teeth.

“What the fuck do you know about a real relationship? I treat you like you’re supposed to be treated. I made you a better partner, and you’re not even goddamn thankful?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You felt not a grain of fear, but great astonishment, in which months of belligerence bled through your negation. “You made me better? Did you really just fucking say that? You put me in the worst position of my life! You’re an empty-headed, narcissistic, manipulative asshole!”

It was like a pin dropping in an empty theatre. The words that harped from your tongue merely skimmed the surface of your resentment, and you might’ve kept barrelling down if it weren’t for the obsidian in his eyes. You knew that soulless look. Already, you could feel the ache in your wrist, see glimpses of his iron hand reaching for your skin. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, smacked it into the sink, and immediately loomed over you, wrestling for your wrist.

“H-Hey, don’t fucking touch me!” You cried out, whipping your elbow backward.

“Don’t act up then!” He roared, clutching onto your arm and wickedly shaking it until your grasp loosened around the pocket mirror.

With a horrified countenance, you watched the artifact fly from your hand and rattle against the plastic, stained tiles. The fragile clasp broke, its gold dome popped open, cracked glass crumbling out from the inside. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Air stuttered on the tip of your tongue whilst you stared at the hundred-year-old mirror, now decimated and irreplaceable. It felt like the universe had an unforgiving hand around your windpipe. No breath left your lungs.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, “why were you holding that?”

Why were you holding that?

Why were you holding that?

With your mouth agape, you locked eyes with the man in front of you, and for once, he seemed afraid. The pain upended itself in your stomach, it burst into your atrium, your veins and blood. It was electricity. A frustrated growl reverberated from deep inside and suddenly you were slamming your hands against his chest, pushing him backward, making him stumble and wheeze and fear your aggression until he was caught against the kitchen counter.

“What the he—,”

“Shut up,” you choked out like your whole life had been ripped away from you, tears leaking down your face, “don’t you ever come up to me again. Don’t ever put your hands on me. Don’t you ever speak to me. Don’t you ever look at me. You can’t keep me trapped in your little cage anymore. We’re fucking through.”

He was heaving in quick-paced breaths, and you could see the disorientation cloud in his gaze. Before you left, you scooped the broken mirror and all its fragments into your hands.

You stalked through his front door, but it didn’t yet feel like freedom.

Darkness pooled around you, exempt from the yellowish flame that wriggled up candle wick. Gently opening the pocket mirror, you placed it on the closet floor, holding back a brittle sob as the tiny glass shards collected against its bottom. Glass shards that could never be fixed or glued back together. It was unadulterated heartache. You wondered if that was how Jihoon felt when he watched all his books smoulder in the fireplace, having to accept the voice at the back of his head which told him his literature would be lost forever.

Your eyes were damp and welting with tears as they fell shut. Quietly, into the small space you whispered: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

But the world was silent. 

You felt not a single gust of arctic air against your face, nor did you hear the pocket mirror snapping shut. Jihoon’s soft fingertips weren’t brushing your arm, your teary cheek, the tender inside of your thigh, assuring you he was right at your side. A shudder split through your body. It couldn’t be true.

You entreated him again, “if I ask for you, will you come to me?”

A terrible sickness disseminated from your gut. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, saliva coating the inside of your mouth as though your system was preparing to vomit. Perspiration dappled your forehead, and you were burning hot, yet your hands were trembling like you’d been confined outside during the coldest winter. You leaned over into your palms and let out a petulant shriek. It was unclear how long you stayed in the closet, wetly hiccupping and mourning. The pain needed to escape, no matter how viciously. 

And even though you couldn’t see Jihoon, he was looking after you as a free spirit, absorbing your agony, ensuring you didn’t have to feel such torment all by yourself.

Eight months later

It was around lunchtime as you picked up your bicycle, resting against the ivy that coated the sun-soaked wall of the cottage. You decided to pedal into town and grab groceries. June summers were always pleasant, colourful; the heat was rarely unbearable or notably sticky and when you rode your bicycle, the breeze blew the scent of the neighbourhood honeysuckle into your face.

Soaring along the sidewalk, you felt – for once in your life – remarkably free.

When you neared that ominous house at the end of the block, you weren’t afraid, rather you continued pedaling with contentedness, brushing right by the driveway as though it were any other house one might pass on a bike ride. You didn’t think about your wrist. The scratches had long since faded. There was no more bruised tissue or blunt carvings from fingernails. Upon nearing the grocery store, you were creating a small list in your head.

You knew you wanted peaches. Ice cream if they had your favourite flavour. Vegetables and meat and spices for a stew. In fact, you were so concentrated on making the non-existent list that you didn’t even note the young man who’d just rushed out the market door. At the last second you jammed the breaks and gasped, feeling the inertia against your body.

Some of the papers and photographs tucked under the stranger’s arm dislodged, fluttering to the ground.

“Holy shit,” you set your bicycle against the store wall, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention at all—here, let me help you.”

“I-It’s alright,” he replied, sounding a bit shaky as he joined you in collecting the papers, “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

When you grabbed one particular photo from the ground, you immediately froze.

It was grainy, black and white, but you could recognize that face amongst hundreds. His eyes, his lips, even the corduroy button-up and crisp dress shirt. He was leaning against a jukebox, hands in his pockets, a pen tucked behind his ear, grinning like he’d just struck the lottery. You were so entranced with the photograph that the stranger could only stand before you, a thick blush on his cheeks whilst he waited for you to finish ogling. It wasn’t until he slightly cleared his throat that you budged.

“Do you know this guy?” You asked after handing him back the picture.

“Well, not personally…” He scratched the nape of his neck. “But I know who he was. Lee Jihoon. I have this culminating project in my writing class. I thought it’d be cool to choose him since his story is so intriguing. I—,” Suddenly, he stopped, and laughed anxiously.

“Sorry, you probably don’t know what I’m talking about.”

His amber complexion turned increasingly pink. You’d never seen him around town before, but god—he was cute. He had these thin, circular glasses that sat on his pointed nose, a mole doting the upper arch of his cheek, the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen. His hair was a bit disarrayed after you nearly struck him with your bicycle, the black strands fluttering against the summer breeze. And interestingly enough, he knew who Jihoon was.

“I know of him,” you smiled, though it was hollow, “his story is intriguing, according to what I’ve heard.”

The stranger seemed to sense your aching.

“Yeah… kinda sad stuff. Um, I-I’m Seokmin by the way. I heard Jihoon lived in this town so I’m trying to collect resources.”

You glanced at him thoughtfully and returned your name. Seokmin started organizing his papers, proceeding to shove them back under his arm.

“Resources?” Came your inquiry. “Like what kind?”

“Anything, honestly. I started researching him when I lived in Korea. I even got my hands on some copies of citizen records. I know he had a cottage around here too, but I don’t know the address. And that’s weird right? Knocking on the owner’s door asking about a deceased writer.”

“Seokmin.”

He pushed up the silver bridge of his glasses and gulped. “Yeah?”

“I think I can help you out.”

After taking Seokmin on a curt tour through the cottage, he seemed speechless, and quite frankly a little bewildered considering his luck at encountering you. Much of the cottage had been renovated and refurbished, all but the closet and the crimson fireplace.

The tour ended in your bedroom, where Seokmin shot a wary glance at the closet you had always kept empty, knowing what the cramped space entailed in terms of the writer’s premature death. You thought he needed to sit, so you assured him it was fine if he took a couple minutes on the edge of your bed.

With his documents next to him, Seokmin’s eyes once again probed around the room. He then sighed as you leaned against your dresser, to which you pondered on what had disturbed him.

“I can’t believe he burnt all his work. It’s just gone, y’know?”

Tapping your fingers against the wood, you nodded. “It’s unfortunate.”

“When I was poking around for information back in Busan, I heard he had this girlfriend who cheated on him with his friend. All his books were these amazing love stories based on her, but I guess he felt they were tarnished… So, he just… Destroyed them. I wonder if there’s anything of his left.”

Immediately, you stiffened. Stowed away within your night table’s compartment was the gold pocket mirror. You had removed the broken glass after slicing the edge of your finger on a shard, and only the antique shell remained. It was too painful to keep the mirror with you as frequently as before, so you stored it in a special place, and only accessed it when you needed to talk with Jihoon, when you really needed to feel his presence, even if it couldn’t be what it once was.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you approached the table and pulled open the compartment, revealing to Seokmin the pocket mirror, dulled and broken after a century of hardship. He outstretched his palm when you allowed him to hold it.

“S-Shit, I heard about this mirror. His girlfriend gave him this. Is it the actual thing?”

Folding your arms over your chest, you nodded. “I promise, it’s not a fake.”

Gently, Seokmin opened the broken clasp.

“No glass?” He questioned.

“Um…” You were nibbling your lip hard enough to draw blood, “Just… something happened, and it broke. It was too dangerous to keep the glass.”

“Oh,” Seokmin hummed, “that’s fine. It’s still beautiful. I can’t even believe I’m holding it.” His chest rumbled with disbelieving laughter.

“It’s so hard to see it broken…” You sighed, feeling your lungs shake and your throat tighten.

Seokmin looked up at you, how you gazed at the mirror as though it were a lost love. He rose from the bed and delicately placed the momentum back into its compartment.

“I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.” The boy pointed out in a soft voice.

“Why not?” You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes, yearning to fall.

“Well, there’s this myth, I guess. People who take their own life are condemned to their personal grave. When items that were precious to them break, like that mirror, it sets their soul free. So, even if it’s painful for you, it could have been a good thing. If you believe in spirits and all that.”

For a moment, you simply held yourself firmer, staring deep into the kind earth of Seokmin’s eyes whilst this catharsis bloomed inside you. Even though you knew the mirror wasn’t necessary for Jihoon to hear or see you, it had been the most difficult tribulation you ever knuckled through. Trying to accept life as it was, not as what it could have been. Seokmin’s brow knitted together concerningly, his bottom lip pushing out, hoping he didn’t upset you.

“Are you oka—,”

He lost an ounce of his breath when you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding onto him tight whilst a few tears beaded toward your chin. Seokmin was at first stunned, though it melted off easily, and you felt his hand rub tenderly against your back. He murmured some small reassurances. His voice was incredibly dulcet, almost velvet-like, and you thought he’d make a good singer. When you took a step away to wipe up any tears, Seokmin gazed at you fondly.

“I’m really sorry,” you chuckled, fingertips brushing against your eye, “but thank you for saying that. It’s something I needed to hear.”

Seokmin shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Pain is pain.”

You smiled at him. He wasn’t wrong.

Realizing he needed to move on with his day, you lead Seokmin downstairs and to the front door, where he stood next to your lilac bush, the afternoon sun adding a touch of honey to his cheeks. Just before he left, you couldn’t help but note that he was fumbling with his words a lot, licking his pretty lips, running a hand through his black locks. Eventually, the boy found his words.

“Do you want to meet up again, maybe?” He quickly adjusted his glasses. “And we can do something? I-I think you’re really nice and cute and I still can’t believe you showed me around when you didn’t have to. I’m sorry if that’s too soon. I totally understand if you’d rather ju—”

“I’d love to.”

The overwrought nature to his face immediately cleared. Instead, Seokmin looked vibrant, so much in fact, that you could feel a familiar sense of warmth rise in your face. It was a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while, but it made you happy, inconceivably happy.

“Really? Okay, cool. Do you want my number?”

As you removed the phone from your pocket, your heart skipped a beat.

“Sure,” you eagerly complied, “let’s do it.”

And on that day, your life began in the way you always dreamed it would.

✧✎ a/n: again, i just want to apologize for my lack of posting (pls refer to my last update if you’re curious). I HOPE THE ENDING MADE UP FOR THE PAIN AND SADNESS lolll. 

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 9: Lotus Art: Iyasu Healing Flower

Word Count: 2,381

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀  Archive of Our Own Link  ❀  Wattpad Link

A/N: Thank you to those who have been reading. I hope you are enjoying it! Constructive criticism or feedback is always appreciated!

My birthday was Sunday so leave me some likes if you liked it lol

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Caw, caw!

The incessant squawking of the crows overhead reverberated annoyingly in Ayame's eardrums. Her mind felt hazy, comparable to a radio that couldn't quite grasp hold of a broadcasting station. Her consciousness came and went, her mind ebbing and flowing as her body lay still against the soiled marble floor.

Above her, another crow walked closer to the opening in the ground. Its skeletal feet tapping a pebble curiously until it fell into the hole, plummeting through the air and bouncing off the split ground, inches from Ayame's face. She stirred, a groan escaping her chapped lips. She licked them, opening a sage-colored eye lazily.

Carefully, she peeled her cheek from the stone and sat up, feeling disoriented. Her body felt heavy. Her eyes settled on the remains of a man a few feet from her; his figure wrapped tightly in her lush vines, his skin gray. She felt nausea stir within her stomach, burning the back of her throat with acid. Quickly, she swallowed, taking a deep breath at the overwhelming reality around her.

Suddenly, the pieces of her memory came together like two magnets, her neck quickly snapping over to a mass of gray hair at the recollection of Kakashi. Ayame quickly scrambled over to him, gravel digging into her knees as she crawled across the floor.

"Kakashi," she breathed, looking down at his motionless body. She wasn't sure how long she had been out, maybe a few minutes, or maybe longer. She didn't want to think about it.

"Kakashi," she called his name again, patting his face gently. Deep lines had formed under his eyes, a hue of purple dusting his cheekbone. She carefully placed two fingers under his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was faint. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and blood.

"Kakashi," escaped her lips, feeling panic building. She forced it away, composing herself as she unzipped his jonin jacket and put her head to his chest. His body was warm against her ear. His heart was still beating. The thought of losing this man she had just met overwhelmed her. She thought of how the village would react to his death, knowing she had been the one to lead them out here.

Thump, thump.

Amatoxins, you know.

Thump, thump.

Ayame's eyes opened instantly as she recalled Daichi's words. She sat up, reaching for her backpack and pulling it over her shoulders. Her mind sorted through the laundry list of herbal medications in her bag, dumping its contents on the ground for the second time that day.

Amatoxins from mushrooms, amatoxins, she thought, picking up each vial and processing its remedies in her mind. She picked up the vial of silibinin, milk thistle extract grounded into powder and mixed into water, and a lightbulb went off in her brain. She turned back to him, her chest tightening uncomfortably at the shape he was in. She cursed herself for being unconscious when he needed her. But if she hadn't been so triggered by Daichi's words, would she have still pushed herself to create those vines?

Ayame uncorked the vial and looked down at the silver-haired Jonin. She felt a tightness in her chest as she assessed him. She would have to take his mask off, she realized. She didn't have time to think about it. The more she sat and considered it, the more time ticked away. She was sure he didn't have much time left before the toxins damaged his liver permanently - if it hadn't already.

It felt so personal, like something he would choose to show her after building a bond of trust. But she had no choice. Carefully, she pulled back the fabric of his mask, over the tip of his slender nose and beyond his lips. The realization that she was seeing his face behind his mask produced a blush to creep over her cheeks. Her ears felt hot. She let the material rest over his chin where a little black mole sat. A nagging sense that she was violating his privacy tugged at her. It was either this or nothing, she reasoned.

Reaching down, she tapped at the side of his chin to open and dumped the vial contents into his mouth. She waited a moment, pushing on his throat to ensure he swallowed it despite his unconsciousness. A drip of the antidote trickled from the corner of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. Gingerly, she reached and caught it with a hooked finger, feeling the light stubble at the edge of his chin. She drew away quickly, her skin hot.

Another pebble skidded across the floor from above. Ayame pulled Kakashi's mask up and turned away, feeling another peculiar sense of guilt mixed with a new, unfamiliar yearning to gaze at him all day. She lifted her hand and touched her braid, fiddling with the strands. Pursing her lips, she glimpsed over at the dead shinobi a few feet away again. Vines wrapped tightly around his neck and body; his skin tinted grotesquely. His lifeless, eerie eyes were staring back at her, causing her stomach to roll.

Suddenly, Ayame jumped up to her feet. She ran over to Daichi's body, tripping over the sensation of how heavy her legs felt. She realized everything required to make the flower the Konoha shinobi needed was right there in front of her. Reaching down, she snatched the scroll out from Daichi's thick fingers, adrenalin flooding through her as she quickly sprinted towards the exit where they had come from. She felt a ping of guilt leaving Kakashi and looked back at him. He would be alright, she reasoned. She just needed to give the antidote time to work. He would want her to do this first rather than save him anyway.

The stale air of her old village greeted her nose again in full force as she reached the top of the ladder. Looking around, she noticed his ninja hounds in the distance, far away from the site of the wreckage. He hadn't dismissed them, she realized. She wondered if they had seen or heard any of the commotion from earlier.

"Pakkun," she called out, waving the canine over. The little pug lifted his head from the ground, his pushed-in nose sniffing the air. The other dogs lifted their heads as well, looking over at her. Their diverse shaped faces shifting into various levels of confusion at the sight of Ayame voice calling them and not their master.

"Everything okay?" Pakkun asked, his little bowlegged arms trotting towards her.

"I need someone to keep an eye on Kakashi," she explained breathlessly. She looked around for an empty field. "But I also need someone to deliver this scroll and some flowers to Lady Hokage as soon as possible."

Ayame showed Pakkun the scroll and then pointed to a small field beyond her old home's wreckage.

"I'll take care of it," Pakkun assured her as the other dogs hurried up beside him. Without any direct orders, two of the canine sprinted off in the direction Ayame had come from, their noses following the scent of their master. Ayame watched them for a moment, amazed by their ability to trace his scent.

"What do you need?" Pakkun asked, watching Ayame turn her head back to him. He looked up at her, his tiny beady eyes staring up at her skeptically.

"This way," she said, guiding him over to the field. Kneeling on the wearied grass, she looked down at the scroll in her hand hesitantly. She thought of the small amount of chakra she had manifested through the previous day's exertion and meditation session that morning. She was sure she had already used most of it - killing - that man. She swallowed hard.

There was no turning back now. Kakashi wouldn't be awake for hours, and she certainly couldn't leave him behind or haul his body back to the village before dusk. She chewed at her bottom lip. It was now or never.

"Pakkun," she looked over at him, his little body sitting behind her on the grass. "I'm going to use this scroll to produce these flowers. I need you to pick as many as you can and take them back to Lady Hokage before dusk. She'll need this scroll too. It has directions on it."

"Got it," the small canine nodded, "don't worry."

"And Pakkun," she spoke quietly, looking down at the scroll as she sat on her heels. Worry permeated her bones, sending a chill up her spine that had little to do with the nip of cold air. She wondered if her body would be capable of handling this job after already exerting herself.

"Make sure Kakashi is okay, please," Ayame requested, unrolling the scroll on the ground. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the scroll.

Stay focused, she remembered. Closing her eyes, her hands molded themselves into the appropriate signs through muscle memory before slamming it to the ground in the center of the scroll.

"Lotus Art: Iyasu Healing Flower!"

A rolling field of purple buds erupted from the dead weeds, the tips of their stems immediately blooming as the crisp breeze swayed them. Dozens of lavender-colored blossoms filled Ayame's blurred vision. Her eyesight tunneled, darkness breathing in and out in unison with her expanding chest. Her body weakened immediately. Her ears buzzed continuously.

Her body fell sideways, the grass rough against the skin of her cheek. As she lifted her eyes before her vision went dark, she watched the brown pug begin to pick the flowers from the ground one by one with his mouth before heading for the horizon with the scroll in his mouth.

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A raindrop landed on Kakashi's forehead, hitting his skin and dripping into his hairline. Then another, and another. Slowly, his hooded eyelid fluttered open lazily, his vision clouded. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick and scratchy. His arms and legs felt heavy, like weighted bags attached to his body. He moved his head, his neck aching.

Slowly, he sat up, raking his hand through his silver hair as more raindrops began to fall from the opening above. Kakashi looked up, his memory slowly coming back to him. He felt similar to when he depleted all his chakra, his body feeling weak. Groaning, he took in his surroundings and pulled down his headband.

More rain began to fall. Slowly standing to his feet, Kakashi noticed a lump of plants a few feet away and began making his way towards it. When he reached it, he stood over them, his eyebrows narrowing as he realized what it was: an asphyxiated man tied up tightly with dense green vines. His chest clenched uneasily, remembering the only person who was with him.

"Ayame?" he called out, turning around. His eyes traveled over the broken marble floor; its fractured and split slabs creating a challenging route to travel when your body was as weak as his. He called her name again, walking back through the hallway and into the original room they had entered the cache. His body protested at every step as he climbed the ladder.

His hair matted to his face as he reached the surface, rain pouring down from the milky gray sky. Looking around, Kakashi noticed his ninkin in the distance, nestled in the corner of the remains of a dilapidated building. He lifted himself from the opened hatch, his knees bending in an abnormally painful manner as he moved closer to them.

Bull lifted his head, his large round face wet with rain, as he watched Kakashi hobble over to them.

"What happened?" Kakashi asked, reaching the seven canines. "Why are you all still he-?"

Kakashi's eyes landed on Ayame's back, the collar of her shirt ruffled from the obvious signs of being pulled to a sheltered location. Uhei's long nose protectively laid across her hip, keeping her warm.

Kakashi knelt, his hand hovering over her head as he processed everything. Finally, he placed it on her head, her auburn hair soft under his fingertips. What happened? Why was she up here? Why was she passed out? Had she killed Daichi herself? Kakashi looked to his ninkin; his eye's inviting them to explain.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice sounding rough and scratchy. He reflected for a moment on how tight his chest was. Of course, he was concerned for her well-being, but seeing her unconscious disturbed him in an unfamiliar way.

Uhei lifted his head from her hip, pointing his long nose to the field nearby. Kakashi looked over, noticing a few lavender-colored flowers that remained in a field nearby. Those had not been there before, he deduced. His eyes progressed down the path where his ninken had hauled her body to shelter as the rain started to come down harder.

It all clicked in his mind instantly. She had stopped Daichi, recovered the scroll, and produced the flowers herself. He looked down at her, his eyes wide in astonishment. She should be out of chakra by now. His cold hand moved to under her neck, feeling for a pulse in the crease of her warm skin.

Thump, thump, thump. He exhaled, relieved.

"Pakkun?" Kakashi asked his ninken, feeling disoriented from the overload of information he had missed.

The smallest dog, Biscuit, lifted his head to point his snout towards the direction of the village's entrance gate, indicating Pakkun's travel back to the village on their behalf. Kakashi sighed, sitting his bottom on the hard, wet ground.

"I have to get her back to Konoha," he told the dogs.

He felt culpable for leaving her to defend herself in a battle. Despite her coming out on top, things could have ended much differently. He frowned behind his mask. Looking down at her, she looked as though she was sleeping peacefully. Dirt and sweat coated her face and body. The overwhelming desire to keep her safe washed over him as he looked down at her.

Her shoulder rose and fell with each breath she took. Long deep inhales followed by shallow exhales. He reached up, itching his chin through his mask. It felt like there was something sticky on his skin. He pulled his mask down and felt a line of sticky residue from the corner of his mouth to his chin. He wondered what it was.

A warm head laid itself on his leg, nudging his hand with a nose. Kakashi looked down at Biscuit's blond fur resting on his thigh comfortably.

He looked back up at the diverse features of his dog's faces, each set of their round eyes staring at him curiously. Fatigue washed over his body as he leaned against the wall. In the distance, thunder rumbled across the sky. Perhaps they would stay here for the night, he decided sluggishly as his eyes started to close.

He would make sure nothing happened to her tonight.

[papermoonish]

when the weather changed

"Wait for me!"

"Shit, it was so nice out at lunch," Kirishima whines, stopping in the doorway.

"That’s fucking autumn for you."

"Don’t curse a whole season, you'll get unlucky."

autumn brings weather changes and simple sweetness. for kirishima and bakugou it comes first in the shape of friends and then each other

read on AO3 or keep reading here

Kiri is on the roof of the school building. There are mesh fences keeping the small spot up in the air secluded - safe. He's sitting on the floor, his back to the wall hiding the staircase, eyes closed and head leaning against the concrete.

The air tastes like crisp autumn, fresh and cold with the promise of warmth tingling. Maybe tomorrow, maybe later. The door opens and Kirishima straightens up, opens his eyes and reaches for his water bottle. With two quick movements he looks busy. Nothing weird going on here.

"Hey man," he smiles, and Denki waves back.

"Yo dude. I was looking everywhere for you."

Denki drops besides him, loose and easy. His shoulder brushes Kirishima's as he’s reaching for the food in Kiri's lap, stealing a small piece of pre-cut sausage. He's warm, body slumping against his friend with a content sigh.

"Ah sorry! What's up?”

Denki pops his lips, pulls up his phone and scans the screen quickly before tapping away on it. He's sitting cross-legged, his knee occasionally bumping against Kiri's thigh. He steals another piece of sausage and chews it a little too loudly but it’s okay. Kirishima appreciates the company.

"Didn’t see you at lunch and thought you might've run away with a hot girl into a future unknown.”

Kirishima snorts and shakes his head, red hair doesn’t move an inch. Next to him Denki cracks his knuckles, but only the ones on his left hand.

"In the middle of a Monday?”

"Who am I to question the timely manners of love, bro."

"Bro."

"Bro."

They laugh and the wind picks up a bit, messing up Denki's hair. As he tries to fix it he lets out a loud groan. Kiri reaches up to tuck a few strands back with the others.

"Nah dude, I'd never leave you behind."

"You better won’t. Blasty would have my ass if he heard you got away and I knew."

There’s an implication between the words, simmering right in the space left after them. Kirishima blinks and shakes it off, smiles until the dimple on his right cheek shows up.

"He has your ass for everything. He owns it."

"HE DOES NOT OWN MY ASS!"

Kiri giggles, downs the rest of his water and rubs his nose. The movement causes Denki to sway a bit, still leaning on his friend. He catches himself and sits up, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That's gay," he snickers.

"Denki-"

"No Ei,” he raises his hands in defeat, pouting, “I simply do not wanna think about Bakugou in a sexual way."

"That’s not even close to what I said."

"It was IMPLIED!"

"IT WASN’T!"

They’re shoving at each other now, laughing and the water bottle drops, rolls away across the deck. The rest of Kirishima's lunch nearly falls too, but just at the last second he remembers and puts it aside. Seeing an opening, Denki throws himself at Kirishima and they both topple over. Denki is snorting, Kiri is chuckling. The sun shines.

"EW, DUDE!"

The wet stripe Denki licked across Kirishima's palm glistens in the autumn weather and Kiri is fast to wipe it at Denki's dress shirt.

"You're so gross."

"Excuse me? You have a crush on Bakugou, that's nasty!"

"Ughh,” Kirishima hides his face in his hands, “don’t bring that up."

"You can't censor me, this is a free country."

Their laughter fades at the same time as the sunshine, covered by a few thin clouds moving across the blue. Lunch is coming to an end and Kiri hears Denki's bones pop from stretching his hands. A rumble in the sky makes a few birds fly up and the boys look up.

"I- … uh-"

Denki rolls onto his side and makes a whole show of getting up, like standing is a dance he owns. He cracks his neck and Kirishima cringes at the sound, worrying his lip.

"I won’t tell him. Drop the pout, lovebird."

He reaches out a hand and Kiri grabs it quickly, and then he gets pulled up from the floor with the sun reappearing. Warmth immediately spreads across their skin.

"Thanks, man.”

Denki waves his hand, grins mischievously.

"Bro, you've got so much more dirt on me. This is self-protection.”

"Bro I’d never tell any of them anything."

"I know, I know. You’re just good like that,” he laughs. "One day either Shinso, Jirou, Sero or Tetsu will notice me. I'm not giving up yet."

"You're helpless," Kirishima shoos away a mosquito. “You should pick one of them to work your charm on.”

"I’d go for you, but your little monkey brain is already wired in the wrong direction, babe."

Kiri fake gags and Denki shoves him, hard. They gather their stuff - meaning Kirishima grabs all his things and Denki starts breakdancing next to him. Denki opens the door and bows, giving him the, "After you, good sir." and Kiri bows right back with a, "Oh my, thank you darling."

The door falls into its lock and clicks shut. A gust of wind picks up and moves the water bottle Kirishima forgot on the deck. It clatters against the mesh fence and rolls a few feet across the floor. It’ll be found later by someone else, surely. Not everyone has a bright red metal bottle with multiple stickers of pictures of his friends. They get back to class and the sun still shines.

* at the same time *

The cafeteria is too loud. There's laughter and screaming, talking, shuffling, things dropping and people running. For Bakugou the cafeteria hurts, it rings all the way through his ears to the bottom of his brain and he furrows his brows while poking chopsticks into rice.

"You want a spoon for the rice soup you’re making there?"

Bakugou flinches, knuckles turning white before the colour slowly creeps back, blood flow released.

"Watch your mouth," he barks into the direction of the person sitting across the table.

"Can’t, I'm eating. You should try it, it’s supposed to be good for you."

"I fucking know, Tapeface. What’s your issue?”

Sero grins before digging back into his chicken, his legs long under the table right under the window. His feet knock against Bakugou's ankles. Neither of them moves.

"What's yours? You're usually not that grumpy at lunch."

Bakugou looks at him for a few seconds, like he's considering, waging something in his head.

"'s loud here," he finally settles on.

"Oh."

Sero blinks, then he grabs his backpack and tray and Bakugou flinches again at the speed of it.

"What are you-"

"Come on big guy, grab your stuff."

"Huh?"

"There's tables outside, next to the gym building."

Oh. That’s right.

When they settle again Bakugou's forehead is still crinkled and Sero pokes him, index finger smudging against his skin. The wrinkles smooth out a bit. Sero puts his phone on the table, screen up. Bakugou can see the small notification LED blinking yellow.

"Ya still look grumpy."

Bakugou shrugs, finally eats his rice like a normal person. Sero hums, low and deep, then rustles inside of his bag and pulls out a juice pouch. There's a drop spilling when he puts the straw in a little too forcefully and Bakugou hands him a napkin.

"I have a goddamn headache."

"Ah."

The wind picks up and the sun vanishes behind thin clouds. The building casts enough shade to cover them and their table fully now and it’s a little colder.

"Maybe Ei can do his magic hands thing later. Doesn't he help sometimes?"

Bakugou shrugs but he averts his eyes, dipping his rice into sauce before shoving it into his mouth. He knows Sero can see through it but he also knows Sero is gentle. He hums again and Bakugou breathes.

"Yeah.”

Sero finishes his food and sips his juice, offering it to Bakugou but obviously being declined. He just shrugs.

"Denki texted me he's on the roof if ya wanna go up and ask."

Bakugou shakes his head, puts the lid back onto his bento box. He catches the way Sero checks at his phone, types away an answer to a message that made him smile.

"Lunch is over in a few anyway."

"You have some rice on your shirt."

"Ah shit."

The sun comes back out and Sero's phone chimes. He glances at it and sighs, swiping the little alarm notification away.

"Back to class then, wonder kid."

"You're on thin fucking ice, Hanta."

"Aw with the first name? You make me blush today."

"Bitch."

"No need to sweet talk me after you had a lunch date with me."

"Oh my fucking god I despise you."

He grabs his bag and then puts the trash from Sero's tray on his own, sliding them together. He carries both. Sero holds the door open for him and Bakugou grunts a thank you. The wind starts howling and the cafeteria is still filled with laughter when they enter.

*later*

The school day ends and the sky is grey. There are dark speckles between heavy clouds and the light turned a muddy yellow. The sun isn't visible and you can’t feel it either, all the warmth traveled further away into other days, future hours. Bakugou's kicking the door to the sky deck open with his foot, the sole squeaking against the heavy metal.

"Fucking bullshit."

There’s a rumble and then rain hits his face and there's a giggle right behind him, echoing in the halls of the stairway.

"Wait for me!"

Bakugou keeps the door open with a snarl.

"Shit, it was so nice out at lunch," Kirishima whines, stopping in the doorway.

"That’s fucking autumn for you."

"Don’t curse a whole season, you'll get unlucky."

Bakugou looks at him, getting soaked more every second, hair slowly plastering itself against his forehead. Water gets caught in his lashes and drips into his shoes. His socks get wet. He blinks once and Kiri rubs his blushing neck, laughing.

"Yeah," his lip pulls upwards, "wouldn't fucking want that, hah?"

Kirishima bolts out into the rain, Bakugou looks after him before following. There are small puddles on the floor and Kiri steps into them intentionally, grinning as he notices his boots are waterproof enough for his shenanigans.

"All right, where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are," Kirishima sing-songs.

"You're so stupid."

"Shhhh maybe it's hiding from us."

"Your water bottle?"

Kiri nods. “Maybe it feels your negative vibes, bro."

"Maybe I’ll make you feel a negative vibe in a second, bro."

It’s an empty threat and Kirishima laughs.

He keeps running and the sky doesn't split open to let light through. Bakugou licks his lips, rainwater on his tongue, and walks towards the fence to the south side. It’s like Kirishima forgot where he sat with the way he's buzzing through the rain, arms spread and face tilted towards the sky.

Bakugou spots his bottle immediately, picks it up with his pinky hooking through the loop on the cap. He inspects the stickers and none of them are peeling. When he turns, Kiri is standing still, looking up at the falling rain, hair bending and bowing under the weather.

"You done with your moment?" Bakugou yells over the noise.

"It’s so nice."

"The rain?"

"Hmh."

Bakugou comes up next to him, holds up the bottle but Kirishima’s eyes are closed. So he bumps the cold metal against the exposed skin under Kirishima’s rolled up sleeves.

"Got the goods."

"Ah! thank you, Blasty."

"You'll never drop that name huh?"

Kiri shrugs and Bakugou watches his shoulders move.

"It’s a good name."

"It’s old as shit. Come up with something better."

"Stop exploding into our faces then," Kirishima turns his head and grins.

"Never."

"That’s what I thought."

Kiri's quiet until Bakugou pulls up his nose. The sky keeps making noises that hint ever so closely at a thunderstorm coming.

"Ah shit, okay let's go back inside. You're soaked!"

"Duh."

"Thanks for coming to look with me though."

They both know Kirishima would’ve found his bottle on his own. They don’t address it though and somehow the knowledge settles between them in the form of physical contact. Bakugou simply accepts the wet arm that’s thrown over his shoulder, it soothes the tension built up in his muscles.

"You can thank me by doing your hand thing."

Kirishima’s head snaps towards him, eyes big and round. There are water droplets in his eyebrows.

"You have another headache? Man, why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Kiri grabs his bottle from Bakugou, their fingers touch. Kiri smiles and walks towards the door. His hand reaches for the handle and it creaks under the movement.

"School," Bakugou says, voice calm while he shrugs.

"Let’s get dry and then I can come over? Whatcha say?"

Bakugou nods, brushes past Kirishima holding the door open. The arm that was around his shoulder slides off and it’s immediately cold where it lay. It’s now freezing in the hallway, especially dripping wet.

"D’you think Sero has a crush on Denki?"

Bakugou huffs, towel rubbing over his ears. They’re in the baths, air warm from their recent shower. The mirror Bakugou stands in front of is fogged up and Kirishima reaches over, hand smearing across the glass until his image is visible.

"I don’t care."

"Come on, gossip with me," Kirishima pokes his finger into Bakugou’s shoulder and the blond doesn’t even turn to look.

"No."

"But you always have the best takes."

"Shut up."

"Katsukiii please."

The towel drops. The sky breaks open and a few late sunbeams work their way through the clouds, illuminating UA in the softest glow. The boys are inside though, the warm bathroom shielding them from the outside, they can’t see.

But Bakugou looks at Kirishima and he simply knows, knows the grey is making space for evening blues and purples, knows the muddy yellow will turn into clear orange.

"I won’t spill Tapeface's secrets."

"Not even to me?" The puppy eyes get ignored.

"Especially not to you, you can't keep your big mouth shut ever!"

"That’s not true! I never spill secrets."

Bakugou unlocks his dorm room door and watches Kiri walk in before him. Bakugou smells his shampoo, it’s a mix of something woody and sweet.

"You're spilling right now."

"Yeah but to you, that’s different."

He sits down in the desk chair, swiveling around a bit. Digging the heels of his feet into the beige carpet. He’s barefoot in Bakugou’s room and it feels intimate. Bakugou snaps a laugh, it’s dry. Kirishima perks up at it.

"It’s not different, you’re making shit up."

"Uh yeah? I like sharing with you?"

"You like talking to everyone."

He drops himself on the floor, back pressed to Kiri's shins and tipping his head back over the redhead’s knees. It’s a bit uncomfortable but it gives Bakugou enough control over the situation. Not that he’d need it here. Kiri's hands gently weave themselves through towel dried blond hair, fingertips pressing against his scalp.

"I like talking to you most though," he says simply.

"Ew."

Kirishima laughs, Bakugou closes his eyes. He lets Kiri work his fingers through his hair, lets his nails scrape and scratch in all the right places and with every minute passing by he feels the headache less and less.

They're quiet for a bit and then he goes, "Hanta's whipped as fuck."

"I KNEW it!"

The ceiling light bathes them in warm white and the sky outside is hidden behind curtains.

[angst-king]

Fury of an abused population pt 1

(Trigger warning: mention of  homophobic actions. Also graphic description of cannibalism.)

Shouto  growled as he was running away from home, he had no idea where he was going but he just needed to get away from his ‘father’. He was angry and needed to blow off steam. ‘Stupid fucking heroes thingk they’re so good, tch just pieces of crap just like their followers.’ Shouto thought to himself feeling the bruises on his body bring about painful stings. Endeavour found out Shouto was gay and threw a fit which got physical until shouto chose to go out for a walk again. Walking through the cold night air, the streets are empty and silent for the most part but. There’s a sound of rustling and something snapping as if there were twigs constantly being broken. This drew up the curiosity in Shouto so he followed the sound. Continuing down the side walk the sound grew louder and the sound of heavy breathing and smushing were added.

Finally the sounds were so clear, Todoroki looked to his left a small alleyway that wasn't totally vacant as he could clearly hear the crunching and the concentrated smell of blood. His eyes adjusting to the darkness of the alley, Todoroki could see someone, they were on their knees hunched over something. With the impulse to walk closer, Todoroki stepped on something that crackled alerting the person he was looking at. Piercing emerald eyes turned to the confused male, the eyes began to come closer to Todoroki soon stopping as the entire being became visible. A boy a little smaller than Shouto, freckles upon his slightly paled face that had puddles of blood. Some were fresh, some dried, in his hands was a severed arm still freshly gushing blood. His hands and clothes were drenched with the thick crimson fluid. For some reason the metallic smell of blood and the sight of a severed arm didn’t make Todoroki sick. He was confused and perplexed. “What are you doing?” The voice that answered back didn’t shred away, it was quiet yet audible but only held numbness. “Eating my dinner” The boy said plainly while licking his lips, eyes focused on the taller boy before him. “You eat people?” Todoroki asked, though it didn’t show any disgust or malice.

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me-” “wait” Todoroki called out as the other began to turn back into the darkness, though the street was dark enough, it still held dim lighting allowing Todoroki to notice the sharp teeth the cannibal adorned. “What?” A green brow raised at the half and half hair colored boy. “Can I watch?” The other noticed the strange fixation Todoroki had, finding it a bit unsettling he wondered if he could scare him off by letting him watch. “Only if you can stomach it” 

Turning back to the alley way, the green male walks into the darkness right up to the limp limbless body. Its extremities scattered about and a large bag, although shouto couldn’t completely see the body he could smell it. The smell was so strong but it didn’t seem to affect him. It didn’t nauseate him. He watched as the body was soon ripped open, innards spilling out for easy reaching. Watching the young male munch on body parts like candy, slurp blood veins like spaghetti as the blood drips down his skilled tongue licks it up.

Packing up all he wanted, only some part remained, Shouto noticed the heart and asked. “Why didn’t you eat the heart?” Sighing, and zipping up the bag, the male stood up and replied. “The heart has a special sack around it called the pericardium and trying to eat through that makes it taste like you’re eating a dick through a condom. Not tasty and i don’t feel like trying to peel it off, besides it still doesn’t taste all that good even without it anyway.” Standing up at full height, the male looks to the taller one with a question of his own once he could fully recognize him. “Hey aren’t you that despicable ‘hero’s’ son Endeavor?” Todoroki rolled his eyes but then nodded. “I hate to admit it but yes, though not really much of a son, just a pawn for his success.” His voice held a mixture of annoyance and disgust. “Honestly I wanna burn him to a crisp and those who condone his vile behavior. Or just fix god awful hero society in general, it makes me fucking sick how many are just abusing their power as heroes.” Scrunching up his nose in repuls, the other fake gags. “Ugh don’t remind me, heroes make me sick, they’re so self righteous and think they’re so good when more than half of them are imbeciles who cause more damage.” A funny mocking voice came from the cannibal who sneered showing off his sharp fangs. Todoroki laughed a little “Damn right man, hey I never got your name?” “oh uh Midoriya Izuku, how about you?” “Todoroki Shouto” Leaning against the wall of the alley Midoriya adjusted his bag of corpse remains. “So Todoroki-kun what are you doing out here anyway, so curious about such a gross being like me?” Midoriya asked, arms folded over his chest as his green eyes looked Todoroki up and down. “Wanted to get away from that man, got fucking pissed after finding out I was gay or some shit.” Midoriya nods before thinking to himself, then chuckling as he asks. “Todoroki-kun, have you ever thought of becoming a villain?” Even though the greenette had chuckled as he spoke, Todoroki could see the seriousness behind those grass green eyes.

[until-we-fall-in-love]

la volpe

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader, slight Marta Cabrera x Reader

Summary: You and Ransom have a complicated relationship.

Warnings: Smut, slightly dub-con because Ransom is an asshole, slightly unhealthy relationship, mild bdsm, rough sex.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello everyone!! no one asked for this and yet here it is!! i hate ransom!! but alas, now i have this smutty fic of him so lmao enjoy?? also i’m physically incapable of writing ana de armas and not making it somehow romantic im so sorry i just have too big of a crush on her and marta

let me know what you thought of this!!!

***

The musical clinking of glasses and cutlery is soft against the piano twinkling in the background. The lights are low and glowing, candles and sparkling, dim-lit chandeliers overhead. The restaurant is dark and lavish, velvet and smelling rich and spiced and enticing. Wine is placed before you, plum and bitter berry tasting. It’s fine and expensive and you swirl it delicately in your sparkling glass. 

Your eyes flicker up to the man across from you, seated casually, leaning back in his chair with broad shoulders covered in a black, finely knit sweater. It’s expensive, you can tell simply by looking at it. Designer, you’re sure. You know his shoes have blood red bottoms. He drips wealth still, smug as ever, handsome as ever. 

“You look good.” He says with a smile curling at his lips. 

You take a sip of wine. Your back is straight, the black, cashmere turtle-neck clinging to your figure. The delicate, ruby earrings glint under the low light, your hair pulled back elegantly. 

Of course you look good.

“What do you want, Ransom?” You ask, setting the glass down carefully. You study him with cutting eyes, skeptical, but composed. 

“Can’t I take my girl out to a nice dinner?” He asks, his eyes glimmering. 

“Haven’t been your girl in months.” You counter, drum your crimson colored nails against your glass. You grow impatient, sigh lightly and glance away from him.  

“C’mon, don’t be like that, princess.” He croons all low and soft, leaning forward onto the table. You like when his eyes flash like that, sincere for you. Just on the right side of desperate. He deserves it, since it’s been months since you’d last heard from him. 

You’re actually certain he has a new girl on his arm now. 

And you want to make him squirm a little. 

You roll your eyes at him, at the way he tries to butter up to you with the nice dinner and a few compliments. You know he wants something. He always wants something and the gleam in his eyes is too sharp and pretty. Greedy, greedy man that would gorge himself on you, on this life, if you’d let him. 

You bite your lip, watch as his eyes track the movement like a predator. 

He at least needs to work for it.

“I could be doing a thousand other things right now, Ransom. Why am I out to dinner with you?” You ask instead, your lashes fluttering prettily as your eyes land on him once more. Your features are aloof and cold and haughty. It makes his blood boil, you can see it in the curl of his lips. 

He huffs lightly, “Oh, yeah, busy Harvard graduate student, isn’t that right?” His voice is just shy of a sneer when he asks, “How’s the dissertation going, kitten?” 

“Well, thank you.” 

You look down your nose at him as his own eyes settle into a glare. The blue of his eyes burns and smolders, bright and sparking on you. Your gazes are as sharp as knives, gleaming and ready to gut each other. 

You wait until he relents, takes this loss to hopefully get a win. He lowers his eyes with another breath, concedes. 

He’ll give you another compliment, maybe reach across the table to touch you. Then he’ll ask you for what he needs. 

“I am glad to hear that.” He says smoothly, “I know how much it means to you. I’m sure it’s incredible.” And he offers you an earnest look, the one you’re sure he’s used to get into plenty of girl’s panties. 

And like clockwork, he reaches over to brush his fingers against yours, which are gently resting on the stem of your wine glass. 

He gives you a smile like that’s supposed to work.

You roll your eyes, pull your hand from his.

You watch the heat and anger rush over his features and wonder if he’s going to make a scene. Now that would be fun. You wonder if you’ll get to toss your wine all over that expensive sweater, storm out only for him to follow hot on your trails. And he’ll drag you to the car and you’ll scream at each other until you’re kissing and your nails are biting into his skin and he’s trying to teach you a lesson in manners—

If your cheeks flush, he doesn’t notice, because he snaps, “Are you always such a brat?” 

You smile for the first time that evening. 

“No, you just bring out the worst in me.” You quip back before taking another slow, savored sip of wine.

He scoffs, “I could say the same of you.” 

“Then why am I here?” 

Now he does soften a little, “I want you to come home with me for my grandfather’s birthday party.” 

Your brows furrow and you settle back into your chair, skeptical. “Don’t you have a girlfriend right now? Why not just bring her?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to your own question.

“You know you’re the only one I bring home to my psychotic family.” He says and now he captures your hand with his, brushes his thumb over your knuckles, leans close and in your space. His cologne is familiar and washes over you, spiced and warm and musky. Expensive.

“You’re psychotic, too.” You respond, but allow your fingers to slip into his. His hand is warm against yours and it slides against your palm, open and large. His fingers brush over the pulse in your wrist, move along the sensitive skin there. 

“That’s why you fit in there, princess.” He says and gives you a shark’s smile, so hooked and gutting. He lowers his voice for you, “And,” His eyes roll up to catch yours, “I’ve missed you.” 

The hint of vulnerability in his face makes you hum lightly, amused or pleased or warmed by it. You’ve missed him, too, in truth. Nobody is like Ransom.

There’s something about him and you that always keeps you two returning to one another. He’s inevitable, you think. You’ve never known anyone to get under your skin in such a way, to burrow their way into you and refuse to leave. 

He’s a disease. 

One you can’t cure yourself from. He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

But you think you’ve ruined him, too. 

It’s been months since your last fling with him. Years since you officially dated but you’re both always circling back to one another. He doesn’t bring any other girls home besides you. He was only ever serious about you. You’re both fated in some way, your stars entwined, looped and crashing into one another again and again. A dance that never ends, that you never want to end.

“Yeah?” You ask, soft and breathy, leaning towards him now, too. “Whad’ya miss about me, Ransom?” 

His eyes flicker lower, over your form and they roam slow and savoring. He licks his lips fleetingly. “Well,” He begins, “I miss fucking you.” 

The vulgarity shouldn’t shock you, it shouldn’t make you flush, but it does. You blame the little wine you’ve had. You pull from his touch once more, continue your game of cat and mouse and try to keep your thoughts from sliding into memories of him on top of you. At your neck with teeth. Parting your legs.

“Pig.” You scoff, shaking your head and pulling your hand from his. “You have a girlfriend.” 

“Yeah, but she’s not you.” He muses, “No one’s you.” He adds, tilting his head slightly. “So c’mon. Come home with me, baby.” He then almost purrs and smiles again, slow and charming this time. He means it now and it’s the kind of smile that gets him out of trouble if he ever tried to wear it. It could be boyish, if it wasn’t so hungry. 

You pick up your wine glass once more, glare over the rim before taking another sip. A bigger one this time, let it burn down your throat and warm your chest. You think your heart is beating faster than it should as he looks at you as if he wants to lay you out on this very table. 

“Get me a diamond bracelet and I will.” You tell him, your bottom lip sticking out a little as you gaze back at him. 

His eyes spark, dance with the flame of the candle. He looks a little crazed now, like he’s lost a few screws and hasn’t bothered to find them again. He looks a little wild-eyed and it’s enticing, the uncertainty in him. The promise of pain and pleasure and the fast pace life of the wealthy. All beautiful and dirty and filthy fucking rich.

He takes your hand and kisses it, slides his lips to your palm. To your wrist where your pulse flutters underneath his mouth, beneath the touch of his tongue. The threat of teeth. He murmurs then, his voice smooth and low and so lovely it makes you shiver;

“Anything for you, princess.” 

***

The Cartier white-gold, diamond bracelet catches in the sun proudly and flashes brilliant light as your hand slides into Ransom’s while he helps you out of his car. You step out onto the gravel driveway and smooth out the tight, leather black skirt hugging your hips and thighs. You inch it down as you ready to see the Thrombey’s once more after nearly a year. You adjust your cream, turtleneck sweater, too. The knitting chunky and loose, oversized on you but chic and soft to the touch.

You have to be sure the wine dark bruise on your neck is covered, the red marked rings around your wrist are drowned in the sleeves of your sweater. Can’t have his family realizing his tastes in bondage, not that you think he would care, but you certainly do. 

In fact, the mere memory of it makes you flush with heat in the crisp autumn air. 

You’d barely gotten into Ransom’s apartment in the city before he’d shoved you hard against the door. A picture rattles, swings precariously. He kisses you with a brutalness you haven’t felt in months, the quick cut of his teeth at your bottom lip. His hands on your body, hungry, greedy hands that want to take and take and take. 

You’d shoved him back, tried to get him off you as you glared up at him with fever dark eyes. Your chest was already heaving, rising and falling in quick bursts, your face flushed with color. 

You’d already look frazzled, hair slipping from the updo it’d been in. His little hell cat, little brat that’s gotta try and fight him on everything. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You’d gasped, your lips already raw and spit-slick and he’d wanted to absolutely fucking ruin you--

He had smirked lazily, as if the whole world was his to take. But there was a restless bite to him, a deep seated and painful desire. A desperate hunger that was raw and open on his face as he looked at you like you were his for the taking.  

 “C’mon, baby,” He purrs, nearing you again, despite your palm going to his chest. As if that’d keep him back for long. You could tell by the look in his eyes, the dark, sharp gleam that he was going to get what he wanted. “I just wanna show you how bad I missed you.” 

And you could feel how bad he’d missed you, the hard line of him now pressing back into your hip as he crowds you again. Your back hits the wall again, his hands already dragging under your clothes to find sensitive, bare skin.

He groans slightly, maybe at how soft you are, maybe because he does just fucking miss you. 

But you’re not done protesting, even if your stomach is twisting in excitement. Even if there’s heat building on the inside of you, making you grip at his broad shoulders slightly. 

“Get off me, Ransom.” You try to snap, but your voice is getting all high and breathy like he loves. You squirm, try to push him off once more. 

He laughs slightly as you manage to wriggle out from beneath him. You dart for the bedroom and if you’d truly not wanted him, you would’ve slammed the door in his face. But you leave it, let him follow after you. 

He shuts the door behind him, then. Strolls in leisurely. 

“You think after months of not speaking, you just get to take what you want?” You ask in the haughty little way that makes his blood sing. It’s more to taunt him, more to test is control. 

You could tell he didn’t have much left. 

“Yes,” He drawls, arrogant, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get on the bed for me?” 

You inhale sharp and quietly, your wide eyes staring at him as he wanders closer. The bedroom, though large and luxurious, now feels too small. Like there’s no more oxygen and a single spark would send it up in flames. 

“Make me.” You say, just to watch it all burn.

Within seconds, he’s on you, pushing you back onto the bed where the air leaves your lungs in a taken, guttering breath. His knee comes right up between your legs, his hands back on you and roughing you up. 

You wrestle with him and he laughs again, excited, dark and knowing. “Oh, you wanna fight, huh?” He rumbles, grappling with your wrists. His strength shouldn’t make you all hot-blooded for him, shouldn’t make you want to sink into the silk sheets and let him do whatever he pleases but it does. 

You ache already, in the core of your body. 

He gets your hands down on the bed, pins you with his weight and his strength and his large hands. You arch your back, pull at your wrists to try and free yourself. Cry out when he squeezes harder. 

“Am I gonna have to tie you up?” He says through his teeth, manhandling you, keeping you down with his weight. He releases your hands, but he’s on you, and it’s only so he can loosen his belt and slip it off. 

You’re like a little doll, so easily possessed by him. So easily detained. You squirm and kick uselessly beneath him. The belt is slipped around your wrists, the cool leather tightening as he loops it in such a way that binds your hands together and above your head. 

You’re about to snipe something about how the hell he’s supposed to get your clothes off now, but suddenly he grips the front of your t-shirt and just rips. 

You gasp, mouth popping open in surprise for a moment. 

“Fuck you,” You curse then as he starts pushing the shirt to the side, baring your chest to him, which is clad in a lacy, creme bra. His hands immediately glide over the skin exposed, the soft skin of your chest. 

“Yeah, that’s what I want you to do.” Ransom snarks, fingers sliding over the soft fabric of your bra, digging in like he might—

“Don’t you dare!” You hiss, “This was expensive!” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He tries to wager, pulling at the fabric a little, forcing you to arch up for him. And what a pretty picture you make for him, already all disheveled and roughed up, eyes shining, hands bound on his bed.

“No!” You try not to whine too much but your voice pitches upward as he palms a breast roughly through your bra, watches you with dark, hooded eyes. And thankfully, for whatever reason, he takes mercy on you and only pulls it downward, so your breasts spill from the top.

His fingers are gentler than you thought they’d be as he rolls your nipple slowly. He leans down to consume you in another bruising kiss, mouth hot and demanding, a little slick and open-mouthed. Messy in its roughness. 

His fingers turn into a sudden, stinging pinch and you mewl lightly into his mouth. He swallows it down hungrily. 

And then his lips drag to your neck, leaving you gasping and squirming, his teeth setting to fragile skin, mouth against your pulse. He sucks hard, until it turns into a blooming bruise of pain and heat. 

“Ransom!” You yelp when it becomes too much, but the damage is done and you know there will be dark marks where he wants. You know there will be evidence of him all over your body by the end of this. 

The rest of your clothes are removed in a hurry, tossed aside, thankfully intact. 

He always gets what he wants, it seems. 

It’d make you livid if it also didn’t make you so--

“Oh, princess, you’re so fucking wet.” He nearly purrs, fingers sliding through where you’re silken and petal-soft, velvety and flooded with heat. 

He gets over excited, too desperate for you, only loosens his trousers, pulls himself out. You feel overexposed with his clothes still on, your bare skin littered with evidence of him, open and vulnerable to him. 

He strokes himself, slow, with your slick before positioning himself. You can tell he’s painfully aroused, too impatient, because the smooth head of him glides along where you’re weeping and sensitive. You mewl, try to twist away from him but he grabs your waist with one, strong hand and holds you still for him.

“Do you have a condom?” You ask, breathless, watching as he makes another slow pass through your folds. 

He snorts slightly, too fascinated with the feel of you, the way you glisten on him to even look up at your face. “No,” And then, “Aren’t you still on the pill?” 

“Well, yes, but--” 

He presses in a little too easily, just the head, and you gasp sharply at the stretch of him already. But! Your mind frets, but you should still be cautious! But it hasn’t been a full week of your new pack! But, but, but!

“Ransom,” You warn, wishing you could push at his thighs, straining slightly with the belt still holding you together. “Don’t-- unless you have a condom.” You get out. 

“I’ll be careful,” He says flippantly, sliding out slowly and back through your aching folds.

He teases you more, makes you ache something awful. Makes your hips buck up and a whine be pulled from your chest. Gets you all desperate until he glides all the way in, bare, and fitting far too snug inside of you. 

“Ransom!” 

He groans, which falls off into a dark, rumbling laugh at the way you keen and squeeze achingly tight around him despite all your protests. A little velvet vice, and he’s delirious and heady with you, struck breathless at the sensation. 

“But you just feel so fucking good like this,” He gets out, drops his head onto your chest, wraps his arms around you tight. You shouldn’t, but you give in to him, let your head drop back and moan, broken and soft, as he fills you.

He likes to fuck close and intimate like this, deep and dirty and with this violent sort of tenderness for you. He likes to make you lose yourself in the slow, rough push and pull of him, so you can’t do anything but take him and cry doing so. 

Your memory is abruptly cut off when Ransom’s hand comes down on the back of your neck, the heated flashes of images you’d been thinking about burning through you. As if he can sense where your mind has gone, (and maybe he can, maybe he can see it in the way your eyes glow and get all wide-- the same way they do when he says something dirty that you shouldn’t like, but do, the slight soft desperation in them), because he smirks slightly. Hooked and curved and too sharp.   

He quirks a brow, “Let’s make this quick.” He says, “So we can leave and I can push that skirt of yours up and--”

“Behave,” You hush, even if your cheeks are still burning, and you pinch his side for good measure anyways. 

He hisses and swats your hand away before you tip your chin up and stride forward, only for the dogs to come rushing out towards the pair of you. Ransom grows upset, jolting back at their jumping and barking. He hates these dogs, whereas you’re able to press onward, allow Ransom to wallow for a moment. 

He shouts at them, before hurrying after you and into the safety of the arching, dark doorway. 

The party is already in full swing; you’re both late, of course. Ransom wanted to spend as little time as possible here tonight. But upon entering, you’re quickly and eagerly greeted by his mother, who has a drink in hand. 

“Oh! Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise!” She says, perhaps too loudly, but rushes forward to wrap you in a hug. You’re well-liked by most of his family surprisingly, who usually let loose scathing remarks about Ransom not deserving you. 

And you put on a good face for them, try to put on the air of the Harvard princess; you know wealthy people well, even if you haven’t always been the richest. Mundanely middle class for most of your life, but you worked hard to go to Harvard, to play in the big leagues. You know what they like to hear from you and see from you; so you play rich. 

“It’s been far too long!” She continues, pulling away to look at you, and then, “Didn’t think you would’ve stayed with him!” She snarks then, squeezing your arm and you force out a laugh.

You know not to mention you haven’t been with her son. 

“Well, you know Ransom,” You shrug lightly, a dainty, graceful lift of your shoulders,  “He doesn’t like to come around much.” 

“No, the little shit.” She shakes her head, but her smile reappears after a moment, “C’mon, let me get you a drink!” 

And you are led deeper into the house, deeper into the Thrombey’s absurdity and vanity and spiraling greed. 

~ 

 Playing rich is fun for awhile; your diamond bracelet sparkles in the low light and the clothes are expensive and flattering but there’s only so much you can take. You grow tired of putting on your best fake, glittering smile and parading around the big house. 

A moment of reprieve when you speak with Ransom’s grandfather, the man of the hour, Harlan. 

He’s always liked you dearly. Not because you have expensive boots on or because you’re poised and can put on a mask of wealth for an evening, but because you study literature. As an author, he thinks it’s one of the most noble pursuits, one of knowledge found in digging through books, getting lost in the stories only to emerge with concrete ideas and arguments. Larger concepts and critiques of society, a bigger picture that so few seem to grasp and pay attention to. 

So Harlan asks, as he does when he sees you, “What are you reading right now, my dear?” 

And he doesn’t mean what you’re studying, but what you’re enjoying. 

“The Beautiful and Damned.” You tell him and a sudden laugh rumbles from him. 

“A good one to revisit while you’re with my family, surely.” He says, all good natured and warm. 

But the moment is fleeting with everyone vying for his attention, and the evening slinks onward. Petty squabbles are had, more drinks are poured, food taken and eaten and taken. 

While Ransom talks privately with his grandfather, you rest on the couch beside Marta, tucked away in an alcove, reclining leisurely beside the girl you’ve met the past few times at the Thrombey gatherings. She’s lovely and doe-eyed and she smiles very sweetly at you. It’s a little timid and soft and you wonder how her dark lashes might feel against your cheek. 

You offer her wine from your glass, which she declines with a shake of her head. Her smile is earnest and you manage to make her laugh somehow, soft and quiet sighs and giggles that fall from both of your lips. She is slow to open up but now she unfurls before you, petal soft and wonderful and glittering eyed in the softly lit room. 

“You’re my favorite part of the Thrombey’s,” You tell her with a slip of a smile, take another sip of your wine and you think her eyes are following your lips. You feel a flush crawl along your face. 

“Not Ransom?” She asks, because you think she’s wondering. Everyone wonders about you two, about him. No one knows your relationship, no one understands it. They don’t have to, but while you can hear Ransom faintly from the other room begin to raise his voice, you let out a huff of air. Almost a scoff at her question.

“Please,” You say, eyes flickering over to the closed door, where Ransom and Harlan hide behind. “I haven’t been Ransom’s girlfriend in years.” You admit and maybe it’s the wine that makes the words slip from you, drop like precious diamonds from the cave of your mouth. Maybe it’s the honesty of her face, the twinkling empathy in her eyes. She’d be soft, so soft and gentle and--

“I hadn’t even seen him in months until a few days ago, when he asked me to come.” You add, take the last sip of your wine bitterly; it’s turned sour and puckered and dry in your mouth. You set the glass down.

“That’s awful.” Marta says quietly and you don’t realize how close she’s gotten, your thighs touching, almost hip to hip. Your arm is leisurely thrown over the back of the sofa, behind her. 

“Yeah, well,” You say and it comes out breathier than you intend, “That’s Ransom.” 

“Why did you come?” She asks then, not rudely, but genuine. 

You hold up your wrist and your diamond bracelet sparkles in front of her eyes, catches in the darkness there to look like a star. “I got a diamond bracelet if I came.” You say and it’s meaner than you intend it to be, but maybe you’re a little more upset than you thought. Maybe you wanna throw a fit. Maybe you want Marta to comfort you with lips and soothing words. 

Maybe it’s just the wine. 

“That’s not the only reason you came, though.” Marta probes gently, “Is it?” 

Your jaw ticks and your lashes flutter as you turn to face her. “Why else would I?” 

“Because you love him.” She whispers. 

“Love’s a big word, Marta.” You respond, hushed and secretive, and your fingers slip into the hair at the back of her neck. A strand of it slides over your knuckles as you twirl the chocolate lock slowly, silky soft against your skin, “It’s so heavy.” 

She blinks slightly, a rush of pink spreading over her cheeks. “Sometimes.” She whispers, leaning into your touch. 

You wonder if she’d whimper if you pulled her hair, how she’d feel against your throat with teeth and tongue. If she’d cry out all pretty and soft, if she’d give what she gets. 

“It is with Ransom.” You say, but you don’t think it would be with her. It’d be as light as the sigh that escapes her, the little breath that comes from her chest. As light as feathers and silk, snowflakes that swirl in the night sky, petals on the wind. 

A door explodes open, rattles on the hinges, through the whole house. It makes you both jolt away from each other. 

Ransom barrels out. You huff, spring up quickly as you watch him grab his coat and wrench the front door open. 

“I’m sorry,” You tell Marta, “It was nice seeing you.” You say earnestly and then move to follow, to find your coat, and hurry out the door and into the chill of the night. 

“What the fuck?” You shout to Ransom as you slam the front door shut behind you. 

His eyes flash dangerously in the darkness, “Get in the fucking car.” He says, “We’re leaving.” And he slides into the front seat and slams the car door just as hard. 

He’s in a mood, then. 

You hustle over, slip into the passenger side and he peels out of the driveway and down the dirt path.

He’s eerily quiet. Uncharacteristically so. The growl of the car fills the silence with rumbling, with an unsettled sound that rattles through you.

You don’t dare break the quiet first. 

And the quiet stretches and stretches, stretches thin until it breaks--

“I forgot something.” He says suddenly, jerking the car to the right, pulling off the road. 

“What’d you forget?” You ask, browns furrowing. He doesn’t answer you, though, only stops the car, kills the engine. He stares in silence for a moment, as if he’s making a decision. You can feel your heart in your chest, the steady thrumming that skips when he raises his eyes in the darkness. The red light of his dash casts him in crimson, in unnatural white light. 

The whole world feels at a stand-still, on a teetering precipice.  

“I’ll be back.” He says and he leaves you, slides out of the car and into the night. Your stomach sinks for some reason, the plummet catching you off guard. 

So you wait for him, alone, as a decision that changes everything is made.

***

Ransom is quiet still, pensive, when you both return to his apartment. After all that anger, you thought maybe he’d take it out on you. You’d both yell and scream and then end up making up on the kitchen countertops, furiously trying to rip away clothes and egos and pain.

But he’s uncharacteristically gentle with you as he lays you out on his sheets. Silver light from the moon, the faint stars, cut across the bed like a knife. Slices over his face in a diagonal, one half eclipsed, and the other luminous and sterling silver. 

He gets rid of your clothes with reverence, looks over you with hunger and thinly veiled tenderness. A violent sort of need that makes him seem wolfish, even in his gentleness. He covers you, enfolds you in shadow and the curling strength of his arms. 

He slides down your body, parts your legs and rolls the warmth of his tongue against where you’re most vulnerable and soft. He flutters his eyes up to you, threads his fingers through yours so you have something to hold onto.

He doesn’t stop until you’re crying, arching off his sheets, twisting and turning and tormented. Until tears slide from the corners of your eyes and you’re aching and open and then he gathers you in his arms, nudges his waist into the crook of your own and fits himself in the depth of you.

You gasp, open mouthed, as he finds home. His own groan blooming from the pit of his chest and out against the hollow of your throat. His hands are bruising, gripped too tight, but you don’t even care, not as you toss your head back, let it fall against his pillow. 

The way he looks at you is somewhere between desperation and viciousness. He wants to possess you, he wants to make you delirious with him. Maybe because you’ve made him as mad with you. He wants to infect you the way you’ve infected him.

He wants to belong, he wants to keep you forever. He wants to give you everything, and you think maybe he says so. Maybe he gets it out into the crook of your neck, maybe he presses it into your skin besides all the marks he gave you. His, his, his. 

He curls around you afterward, slides his hands over your vulnerable belly, the skin soft beneath his broad palms. 

“Let’s leave and never return.” Ransom says and you blink, bleary and sleepy, glance at him with a flutter of your lashes. 

“Where would we go?” You murmur, carding your hands through his hair. 

“Paris, maybe.” He rumbles into your skin, fingers creating a strange, swirling pattern on your stomach. 

“You can read and study and write.” He says and for some reason, your heart squeezes painfully. For some reason, you’re still foolish to imagine it. Sitting pretty in a cafe, a worn book in your hands, glasses of wine between the two of you. He’d look stylish and handsome against a violet rose sunset. 

“And what would you do?” You ask softly, a whisper.  

“Anything I wanted.” 

Quietness falls upon you both again, slow and heavy. He fingers the skin of your stomach, slides over it in strange rhythms only he knows. You’re nearly on the brink of sleep when he turns his face up to you, totally shadowed now, and says;

“I have to tell you something, baby.” 

And you can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the beginning of the end.    

***

He’d said it was his hour of need and you’re smart so you listen and you absorb. You’re appalled and you’re a little shocked but you-- 

You keep your head on straight. Ransom starts to unravel. 

The moment it’s discovered that his grandfather apparently comitted suicide, he starts to slip into a dangerous edge. He starts ranting and raving and then he’ll go deadly silent and then he’ll become prickly and hot. You are cool and collected. 

You are waiting for your time to strike. 

A detective is hired by Ransom in an attempt to win it all; and you are careful, walk the tightrope slow and steady. You keep him sane and dull the sharp part of him. 

And then, the way a ribbon is pulled apart, Marta slips right into Ransom’s jaws. His plan didn’t work; Marta didn’t kill his grandfather. Ransom technically didn’t, either. 

You think, maybe, it could’ve been put to rest here. You think maybe he could've walked away. But Ransom never half does anything, doesn’t ever not finish the job. He spirals. 

You wait for a time to strike.    

***

Your time is quick and fleeting and you remember piece of a conversation, a snippet of information that could change everything. 

You speak with Fran on the outskirts of the family as they discuss heavier matters. She chatters a lot, on and on about just about anything. And you carefully weave the conversation, guide it slowly but surely towards this one factor;

“You have a friend that does toxicology, don’t you?” 

She nods enthusiastically, tells you about what he does, how interesting it is. How long she’s known him. You gaze at the family, at the way they try to be hush and talk and end up bickering. Fran’s voice comes in and out, the world turning slow. 

Another argument breaks out. Voices raising, cutting over each other. Ruthless. And poor Marta who has to deal with them all, whose only in this position because--

You glance at Ransom, watch his handsome face screw up into a mocking smile as he speaks with his relatives. Smug, greedy, too arrogant. You think about what he said; running away to Paris. To Rome or anywhere in the world. You wonder if you could’ve been happy with him-- dream about a life never lived. A path never taken. 

Because later, when Ransom tells you to keep watch so he can slip the antidote back in Marta’s bag, you step away. You hide in the bathroom, peak through the crack in the door, breathe slow and quiet as you watch Fran catch Ransom in the act.

Watch as it all comes crashing down; a domino effect that will slide into place now. You watch as you tip the first scale, as you set the life you could’ve had with Ransom up in flames. Fran disappears, obviously upset and reeling with what she’s discovered. 

You emerge once more, greet Ransom with a kiss on the cheek. 

A Judas kiss, betrayal placed softly upon his skin. 

You force yourself to look into his eyes, so he doesn’t suspect a thing. You smile at him, the kind of smile that makes him kiss you. Hard and quick and furious. He calls you his Bonnie, says so against your lips. 

You laugh and hope it doesn’t come out as tumbling and mad as it sounds to your ears. 

 ***

When all is said and done, Ransom ends up behind bars, just as you knew he would. Just as he should be. He thinks you had nothing to do with it, he thinks you’re gonna help him out of this one, too, somehow. 

So you visit him in prison, dressed in Chanel and fur and the Cartier white-gold bracelet that flashes so prettily. Your heels click against the cold, tile ground as your approach the stall to speak with him. He sits behind the glass in an orange jumpsuit, garring and horrible. It’s unzipped slightly, showing his broad, muscled chest, rolled up at the elbows. A far cry from his lavish coats and scarves and sweaters. 

His eyes glint when they see you, a tilting of his head that is arrogant and predatory. His smile is hooked when he sees you. 

With all of your grace, you glide to him, take a seat in front of him. In front of the glass. You both stare at each other a moment, his eyes always so hungry and wolfish. Heat flares slowly inside of you, an inkling of torment from hell, from the devil before you. 

Slowly, with measured ease, he picks up the phone to speak with you. 

You reach for it, too, your eyes still on him. 

“Hello, princess.” He rumbles into the phone. 

“Hello, Ransom.” You say almost hushed. 

“I miss you,” He says with his curling smile, a flash of sharp teeth. You think of them at your neck, on your pulse that beats rapidly. 

“When I get out of here, let’s leave.” He then says, soft and murmured, “Let’s leave and never look back. I’ll take you wherever you want.” 

You hum on that, look over him slowly, and you think that seeing him here, in the jumpsuit, behind the glaring glass, leaves your dreams of Paris dashed and destroyed. The idea of loving him, sitting on that balcony with a book in your hands and his hand on your thigh as you watch the city fall into dusk shatters right in front of you. You can put it to rest once and for all, dig a grave inside the pit of your chest and bury it. 

“I don’t think you’ll get out for a long time, I’m afraid.” You tell him finally. 

His eyes darken, brows furrowing, “What are you talking about? I’ll get the best lawyers, you’ll help me--”

“I won’t.” You say, finding his eyes, shaking your head the slightest amount. 

His eyebrows shoot up, his face becoming cold and hard and outraged, “You won’t?” He asks, and then, “Thought you were my Bonnie?” His jaw ticks in anger, in pain that bubbles up inside of him, “You know I could get you here on assisted murder. I protected you. You knew everything--” 

“Oh, Ransom,” You say, a slight sigh, pitying and soft. And now it’s your turn to be sharp-smiled, a slip of fox’s wit, “Who do you think led Fran to look into the toxicology reports?” You ask lightly. 

He blinks, his mouth suddenly falling open. 

“How do you think she caught you replacing the antidote to Marta’s bag?” You ask him, tilting your head, the look in your eyes cunning and quick and burning. 

He stares in disbelief. 

“I know I’m psycho,” You sigh, lift your finger to the glass, draw a swirling pattern as if you’re stroking his face. All that you feel is the cold, clear glass. “But you didn’t think I’d let you get away with this, did you?”

He sits back in shock, staring at you. And then a laugh bursts from him, rough and hard and he looks at you with awe, with a wild sort of amazement. 

“Backstabbing, rotten bitch.” He says, but it’s with fondness. Like he can’t believe someone bested him, like he can’t believe you could be so cutthroat or ruthless, “You really were made for me, weren’t you?” 

He looks at you like he wants to take you up against the glass in front of everyone, like he wants to punish you and praise you and love you so violently that you can’t see or feel anything but him. 

But there is no rough love making, there is nothing but the glass between you and the triumph and the ache inside your ribs. 

“It seems so.” You say and you let your hand fall away from the glass, your diamond bracelet clinking lightly. You take a last look at him, sear him into your memory like this, looking at you like you’re both the best and worst thing the world could ever give him.

“Goodbye, darling.” You purr, even if your heart is burning, even if your breath is tight. And then you hang up the phone and rise, graceful and elegant as ever. 

You can hear his laughter, feel the way his eyes try to keep you here, brand you and scorch you. 

You walk out with your head high, a too-clever grin touching the corner of your lips and a weight off of your shoulders, but a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You’ll miss him, you think, even if all the world knows you shouldn’t. 

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 15

Warnings: language, literally zero editing

Word count: 3k

A/N: Wow I’m back to updating this story??? A million years later?? I am so sorry to anyone who was following this - but if you’re still reading and still interested, here’s an update! God as my witness, I will finish this. I actually have more ideas and inspiration for where the story’s going now - plus we’re all getting quarantined, so these WIPs have never had a better chance of getting done. Anyways, here it goes! Please let me know what you think! 

The lone monitor beeped steadily, plaintively, in the early morning quiet of the hospital room. Air rattled through the breathing machine, filling unknowing lungs over and over. A starched white blanket was pulled up to his chest, covering most of the bandages wrapped around his torso from the hours of emergency surgery. His left arm was already in a cast and laid on top of the blanket, resting against his stomach. 

Natasha felt sick.

And angry. 

How could she have been so stupid? Acting like a goddamn rookie, for starters, and running to Nick to fix their situation - letting things get out of hand with the Avengers, failing to convince Y/N to get out of here before things got bad. And they were only going to get worse. 

If Nick had been identified, then they were all in danger. And there was no fucking way, to her mind, that he couldn’t have been I.D.’d. This wasn’t a random accident, regardless of whatever the hell the local police wanted to write on the incident report. It was an attack, a warning. First blood. 

Her knee bounced in her seat by the bed, plastic upholstery squeaking with every shift in her weight. She chewed her nails - a habit she thought she had finally managed to kick. A tall nurse, dark curls piled into a bun on top of her head, came in to check Nick’s vitals; she was quiet, efficient, offering Nat a sympathetic smile. 

“If you need anything, just contact the nurse’s station, ok?” Her pink bubblegum, tucked in the back corner of her mouth, was visible when she talked. “And there’s a coffee machine around the corner, in case you need your fix before the cafeteria opens up.”

Nat nodded her thanks as the woman slipped out of the room, her white nursing clogs creaking a little, not yet broken in. 

The sky outside the window continued to brighten, a clear and cold winter morning; she wasn’t sure how long she stared at him before she decided to have that coffee after all. Massaging her temples, she shuffled down the hallway towards the flickering glow of the machine. Her boots echoed on the tiles in the empty hall, the low hum of the coffee machine filling the little alcove near the elevators. It whirred and hissed and spat out her coffee into a blue paper cup with slow, deliberate drips. 

How had she let it get this far? What was she going to do without him? And who the hell could she trust? She winced as the first sip of coffee burned her tongue. It wasn’t as though she didn’t trust the team…but she’d gone to Nick in the first place because they were no longer being objective - Barnes especially, and Rogers was only enabling him. 

Her eyes on the waxed linoleum floor, she barely noticed him standing outside the door of the hospital room. Steve squared his shoulders, directly in front of her, his eyebrows tilted at a thunderous angle. 

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on here?” he gritted out, the hoarse edge of his voice scraping in his throat. 

Nat didn’t answer, not right away. Instead, she let him stew in the boil of his righteous anger, air tightening between them. The coffee had cooled a bit, but left a funny taste in her mouth - the flavor mixed badly with the mints she’d been sucking on an hour ago. The muscles in her neck and back ached from hunching by Nick’s bed all night, and she arched a little on her feet, stretching and flexing, though the early morning tightness never quiet left her muscles. 

Finally, when the flare of Steve’s nostrils told her he was on the verge of making a scene, she gestured toward the door with her coffee cup. 

“Why don’t you head in there and see for yourself?”

Clenching his jaw, Steve turned and let himself into the hushed dimness of the hospital room. He filled the doorway - he filled most doorways - and from behind Natasha wished he could march into this and save the day, the way he always wanted to. At the foot of the bed, he stopped and rested a hand on the mobile tray waiting there, now cleared of the uneaten food from last night. His mouth turned further down, matching the turn of his eyes as he watched the sleeping man tucked into crisp hospital linens. After all these years, I was so strange to see Nick this way - weak, still, not in command. It shook something loose inside of him, but he tamped it down, cracking the knuckles of his fist. 

“You know who did this?” he said, his voice a low growl under the tone of the monitors. Behind him, Nat closed the door with a soft click. 

“Of course I do - don’t you?” She slipped behind him, sipping from her coffee, and took up her chair by the bed again. 

Big hands curling and uncurling, Steve remained silent. From her spot in the squeaky hospital chair, Nat watched the slant of his profile, reading the rage in every line. 

“Rumlow is dead,” Steve said through clenched teeth. 

“But not the rest of them.”

“Without a leader? They’re just a bunch of thugs.” Steve shook his head. “There’s someone else pulling the strings - someone smarter.” He nodded towards Nick’s prone body. “Someone who knew about Nick. Maybe about all of us.”

Natasha nodded slowly, one finger tracing the rim of her coffee cup. Usually she enjoyed being right. 

Steve scrubbed at his face with his hands, blowing a harsh breath past his lips. He turned away from the hospital bed and paced along the edge of the room, towards the window. With the thin curtain drawn, pale sunlight cast shadows beneath his eyes, sharped the noble angle of his nose. HE never dreamed they’d be standing here, years deep in a life built on lies and duty. Fresh from the army, him and Buck, and no plans - that’s when Sam approached them. Intelligence work, a chance to do something important, to keep fighting the good fight on the home front. 

“They’re all in danger.” Natasha’s voice scraped at the edges of her throat. “You know that, Steve.” 

“I know.”

“It’s time.” He turned to look at her, bits of hair falling from her ponytail to frame her face. Bits of mascara had smudged underneath her eyes, bloodshot and heavy. 

“Make the call,” Steve said, looking back towards the window. “Get Pierce if you have to. It’ll piss off Stark to go over his head, but I’m not worried about his ego.”

Nat licked her lower lip, tracing the chapped skin. 

“What about Barnes and his girlfriend?” she asked, leaning an elbow on the arm of her chair. “I can’t see him being eager to burst their happy little bubble.”

Steve sighed through his nose, crossing his huge arms across his chest. The monitors beeped a lonely rhythm behind him. 

“I”ll handle Bucky. Just get everything ready - make all the arrangements. Do what you have to do.” 

  ***********                                                                                                  

“So for dinner, I’m thinking…we still have that spaghetti squash in the fridge? I could whip up some kind of sauce to go with it…” she peaked her head up over the door of the fridge. “Sound good to you, Buck?” 

Startled, Bucky’s head popped up from his phone. 

“Uh, yeah sure,” he said, ducking back down and resuming the rapid movement of his thumb. 

With a frown, Y/N hip-checked the door closed, bottles rattling inside. 

“Are you listening to me, Bucky Barnes?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she leaned back against the fridge. 

He looked up again - a well-developed sense of self-preservation kicked in when he caught that dangerous glint in her eyes. 

“Yes - yes, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he sighed, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Whatever you want for dinner is good - I’m fine with the spaghetti squash.”

She was never so easily distracted. 

“What was so interesting?” she nodded his direction. “You’ve been glued to that thing all afternoon.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped as he sighed, rounding the edge of the counters to approach her in the kitchen. Soft hands reached for her hips, reeling her in closer, sharing heat and heartbeats. The scent of his cologne drifted up on the air between them - spicy, warm, just subtle enough to remain sexy. He leaned in close and pressed his lisp to her forehead, devoted and sweet, and always properly apologetic. 

“I”m sorry, baby,” he said, squeezing her waist softly. “It’s just Steve-”

“Steve?” She looked up at him with a frown, neat little line forming between her brows. “Steve has been blowing up your phone?”

“Yeah, I know.” He shook his head. “It sounds like total bullshit, but I swear that’s all.”

“What’s going on with Steve?” 

Bucky sucked in a deep slow breath, hoping to hide his hesitation. Their “club business” had always taken first place, first priority…the job came first. The job was important. They were saving lives, putting away criminals. But now his girl was pouting at him in the kitchen, and he’s so tired, so goddamn tired all of a sudden - of all of it. Of being a public servant or a hero or whatever the hell. Of duty. He wants to pack it all up and just start driving. Move back to the city - or hell, even the suburbs would be nice. He’d take Y/N to Sunday dinner at his mom’s place; they’d move in together, and Y/N could decorate just how she wanted, and he’d sweat over rearranging the furniture and complain about trips to fuckin’ Ikea and all the other stuff that normal boyfriends got to do. In this moment, this inhale, he tasted it all, the life they could have. A dream they could build, together. 

And all he had to do was come clean. About all of it. 

In the space of an exhale, he faced it. He wanted this. It was on the tip of his tongue. 

And then the next breath. 

“Just club stuff,” he shrugged, feeling the weight of the lie dropping on her. “There’s…been a little drama between the members lately. Nothin’ for you to worry about.” 

With another kiss to her forehead, he turned away and opened the fridge. 

“I’ll put that spaghetti squash in this afternoon if you want me to,” he offered. “That way it’ll be ready when you get off work. Sound good?” 

Y/N nodded mutely, pressing her lips into a smile. She had to admit it was nice having a boyfriend who was mildly competent in the kitchen. 

“Okay, well, I’ve got to get in to the clinic,” she sighed, checking her watch. “Shit! I’ll be late.” Swinging her bag and lab coat over her shoulder, she gave him a final peck on the lips before bolting to the door. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Bucky called from the kitchen. 

“Too cold!” was her reply - and then she was out the door. 

Bucky stared at the closed door for a moment, one hip leaned against the counter, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. He just needed some time. Just a little more time to sort all this out. And then he’d tell her - the whole truth. Everything. And after, they could have a life together, something real, something safe, a home. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Steve again. 

Call me. Now.

Even as he rolled his eyes at Steve’s flare for the dramatic, a little tremor seized Bucky’s heart. Dread hovered in the back of his mind as he swiped his thumb and dialed Steve’s number. 

This could only go badly.

  **********                                                                                                  

One breath.

Inhale to exhale. That was how long it took for him to lie to her. 

Cold fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel, it was all she could think about. It scared the hell out of her, whatever it was he tried to hide in that breath, whatever he decided to keep from her. He’d never done that before…or had he? Did she know? Would she know? Would she be able to tell? 

Calm down, Y/N. You’re overreacting. She lectured herself, cranking the heat in her car to a higher setting. A top 40 song, thumping beat and repeated lyrics, hummed faintly on the radio; she was running late enough that the morning talk show had already ended, moving on to the daily shuffle of hits and local business commercials. It all went unheard in the worried circle of her thoughts. 

What could he have to hide? Unbidden, her mind flooded with horrible possibilities, every possible answer to that question, and each more horrible than the last. Was he cheating? Another woman was responsible for the constant barrage of text messages pinging his phone? Bucky was handsome, not to mention clever, flirtatious, romantic; she had no doubt he could get any woman he wanted. But his attention and affection for her hadn’t waned - just this weekend he’d planned a beautiful dinner for the two of them, followed by a homemade cheesecake he had slaved over for dessert, and then well…he was certainly still eager in the bedroom. The warning signs just weren’t there. 

So what else? He’d never been secretive about the club before. Avengers business was Avengers business, but he’d never lied to her about it. It turned her stomach sour, and she regretted having those pancakes this morning, the cloying smell of syrup still on her hands making her want to pull over and vomit on the side of the road. 

She knew she was working herself up, letting her mind run amuck, but she couldn’t stop herself. By the time she pulled her car into the parking lot of the clinic, she’d half made up her mind to turn right around, go home, and confront him. The image of herself, half-crazy with ideas of secret affairs or violence or drugs, marching into the house and accusing him of lying - it stopped her short.

God, why am I losing my shit over this? Y/N dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, the car idling in the lot, warm and safe from the harsh winter morning. She’d dealt with shitty men before, she’d survived bad boyfriends. It was impossible to make it very long as a woman without that experience. And yet, somehow, the memory of that paled in comparison to the devastating knowledge that Bucky was lying to her. 

You love him. Oh god, she did, she loved him - she was in love with him. 

She hurried out of the car and into the clinic, preferring to bury herself in wellness checks and vaccines and the flu than to keep thinking on it. 

    **********                                                                                                   

At the reception desk, Charlotte stopped her before she could get to her office.

“Oh! You’re needed at the county hospital today.” She handed Y/N the note, written on robin’s egg blue stationary. 

“I’m sorry? Why?” Y/N squinted at the note, a handwritten scribble. Charlotte shrugged. 

“No real explanation - but the chief surgeon said that they could use an extra set of hands with all the flu cases they’ve got coming in.” She took a sip from her travel mug. “I’ve heard they’re a little overwhelmed down there, since they’re the closest treatment for a lot of people in the county.” 

Y/N sighed, looking back out to her car. She hadn’t planned to drive the extra mileage out to the hospital today; not to mention it would probably make her late coming back for dinner tonight. Digging in her purse, she grabbed her phone and shot off a quick text to Bucky, explaining the change. 

“Alright then,” she huffed, placing her purse back on her shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you later.” 

With a wave to Charlotte and the other nurses, she was back out the door and heading to her car. This time around, she turned the radio up loud, singing along and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and not thinking about this morning, or her own life, or anything at all. 

    **********                                                                                                   

At the hospital, she was assigned to make rounds for one of their physicians who had called in sick. Simple enough. The elevator ride up was quiet, new nurses and doctors all quiet and polite, but holding down their conversations in the presence of a stranger. 

She started on the third floor recovery ward, making her way down the hall door by door. Bedside manner was always one of her strengths; she could charm most patients with just a few words, breezing through her examinations and questions with ease. Chalk it up to customer service experience, but even the difficult patients usually treated her with gruff politeness, the insistence of her friendly manners forcing them to match with their own. Room by room, she checked charts and asked about pain levels and wrote prescriptions, the morning passing by in hours of sterile white tile and the smell of hand sanitizer. 

Turning a corner onto the next ward, she was just looking up from her clipboard when she caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of red ducking into a doorway. Y/N hurried her steps, her cadence almost a jog as she tried to catch-

“Natasha?” She knew that hair, the back of her jacket, the set of her shoulders. 

Nat was standing in the door of the hospital room, propping it open with one arm, head turned over her shoulder to stare at Y/N with weary eyes. Her face was pale, scrubbed clean of makeup, the bright baby hairs around her face twisting in tight little curls. At the sight of Y/N, she quirked the corner of her mouth up in an attempt at a smile, but it only managed to make her look more strained and exhausted. 

“What are you doing here?” Y/N went on when she didn’t get an answer. Her eyes cut past Natasha to the dim fluorescence of the room behind her. “Is everything okay?” 

Nat stared for another moment, her lips pressed tight together, jaw working back and forth. The hand she held on the door was curled in a small, tight fist, the peaks of her pale knuckles standing out against the long sleeve of her hoodie. Then, still silent, she stepped aside, gesturing for her friend to enter. 

“Come in,” she said hoarsely. “We need to talk.” 

[talpup]

A Night With the Stag

Summary: Taking a breather from a Fall Masquerade, Julius gets propositioned...it's smut, okay.  Not much plot.  Though I may put this during future events of ‘Light In the Darkness’ and have Julius' disappearance noticed.  Might even have his 'Kitten' show up later in the fic.  We'll have to wait and see.

Rated: Explicit; blow jobs, one night stand. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Sorry it this isn't up to my usual smutty stuff but @simpingforthisonedeer egged me to do some Julius smut.  Please be kind.  This is the first Julius smut I’ve ever done.

A Night With the Stag

Fuzzy from a little too much drink Julius stepped outside.  The crisp night air was a welcome reprieve from the over warm ballroom of dancing people.  The duties of a Captain and a royal, Julius thought, resting on the balcony rail.

“You look as tired as I feel.”  Sounded an amused female voice.

Julius turned and straightened.  “And how would you know if you can’t see my face?”  He gestured to the mask that hid everything but his mouth.

“Body language speaks just as well as facial expressions.”  She answered.

Julius looked her over.  He was admittedly bad at remembering people by anything but their magic; but she definitely wasn’t a fellow Captain or member of his squad.  Whether it was the alcohol in his system or anonymity of the masks for this Fall Celebration, Julius relaxed and teased.  “And what’s my body language telling you now?”

“That it’s been a long time since you let loose and are hoping for some fun.”

Julius’ eyes narrowed.  Her reply was a bit too spot on.  Especially the bit about it being a long time.

“I’m game, by the way.”  She seductively stepped toward him and shrugged a shoulder.  “I’m a bit overworked and could use some fun myself.”

“What division do you work in?”  Julius asked.  The last thing he need was to upset a fellow Captain and suffer the embarrassing discomfort of sleeping with a Magic Knight.”

“Magic Investigations.”  She answered.

Julius’ lips thinned.  He went to Investigations a lot.  Jon, his Vice Captain, claimed he practically lived there.  He would've preferred someone from Healer’s Hall or the Sentries.  But he had a type and though he couldn’t see the woman’s face.  Her form, hair, and eyes fit perfectly.  He might be bad with names and faces; but he was sure he’d remember seeing someone so fitting his taste.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what division I serve?”  Julius asked.

“It doesn’t matter.  This is nothing but a one night stand with no strings attached.  We don’t give names and you can leave your mask on if you wish.”  Anna said, heart beating faster.  She was actually going to do this.  Have a one night stand.

“What do I call you?”

“Whatever you want.”  Anna teased.

Julius studied her dancing eyes a moment before his focus fixed on her mask. It was an orange and white Saber Cat.  “How about Kitten?”

“I like it, Stag.”  She smiled, naming him after the mask he wore.

Julius closed the gap between them.  “One night.  No strings attached.”

“So you’re agreeing to my terms?”

Suddenly Julius’ lips were on hers.  The kiss was clumsy with their masks. The balcony door opened, a laughing couple exiting the ballroom. They didn’t even notice Julius and his Kitten, the couple lost in their own kiss.

Julius stepped back.  For a disappointing moment Anna thought he had changed his mind.  Then his hand wrapped around hers.

“Come with me.  I know a place where we won’t be disturbed.”  Julius said with a tug.

Anna eagerly followed him.  Easily keeping up with his hurried pace.  It seemed her Stag was just as horny and excited as she was.

Julius pulled her into a room and pushed her up against the door, hand blindly finding the latch and locking it.  His lips once again found hers.

Anna growled, irritated at the clumsy kiss.

Julius pulled back thinking he’d done something wrong.  “What is it?”

Anna roughly pulled off her mask and instructed.  “Keep yours on.”

Her hand gripped the back of his neck and tugged him into another heated kiss.  Better.  She thought.  Satisfied by the clunky loss of her mask bumping against his.

Julius licked against her lips, asking for entry.  Anna more than gave her acceptance.  Her tongue drove into his mouth.  Julius gasped at the licking muscle that explored his mouth.  He had never been with a woman so forward right of the bat.  The thrill of it sent blood rushing straight to his cock.

Anna turned them, pushing Julius up against the door.  She moved on to his neck.  Biting.  Sucking.  Licking.

“Do you have somewhere to be?  Slow down.”  Julius murmured, her delightful ministrations making him dizzy.  It had been too long. His heated flesh sensitive under her touch.  His trapped cock throbbing and leaking per-cum.

Anna dropped to her knees.  Clothes in disarray, Julius looked down at her.  He hadn’t gotten a good look at her when she first took off her mask.  But now he saw just how beautiful she was.  His hand reached out, fingers caressing her face.

Anna melted at the tender touch.  Soft fingers gliding over silken skin. But tender wasn’t was she wanted.  Her hand moved his pants.  “I have nowhere to be.  I just want your dick in my mouth.”

Julius sputtered at her unabashed reply.  Then sputtered again when his cock sprung free.

She lowered his pants and underwear just enough to get at her prize.  And looked over the size of him.  Damn.  He was thicker than she imagined.  A bit longer than average and deeply veined, the head of his cock an angry red.

Julius’ expression was smug.  “Like what you see?”

“It’ll do.”  Anna said, sounding unimpressed despite how thrilled she was. Her jaw already ached at the thought of how wide she’d have to open her mouth.

Julius’ smile widened.  “Cheeky and forward.  I like it.”

“Try to keep your legs.”

Julius shivered at the husky melody of her voice.  Her eyes pinned him to the door.  He moaned at the first swipe of her tongue.

Anna lapped the head of his cock collecting the shining pearls of pre-cum. The sampling taste blossomed in her mouth.  Naturally bitter, there was a hoppy flavor that reminded her of the finest ale.  Mixed with the wooded musk and citrus of him and his cologne.  It was divine.

She suckled the ruddy head wanting more of the milky treat.

Julius’ breath hitched.

“Sensitive.” She remarked.

“You have no idea, Kitten.  You guessed right when you said it’s been awhile.”

“Poor thing.  A cock this big and beautiful shouldn’t be trapped and denied.  You should let it have more attention.  It certainly deserves it.”

More pre-cum dribbled out at her words.  Anna greedily licked it up.  She placed reverent kisses down his length.  Nuzzling into his downy pubic hair and breathing deeply.  Her lashes fluttered at the intoxicating smell.

Julius looked down at her at a loss for what to do with his hands.  He was use to more subdue women.  He didn’t want to offend by his Kitten by petting her hair.  Not when her heavenly mouth was wrapping around his cock making him forget his own name.

Anna dropped her jaw giving a few experimental bobs of her head.  Even with her mouth open as far as it could, she could only fit half of his dick.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Anna looked up at him.

Julius bit his lip at the sight.  Her glistening lips stretched around his cock.  Eyes made impossibly dark by her blown pupils.  Even seeing a new form of magic couldn’t compare to this.

He shrugged.  “It seems to help.”

She pulled off him with a pop and stuck out her tongue, trying again.  It did help.  Though she soon found it was quite a bit messier.

His cock heavy in her mouth, Anna’s lips closed around him creating a sucking seal.  Julius’ skin prickled in delight.  His thrumming dick sliding in and out her hot, wet cavern hitting the back of her throat with every dip of her head.  She started off slow.  Getting accustomed to the sizable girth in her mouth.  But soon she picked up pace.  Setting a rhythm that had his legs quivering.

Julius’ head fell back against the door.  Losing himself in the sucking warm velvet.  He didn’t catch his hand petting her hair.  Anna moaned at the praising affection.  She felt her Stag twitch and shiver at the vibration and hummed again.

“Damn, Kitten.  You feel so good.  You’ll have me cumming in no time if you keep that up.”

Anna hummed again then whined at the saliva dripping from her chin. Though she couldn’t say if it was the thought of feasting on his cum.  Or the dragging underside of his cock on her tongue that stimulated her salivary glands.  Either way, his promise had her taking him deeper into her throat.

Julius’ hand tightened in her hair.  “Fuck!  Just like that, Kitten.  So good.”

Anna moaned.  Scalp stinging in his hold.  It was wonderful.  Glorious. But she needed more.  Her hand lifted to his urging him to move her head to his tempo.  Julius quickly got the message and gladly to over.  Driving her head up and down his long shaft.

Anna’s eyes rolled back.  This was what she needed.  To be thoroughly used.

Julius’ brow furrowed, the telltale tightening in his lower back and balls telling him he was close.  Damn.  He didn’t want this to end.  But couldn’t stop or slow himself.  She looked to good.  Feel too good. Sounded too good.

Anna’s wet chocking and Julius’ heavy breaths filled the air.

Soon Julius stopped moving her head and began thrusting into her mouth. With every snap of his hips Anna gurgled.  Julius’ cock driven deeper and deeper till her nose grazed his pelvis with every harsh thrust.

“And here I thought you wanted control.”  Julius panted.  “If you wanted me to fuck your pretty face all you had to do was ask, Kitten.”

Anna moaned, eyes rolling in the back of her head.  Her hand reached down to her sopping cunt.  But before she could lift her skirts, Julius kicked her hand away.

“None of that now.  First I give you your treat.  Then I take mine.”  He licked his licks making himself perfectly clear.

Anna melted in his punishing hold.

“Blink for me it you wanna swallow.  Tap my thigh if you want it on your pretty face.”

Anna never blinked so rapidly in her life.

“Fuck! You’re prefect.  Such a good little kitty.”  Julius rasped.

She mewled around his cock.  Then sucked all the harder when she felt his dick come alive.  His cocks pulsing thrum pounded and twitched in her mouth.  Julius’ body went rigid.  A final hard thrust and he was cumming down her throat with a guttural groan.

Anna pulled back letting the twitching length spurt its last offerings on her tongue.

“Good girl.”  Julius praised, leaning against the door.

She pulled completely off his spend dick and licked it clean.  Julius hissed in over-sensitivity but didn’t stop her.  He wiped her chin clean with the pad of his thumb and sucked the digit.

Pushing off the door, he tucked himself back in.  Anna backed up on her knees, shivering at the predatory glint in her Stag’s eyes.

“Now for my taste.”  Julius grinned.

Comments and re-blogs always appreciated.

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary:  “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: A little shorter than usual. I think I have a stomach bug, but I wanted to give you guys something! Thank you for all of your support! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! If you ever want an explanation about something after you read a chapter, my author’s notes at the end in my AO3 and FFN docs tend to have them! Hope you enjoy! -Jen

                                                Chapter Eight

Agatha was bitten by a snake once. Searching for eggs in the chicken coop, no older than six. When she slid her hand under her favorite hen, something clamped down. Sharp, needle like teeth burying themselves into her skin. It burned. Ached. And she screamed so loud one might even go as far to claim the entire town heard.

But in reality, it had mostly startled her. The bite nonvenomous. A black snake. The young girl watched as the tiny droplets of blood oozed from the bite marks. Such a curious sight to behold. A wound on flesh from mouth. As she watched it slither away, too quick for her father to catch, she couldn't help but wonder if it'd remember her taste. Liked the scent of her blood. Agatha, of course, would never know.

Agatha's eyes widened in shock as she felt Dracula's fangs dig into the sensitive flesh of her neck. Fueled off an adrenaline rush, she kicked herself back, slamming against the headboard as the vampire eyed her in a mixed expression of confusion and lust. Blood glistened off of his teeth. Coated his lips. Her blood. He'd bitten her. The bastard had actually bitten her!

"Agatha?" The Count began before she rammed her feet against his chest. It did nothing. "You seem upset."

"Upset?!" She panted holding a hand to her throat. "You BIT me!"

Dracula was silent for a minute, watching the fuming nun with keen interest. He then sat back almost as if nothing troubling had occurred. This only seemed to fuel Agatha's rage further. Not only was he acting so passively about this, but his lack of acknowledging the situation entirely was frustrating. Furiously so.

"If you are concerned about turning, Agatha, I can assure you that isn't going to happen." He spoke as if those words meant something. "If I wanted to change you, you'd have been dead long ago."

Her fingers ran down the indents in her neck. The pain had faded away leaving a cool, almost numbing feeling. It was almost...pleasant. Despite this, she frowned. Angry at him. And maybe, maybe just a little bit disappointed she made him stop. But she didn't want him to know this. Why had he done it? What were his intentions? She remembered Jonathan Harker. His former "brides" in their boxes below. Why hadn't he killed her too?

"Are you in pain?" And there was genuine concern in his tone.

"No…" What was that about not letting him know? "No, it...it doesn't hurt. Not anymore." Agatha looked at him, her eyes no longer holding malice. Only interest. Needing. "Why?"

"Because I didn't want it to." Dracula answered simply, reaching for the hand that covered the mark. "My plan isn't to make you suffer, Agatha." There was a quick flicker of a smirk on his face. "Most of the time."

Before she could react further, he leaned forward and licked the spot where his fangs had struck. Smooth, with purpose, a shiver ran down Agatha's spine as he drew back. She began to feel that familiar ache stemming from her core. Heat rising in her like the night fevers she vaguely remembered upon her arrival to the castle those many weeks ago. Ignoring them, she quickly slid out of the bed.

"I should wash up." Agatha told him quietly, knowing that if she didn't, she'd regret it later.

There was a bassin of cool water along with a cloth in the bathroom. Agatha didn't bother to warm it over the fire as she began to scrap the gore from her body. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, the icy liquid dripping against her skin. But it was something. Something other than the almost feral emotions she felt back in her bedroom. She couldn't help but wonder if he was still in there. Waiting for her. Or perhaps watching her from the shadows. Was it so wrong to think that she wouldn't much mind if he was?

The former nun gazed down at the murky liquid. With the lack of mirrors in the castle-courtesy of Dracula, it was hard to capture sight of her reflection. Maybe if she asked he'd give her one. It'd be the least he could do. Exhaling heavily, she dropped the soiled rag into the bucket and ran her fingers through her hair.

As she took a few steps outside of the room, she was surprised to find a nightgown nicely folded at her feet. Peering around, Agatha picked it up somewhat unsure. Was the Count being genuinely caring at this moment or did he have an ulterior motive? Slipping it on, she made her way back to the bedroom. Fresh sheets. No sign of the slime or mess from their actions. It was almost irritating how he fluctuated with generosity.

"You sure do think about Abraham Van Helsing don't you?"

Agatha stiffened at the name as she turned to see Dracula standing, now dressed, in the doorway. He was eyeing her in slight amusement as he stepped inside, his gaze not breaking from hers as he moved in close.

"The first time I tasted you, I can't say I really gave your backstory as much thought as I did." He smiled, but the former nun didn't return the favor. "When you cut your finger?" Dangerous territory. "He was rather hard on you."

"Don't bring him up." Her voice was cold.

"I'm truly not trying to start something. But after what we just did. That tiny mouthful of blood. I finally see where it comes from. What makes you you." And he was grinning. Smiling as if he just learned the best news in the world. "I think I'm finally beginning to figure you out, Agatha Van Helsing."

Confusion. Almost hurt. Anger. After what they did. What he did. What she gave him. Together. Now such an intimate moment was turning into this vampire's delight of a discovery?! Christ, she'd begun to trust him. Like an imbecile. Gave way into her emotions. A fool. An absolute fool.

"So this was all it ever was to you?" She asked in a low voice. "A game?" Hadn't it always? "Nothing more than a chess board where we knock each other's pieces off?"

His laughing began to fade. "I certainly didn't imply any of that." Dracula's voice was cool. "I was merely bringing up the fact that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Wrong response. Terrible answer. "I knew Abraham Van Helsing, and though he raised you to do what he couldn't, something in you changed." When he reached towards her, she recoiled instantly. "Agatha Van Helsing, I think you might have feelings for me." And once more the smile reappeared. "In a good way."

"Fuck you."

A strong word. A hateful sentence. After they literally had sex-or nearly until he bit her, things were fine. They were co-existing and she'd begun to accept that. Accept everything. But now suddenly, out of the blue he brought up her grandfather. The man who hounded her for years to be the vampire hunter that he was. A task she'd failed. That she'd pushed aside. And he had the audacity to remind her of it. And play with her emotions. It was true. It had always been true. Count Dracula was nothing more than a monster.

"Burn in Hell." The bite mark began to sting on her neck as she said it. "You should've let the fever kill me when you had the chance."

"Agatha…" But she ignored him. The sound of her name on his tongue bitter. "Agatha, don't be foolish."

She was storming out of the room with purpose, blocking out the sound of his voice. Why was she so upset? Christ, she was acting like a little school girl. Heart broken. Betrayed. Abraham was right. He was always right. The bruises from training. The endless nights of identifying what was needed to ward off vampires. Her childhood taken from her. All of these years and she'd thrown them away by sleeping with a vampire. Not once. Twice. Letting him devour any integrity she had built up as a nun.

"It's raining," Dracula called after her. "I am quite sure you don't wish to be struck by lightning." When she still didn't reply, he huffed. "I apologize for ruining the mood. Again. But how about we discuss things without you being swept away by a flash flood?"

"Oh, I'm not going out of the castle." She snapped back. "I'm going to go sit on the balcony. The sun will be rising soon and seeing as you will burn into a crisp, I can be alone." At least, she certainly hoped it'd stop raining by then and the clouds would dissipate. "And then I'm leaving for good." Before killing him first.

"You keep saying that and it has yet to happen," he countered. There was a pause before he quickly added. "If you need anything, I'll be in my study for a few hours before the morning." She shouldn't have given him the last word. Wasn't that how fights worked? "Agatha?"

But she had already thrust the heavy doors to the balcony open. Almost instantly a heavy spray of water hit her directly in the face. She coughed, the liquid burning her nose and throat from swallowing it wrong. With a grunt, she slammed them behind her and took a seat on the ground. Agatha pulled her knees up to her chest, just barely covered by the outcrop of the roof above.

How in a matter of minutes had passion turned to fury? Agatha inhaled and watched the water run through the crevices of the stone. She'd failed her mission. Time after time again. Failed her grandfather. The late nuns of St. Mary's Convent. Jonathan Harker. And Mina. Dear, sweet Mina who had relied on her all along. Glancing towards the sky, she made a promise to herself. It was time to push it aside. Everything aside. And do what she was bred from a young age to do. Kill Count Dracula.

Thunder rolled overhead and the vampire slayer eyed her healed hand, studying her now functioning knuckles. She thought about the stake she had handled just hours earlier sitting down the steps on the table below. Agatha smiled, her brain and her heart competing on what was the truly right decision. In her head Abraham Van Helsing's dying words repeated in her mind.

"...Finish what I couldn't…"

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Familiar

Words: 1,565 Warnings: Magic, Blood, Demons Characters: Roman, Logan, Demon-cat!Virgil Universe: Magic! Genre: Idiocy

dice roll prompt from the server

   “Roman, what on earth are you doing?” Logan crossed his arms and loomed over Roman bent over and old tome with a pair of kitchen sheers and a flower.

   “Uh-” Roman started, looking panicked. He had absolutely no idea why he started this spell. He just knew he wanted to do it. Roman shrugged and clipped the flower in half, the top half falling into a cauldron and incinerating into a wisp of dark smoke. Logan gagged at the smell and Roman maybe almost regretted it for a moment until a tiny bundle of fur popped out of the cauldron and hissed. The black kitten’s green and purple eyes met Roman’s and it hissed again, swiping. “Aw!” Roman cooed and held out his hands, pausing for a moment to let the kitten sniff his fingers before withdrawing the cat from the cauldron.

   “Why… why? Roman, you’re allergic to cats,” Logan said, staring disbelievingly between Roman and the tiny bundle of magical fur.

   “It’s a magical familiar, no dander!” Roman said, holding the cat close to his chest and scratching gently behind the cat’s ear. The cat purred gently and shifted against Roman, pushing its head into Roman’s hand.

   “Seriously, Roman, why did you summon a familiar? We don’t have the facilities for a familiar. You don’t know how to take care of a familiar. We don’t even know what this little demon eats!” Logan motioned to the cat angrily and the cat hissed at Logan.

   “I know I’m a demon but I resent being called little,” The cat hissed back.

   “But you are so little!” Roman cooed quietly and scratched the cat’s chin. The cat made an angry expression before melting into the scratches.

   “Roman. You summoned a demon instead of a familiar,” Logan crossed his arms and glared at Roman.

   “Ah, whoops? I, uh, guess I mixed up the spells?” Roman said sheepishly, removing one hand from scratching the cat, much to the cat’s dismay, and flipping the spellbook pages. “Uh, shit,” Roman rubbed his face after looking at the runes with furrowed eyebrows. “Well, we don’t need facilities for a familiar,” Roman shrugged.

   “Roman, do you know what demons eat?” Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose and furrowed his eyebrows.

   “The souls of the innocent,” The cat’s tiny voice reverberated slightly against the walls.

   “A bagel?” Roman offered hopefully, at the same time as the small demon cat.

   “No!” The cat objected sourly.

   “Two bagels!” Roman couldn’t help but finish the vine and Logan threw up his arms in frustration, groaning and running his hands through his hair.

   “That wasn’t funny!” Logan shot.

   “Actually, a bagel does sound good,” The cat purred. “But that’s not what I eat,” It added airily. “And I will need sustenance soon,” The cat said darkly.

   “Uh, Logan?” Roman looked up pointedly at Logan from the floor, scratching at the cat’s chin again. The cat once again pushed happily into Roman’s hand.

   “How dare you-” Logan started, pointing at Roman crossly. The cat’s sharp growl cut him off.

   “You know I don’t need permission to eat from someone threatening my master, right?” The cat said menacingly and licked its small furry lips. Logan cleared his throat and stood straight.

   “I was not threatening him. I was simply offended that he would ask me to help feed you when I am opposed to your very existence,”

   “Excuse me,” The cat hissed and slashed in Logan’s direction. “Demons are better familiars!” It spat aggressively.

   “Let’s not rile up the demon, Lo,” Roman rolled his eyes.

   “Roman, dismiss that thing!”

   “No! Its name is Virgil and I love it!” Roman shot back.

   “Roman, put that thing back in the cauldron and send it back!” Logan growled through his teeth and Roman protectively held the tiny cat demon close.

   “No! I’m doing the bonding ceremony and you can’t stop me!” Roman said petulantly, getting up quickly and tugging a ribbon out of his pocket and draping it over the demon’s paw, which it extended happily.

   “Roman!” Logan reached out.

   “a̛ll͜i̛̛g̶̢a̶͢t̷͟i̵o̴͡ ̢ ̸͟Vi̷r̛͠͞g̶̶il҉ ̷̸͟s̸͝e͘r͢͢͢vuş͝!̵͠͞” Roman cried out quickly, and the ribbon burnt to a crisp and reappeared as a red bond around the tiny paw of the demon.

   “You freaking nincompoop!” Logan screamed out in frustration.

   “We’re bound now and you can’t take it from me!” Roman shouted back and held it up, rubbing his face against the little cat demon’s. The demon looked very smug for a cat. Logan dropped his arm and sighed dramatically.

   “So, Logan is it? Your soul looks yummy,” The cat purred as Roman stroked it a few times. “It’s an old one full of knowledge. You give me a little and I’ll tell you how to access some of it,” The small demon said temptingly and Logan froze, enticed by the offer.

   “Hey, what about my soul?” Roman said, pulling the demon-cat away from his chest and looked at it eye to eye.

   “You, princey? Old royalty. No cool knowledge, but that’s not your vibe, anyway. But I do know that there’s an inheritance you can claim,” Virgil purred and licked the bond on its paw. Roman’s eyes widened and he put the cat on his head slowly. The demon settled down on Roman’s hair while Roman happily shook his fists and started dancing.

   “I’m going to be rich!” Roman cheered brightly.

   “You don’t know what that demon wants in trade!” Logan pointed accusatory to the cat demon smugly perched on Roman’s head.

   “Hey, there, specs, I’m not a servitor but I do serve Lord Roman here,” Virgil pointed down with its paw to Roman.

   “I could get used to Lord Roman,” Roman muttered and rubbed his chin conspiratorially.

   “It is trying to trick you, Roman, that demon-” Logan growled and motioned with his head to the demon on his head.

   “Virgil, thanks,” Virgil licked its paw again, looking pointedly at Logan.

   “The demon might serve you but it has its own goals and wants! A familiar works for you. A demon does not!” Logan grimaced and gripped his hands tightly in frustration. Virgil rolled his eyes and laid down and settled into Roman’s fluffy hair.

   “Its already bound to me, Lo, quit being such a drama queen,” Roman gestured dismissively and walked over to his desk, picking up his athame.

   “Roman, what are you doing now?” Logan groaned.

   “I… don’t know,” Roman said curiously, looking down at the athame.

   “You’re getting me dinner, dingus,” Virgil rolled his eyes again.

   “That’s lord dingus to you,” Roman pointed with his athame and the strangest noise Roman ever heard erupted from the cat demon. The demonic meow cackle sent shivers down both of their spines.

   “Lord dingus. Of course,” Virgil purred. “You just need a drop for the soul link,” It said offhandedly, shifting Roman's hair with its paw.

   “I, uh, I don’t know how to make a soul link,” Roman said sheepishly.

   “You summoned me but you can’t make a soul link? You’re a riot, princey,” The cat made an amused expression.

   “Please, Logan?” Roman pleaded.

   “I mean I can always feed on his soul the unsafe way,” Virgil teased Logan and licked its lip again. “Or yours,” it added threateningly and its eyes glinted.

   “Fine!” Logan threw up his hands in defeat. “But I’m not linking with a demon. This is your stupid choice and your tainted soul!” Logan said sharply and tapped on the table. “Combine the blood and burn it together,” Logan exhaled in distress and flipped the pages in Roman’s grimoire to the right ritual, then pointed at what he needed to read. Roman lit a large candle with a flourish.

   “Just a drop, m’lord,” Virgil said airily and bit itself in the paw pad and held out its paw for Roman. Roman lifted his finger and Virgil smeared the deep purple blood on Roman’s finger. Roman pricked himself in the finger through the blood. Roman winced as he stabbed himself in the finger and moved his hand over the flame, pushing up with his thumb and causing a drop of blood to drip down into the flame.

   “an̴̸i̕͟m͘͢a fr̷̡͜a̧t̷̢r̛i͡͞s ̴̡une̕͘͞s̷c̕o̶͘͜͜” Roman’s voice reverberated and the combined blood hissed as it hit the flames. A pulse blasted through Roman and he flinched and winced inward, protecting is core as the feeling shook through him. Virgil sighed in relief in Roman’s hair and melted inward.

   “Holy Hecate, kid, that’s some good shit,” Virgil muttered and contentedly licked at Roman’s hair. “Nice soul. Keep it up,” It said appreciatively.

   “I don’t know this specific monstrosity’s needs, but this is a weak link and he shouldn’t affect you too much,” Logan grumbled.

   “I’m fine with this for now unless you want something much bigger out of me than information and minor tasks,” Virgil said flippantly.

   “Thanks for helping me,” Roman said tiredly, clutching his chest for a moment before standing back up proudly and tall.

   “You are completely incorrigible,” Logan huffed acridly. “And I’m keeping my eye on you,” Logan pointed and glowered at Virgil, who looked more settled into his perch on Roman’s head than Logan was comfortable with.

   “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime,” Virgil cackled and rolled over on Roman’s head and licked its paw.

   “Crawl back into the pit of hell you came from and die,” Logan squinted as acrimoniously as he could manage at the demon lounging in Roman’s hair.

Personal Tags: @elizabutgayer @ollyollyoxinfree 

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[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Eight | Full Moon ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ Blood ]

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When he wakes, he is in pain.

The smell of dewy soil and moss fills his nose, and as he rouses back into full consciousness, he realizes his clothes are damp, body prone in the forest underbrush.

Where...what…?

At first, he can’t muster the strength to move. Every part of him is sore and stiff. But sheer will lets him curl an arm, struggling to bring it up under his torso and start pushing himself off the ground. A knee bends to support his weight, followed by another, and his other arm.

On all fours, he pants...and then notices something dripping. Foggy eyes flicker to a growing stain of crimson under his bowed head.

...he’s bleeding.

A hand lifts, gingerly prodding at his face only to cry out in pain as fingers find raw flesh. And a look reveals more wounds along his arm...and down his torso, dipping over his hip.

Something tore the ever-loving hell out of him, but...he’s alive.

...will he stay that way is the question.

Panting, he looks around. It takes a moment, but he recognizes his surroundings. The logging camp he’s been working at the past few weeks. They arrived this morning to find their equipment all in shambles. At first they thought it was the work of thieves or vagrants, but then…

Then…

In flashes, the memories cut through the mist in his mind. In a matter of moments they’d been overrun, the sounds of snarls, barks, and howls echoing all around them. Beasts tore through the site, attacking every man as they screamed in terror, begging for help as teeth and claws buried into their backs and tore limbs from their torsos. He can still remember being shoved to the forest floor, giant paws ripping at him as he tried to roll over and crawl away...and then jaws had sunk into the crook of his neck.

In a matter of minutes, it had all gone blissfully quiet.

...what were those things…?!

He can still remember the howling, but...those were no wolves. Not like he’s ever seen. Taller than a man, ambling on both two and four limbs, thirsting for the blood of men.

...monsters.

...he doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to see the remains of the others. But as he struggles to his feet, Obito looks over the wreckage.

The wagon they arrived in is overturned, the top crumpled and torn, wooden frame splintered. Their tools are broken and scattered. And among the stumps are the mangled, desecrated bodies of his friends, crows scattering at his movement. Several of the corpses are in pieces...and Obito shrinks as he spies one hanging limply over a tree branch ten feet in the air.

They’re all littered with bite marks and tears from claws...and his stomach turns as he notices chunks missing from legs and torsos. They...they were eaten...weren’t they…?

What kind of animals…?!

A wave of pain washes over him, and his knees go weak. He...he has to find help. The bleeding is sluggish, but it looks like he’s been unconscious at least a few hours. That is...if it’s still the same day. At this point, he has no idea. All he knows is that he’s in shit shape.

The only thing left to do now...is start walking.

The forestry trail is dotted with puddles from a recent shower. Not anything telling for a timeline, it rains here quite often this time of year. It’s a mile to the next paved road - good thing both his legs are still working.

He can only imagine the reaction of whoever manages to spot him first. He probably looks like a black bear’s chew toy.

...but that was no bear.

Breath ragged, Obito pushes himself onward. He just has to reach the main road. Flag someone down. Get a ride back to town and get patched up.

...and report the bodies.

How is he going to explain this? Will anyone believe that they were attacked by a pack of strange wolf-like monstrosities? Or should he allege it was a bear to avoid looking like a lunatic? Will they be able to tell from the wounds left on the bodies?

Too many unanswered questions, and for now he can’t begin to find the solutions. Doesn’t help his head hurts so damn bad he can hardly stand it. Feels like someone is driving a stake through the top of his skull…

And then he stops.

Trotting across the road twenty paces on, a silvery-white wolf stops in the center and stares at him. An angry red scar cuts across an eye, foggy with blindness.

...it also happens to be nearly the size of a horse.

Obito feels his heart stop in his chest. This is it, isn’t it? The monsters have come back to finish what they started, he’s going to die, and this damn headache is...is -!

A growl escapes his throat, hackles raising and staring the other wolf down. He’s wounded, backed into a corner...there’s no animal more dangerous.

But his enemy just continues to stare, no signs of aggression in their movements or posture. It’s like they’re...waiting for something.

For what?

They turn, closing the distance between them. Obito attempts to look menacing, but they both know it’s a farce. His wounds are far too severe to put up any fight. And even then, this form is too new, these instincts too untested. The last exhausted dredges of a human mind are eager to rest, to give way to the beast if it will keep him alive.

So as the white wolf stands just before him, tail cautiously swishing, he maintains a low growl but doesn’t move.

...but then they retreat, turn back, stare at him.

...do they...want him to follow…?

A confused whine escapes his newly-canine throat. Can he trust them? Why would they want to help him? Are they...are they like him?

...what is he now…?

So many questions, but they’re all pushed to the wayside as instinct urges him forward toward survival. He’s still wounded...and right now that’s top priority. Anything else can wait. Limping on his torn right foreleg, Obito follows.

They meander through the forest, white wolf in the lead giving occasional glances back, as if to ensure Obito is still there. Ten minutes pass, and they reach a river, banks slightly swollen with rain. His companion steps into the water.

Seems he needs to wash his wounds.

Wary of the current, Obito staggers into the water, watching as the other wolf stands on his downstream side to keep him from being swept away. Once he’s deep enough, he gingerly lowers to let the water wash over him. The cool, clean liquid eases at the angry heat of the wounds, blood and debris washed from his body.

In his reflection, he sees his new face: coarse black fur, pain-drooped ears, and dark eyes. So...he’s one of them now. Then...were they…?

The thought fades as the rest have, hobbling up the bank and finding a dry patch under some thick brush. Head on his paws, he struggles to stay awake.

But rest is just what he needs.

When he wakes, the sun is shining, the air crisp and clear.

And he’s alone.

Head lifting, Obito tests the air. A mess of smells reaches him, still untrained in their meaning. But the scent of the other wolf is faint. Is he gone…?

But then it spikes, and he turns to see his new friend. In his jaws is a yearling deer, dead and slack.

Unbidden, Obito finds himself panting and drooling. When did he last eat…?

Visage bloody from the kill, the white wolf drops his offering before going to wash off. Seems he’s not hungry.

More for Obito, then.

Once his belly is full, he realizes...the keen sting of his wounds is gone. A look to his leg shows the wounds already scabbed over and shrinking.

...seems he heals fast.

...what else can he do…?

Another day of rest, and then he decides to test his limits. It’s a change, walking on four legs. But within minutes, he’s bounding through the forest, heart pumping and lungs burning with fresh, cold air. Besides him, the white wolf does the same.

Lessons are passed. How to hunt. How to stalk. Where to find water, and a dry place to sleep. And finally...how to Shift.

Like the ones that attacked him, he can take a bipedal form. Hulking and massive, trees topple at his urging, throat issuing a howl that echoes for miles.

He is, indeed, a werewolf.

But so too can he retake his human form. Scars pepper his body, healed over and jagged. Looking into a puddle, he traces the marks along his face.

“...so...think you can handle yourself now?”

Looking up, Obito spies the other wolf, also human. Like Obito, the wounds he bore in his other form follow him here. The scar and blind eye remain.

...but one thing that doesn’t are clothes, the pair of them bare as the day they were born.

“...are you leaving?” His voice is coarse, Obito swallowing at the sound.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons. Ones that can’t involve you.”

Obito’s face falls, but he knows better than to take it personally.

“It’s not easy being a lone wolf, but you’re clearly strong. You’ll figure it out. Find a place to call your own, and defend it. And maybe our paths will cross again.”

“...what’s your name?”

“Kakashi. And you?”

“Obito.”

“...well, good luck, Obito. Try heading south.”

“Why?”

“Because the last thing you want is to run into the ones who Turned you. It’s not safe for you here.”

Obito’s stomach drops. Leave Québec...? But it’s all he’s ever known…! Where he was born!

...yet it also squirms at the thought of seeing the other wolves again.

...Kakashi is right.

“...I will...try.”

“Just stay out of anyone else’s way. Not everything is worth a fight. You’ll stay alive longer that way.” In the blink of an eye, Kakashi Shifts back to his wolf form. He gives the man a farewell lick to his hair, leaping aside playfully as Obito swats him away.

“Eugh!”

Grinning as only a wolf can, Kakashi then slips between the trees...and disappears.

Scowling and wiping the spit from his face, Obito sighs. South...what, into the US? Well, he supposes a wolf won’t need papers...but he barely speaks English. Is he meant to stay a wolf forever, or try and settle himself back into society?

...seems that decision is up to him.

Either way, it’s too cold to remain human long, his hairless skin shivering in the breeze. He too becomes a wolf once more, consulting the sun before picking his direction...and heading off.

Avoiding roads, he travels instead through the wilderness, catching his fill and finding water whenever he needs it. It’s not so bad, this life. His own merit keeps him fed and sheltered. In truth, he wants for almost nothing.

...and yet…

Sitting on a rock outcropping one evening, Obito can’t help but realize...he’s awfully lonely. Kakashi’s company, however brief, had been...nice. Perhaps it’s his human side...but maybe also a longing for a pack. But as he howls into the fading light, hearing nothing in return...it seems to echo hollowly in his chest.

By now he’s surely made it past the southern border of his homeland. But otherwise, he has no idea where he is. The thought of approaching humans after so many weeks as a wolf makes him...nervous. As though the longer he abstains from taking that form, the more frightening they become.

The less human he feels.

But while his freedom and wildness is something to relish in...Obito realizes it’s not what he wants. So the next time he finds a road, he follows it.

It’s barren at night, his paws trotting along the surface in search of where it ends. As for what he’ll do when he finds it, well...he’s not sure.

And that uncertainty grows as the weather starts to change. A cold northern wind picks up...and then flakes of snow start to fall.

Snowstorm.

Hunching his shoulders against it, Obito keeps on, too stubborn to instead veer off in search of shelter. The snow becomes so thick, it takes him over a block to notice that he’s crossed into a little town.

The houses are dark, humans asleep during the witching hour, safe in their beds under their roofs as the snow swirls. Chest tense at being so surrounded, Obito realizes he doesn’t know what to do next. Following the main street, he eventually pauses at a pleasant smell. His nose leads him to a little shop door.

He can smell...bread...when was the last time he smelled that? It brings about thoughts of home, something...comforting about it.

So as the storm keeps passing, he curls up atop the stoop, thick fur impervious as he tucks his paws and snout.

Soon, he’s fast asleep.

For some, the day begins bright and early...or even before it gets bright. Coming down the stairs, a young woman twists her pale hair up into a bun, a kerchief smoothed over it to keep the waves from her face.

One must be an early riser to make bread.

Fires are stoked and ingredients gathered, and she takes a moment to look out the snow-frosted windows. Street lamps glow in the haze of white, the sun not quite yet risen.

But what catches her attention is the odd amount of it piled against her door. Well that won’t do...people will be hard-pressed enough to be out and about today. If she wants them to come in, she’ll need to clear that away. Fetching a broom, she opens the door and makes to brush it aside.

...only to hit something solid.

Greys blink in surprise. What…? Her brow furrows as she keeps dusting the powder off her front step.

...and then she feels her heart leap up to her throat.

As she watches, some kind of beast is unburied, not moving despite her prodding. It...looks like a dog…? But far larger than she’s ever seen. Midnight fur is still dusted with white.

...what should she do…? Is it -? Is it dead?

Despite the potential danger, Ryū feels her heart clench. Did it freeze to death out here? And...how did it get so far into town? “Oh...you poor thing…” Taking a knee, she carefully lays a hand on the creature’s pelt.

...and then falls back with a gasp as it fades away. In the beast’s place...is a man.

Shock holds her hostage for a long moment before she realizes he’s bare and shivering. Scrambling back up, she manages to haul him in with hands under his arms, flushed pink at his nudity. But there are far more important things at play here.

Anything else aside, this is a person.

Making up her mind, Ryū keeps going, bringing him into the now piping-hot kitchen of the bakery to warm him up. She folds a blanket in a corner, arranging him atop it with another over his form to make him cozy as she bustles about her daily routine. Once everything is ready and stocked for the day, she delays opening for a time, knowing few will be out early with all this snow, anyway. Instead, she hauls the man upstairs to her living quarters. From an old chest of her late father’s belongings, she pulls a spare set of clothes. A bit big on him, but...better than nothing. Then into bed she tucks him.

During her dressing, she can’t help but note the rugged scars along his side. Curiosity burns at her, but...well, there’s no asking questions for now.

Certain that he’s safe, dry, and warm...she retreats back to the shop to begin her day.

A few hours later, roused by inviting smells and the steady noise beneath him, Obito manages to peel his eyes open. A minute passes of him dazedly staring at the ceiling before panicking.

Thrashing, it takes a moment to realize he’s not trapped, but...in a bed. In a room. In a house. Breath elevated nonetheless, he stops and takes it all in. The same smell of bread that warmed his dreams is even stronger now. He’s no longer out in the snow, but inside and dry.

...who…?

Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbles, not used to using only two legs. A few French obscenities escape him, clinging to the wall to avoid falling over.

A door lets him into the rest of the living space: a kitchen, small dining area, and a little living room are all one room. Another reveals a loo. And at the far wall is a set of stairs, where the smell is coming from.

Carefully, he slinks down the steps, one at a time.

He emerges into a large room filled with sacks of flour and sugar, as well as spices and cartons of eggs and bottles of milk. One box is filled with nothing but chocolate, making him salivate. And as he peeks through yet another door, he spots the kitchen. It’s massive, with several stone ovens for making bread, fires crackling and embers glowing. It’s incredibly warm, and immediately makes him sleepy again. But he finds one last door.

Through the open crack, he spies a...shop? Large windows along the front give a view into the little town, completely caked with snow. People mill in, clearly eager to get a fresh loaf of warm bread, or perhaps a sweet. And behind the counter is a young woman, bustling busily and juggling them all with a smile.

Something in Obito’s chest clenches at the sight of her, and he recoils in surprise. Sure, he’s not seen a woman in months, but is it really so entrancing?! Yet as he considers it, Obito realizes...this must surely be her shop. He’d fallen asleep on the doorstep. Then...it must be her who dragged him in here out of the cold.

...did she see…?

Flinching as she walks past the door, he almost falls over backward in his rush to escape, body still unused to this form after so long. What is he supposed to do now…?

Lingering in the kitchen and soaking up the heat, he watches as the crowd slowly thins, and the woman locks the shop for a midday break. Seems it’s time for her lunch.

...which means -!

A yelp gets caught in his throat, managing to stay silent as she comes back into the kitchen, her own form coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of him.

“...oh! You’re awake!”

Eyes wide, Obito stares at her, feeling ready to bolt as the half-known language reaches his ears

“You frightened me half to death you know, all curled up on the stoop. I thought for sure you were dead! Oh, but you must be starving...here, come with me.” Seemingly unaffected otherwise, she strides past him toward the stairs, pausing halfway up as he remains frozen. “...well come on! We need to get you fed!”

Feeling chastised as he figures her meaning, Obito can feel the ghosts of his other ears pinning in submission before he hesitantly follows.

By the time he’s up, she’s already rummaging around for something to eat. As expected, there’s plenty of baked goods...but his mouth waters at the smell of dried and salted meat.

“Come, sit! I’ll fetch you a plate.” She pats the chair invitingly.

He doesn’t need telling twice. Obito takes a seat, looking over all the food with a gurgling stomach. The woman fixes him a piled-high plate, and before he can think, he starts tearing into it with a growl.

Across the table, her eyes go wide, staring in surprise.

“...seems you’re still a beast even when you look like a man.”

The words, only partially understood but enough to ring true, make him go still, teeth still buried in a hunk of dried venison.

...so she did see.

But rather than look afraid, she gives him a weary smile. “...I thought I’d been dreaming or lost my mind. But it’s true, isn’t it…? You’re some kind of...half-man, half-beast.”

Eyes flickering over her, Obito struggles to remember the English he knows. “I was...er…” He mumbles the French equivalent before adding, “Bitten. Wolf.” In explanation, he tugs at the shirt she dressed him in, revealing the scars of teeth sunk into the crook of his neck.

Before she can help herself, Ryū grimaces. “...that must have been so painful...how did you survive…?”

“Another wolf. Friendly. Taught me...survive. Had to part. Came here. From Québec. Je viens du Québec.”

Her face alights in understanding. “Canada, then…! You’ve come a long way, we’re a few hundred miles south of the border. No wonder you were so worn out…”

He nods, catching most of her meaning. It’s easier to understand than speak it himself.

“So...like those scary tales of wolfmen. Werewolves. You can...change from wolf to man and back again?”

Another nod.

For a long moment she just...sits and digests that information. “...then you are...alone? No place to go?”

After a hesitation, his ears go red, glancing aside. “I...wander. Had to leave. Not safe to...to stay.”

“...I see.” Her arms fold, thinking. She has yet to touch her own food. “...then you’ll have to stay here, instead.”

“Wh-?!”

“As it turns out, I could use a little help.” Her lips lift in a smile. “I have to move a lot of heavy things. Chop wood for the fires. Hook up the horse to my wagon for supplies. If you do these things for me, then you can stay here. A place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear. That is...if you want. But the snows are deep this time of year. I don’t want you out alone with nowhere to go. Does it sound like a deal?”

“But…!” His mind scrambles to translate his thoughts. “I am...danger! Stranger! I could -?”

“I think if you wanted to kill me, you could have done so by now,” she counters softly, cutting off his rambling. “It would take just a moment to turn into a wolf and tear me apart. Am I wrong?”

He blanches at the thought.

“...but you didn’t. You know I helped you. And I think you’re an honorable man. One who would agree to help me if I helped you.” Reaching across the table, she puts a hand on his own, feeling him flinch. “...take some time to think about it. I won’t make you stay. But we could help each other, you and I. At least until the snows melt, and you can be on your way. Now...finish eating. You’re thinner than I would like.” Smiling coyly, she adds, “I’ll expect you to work hard if you stay, and you can’t do that on an empty stomach. Now...I better get back to work. You stay here and think, and rest.” She picks up her plate, taking it with her back down the stairs.

Flabbergasted, Obito can’t counter her, too surprised. She...she cannot be real. She is too kind…! To offer such help to a stranger, a man she doesn’t know, who she knows is a...a monster…!

He’s not a man of faith, but...surely she’s an angel.

And he fidgets as he realizes the heat in his face at such a simple touch. It’s...clearly been far too long since he’s been around other humans. While he knows he would not - could not - ever hurt her...he has to wonder at his level of self restraint.

...but he’ll do it. He’ll stay. Whatever she needs him to do, he’ll do, and do it well! She saved his life, just as Kakashi did before.

He doesn’t let debts go unpaid.

So he downs the rest of his meal before doing his best to tidy up after himself, wandering back down to the main floor. Business has opened again for the afternoon, more bread to be sold for lunches and suppers.

And as Ryū comes back to fetch more loaves, she comes up short at the sight of him. “Oh!”

“Can...I help?”

“Certainly! Here, grab that tray there, and carry it in for me. I need to put out more on the shelves.”

Taking up the indicated sheet, Obito packs it through the last door, obediently holding it for her as she works.

...it takes him a moment to notice the strange silence that overcomes the room.

The patrons stare, some in horror and some in surprise. Only after a bit of thought does Obito realize why.

It’s not often someone has as many scars as he does.

Ryū, once she’s finished, also notices. But she sets her brow and addresses them openly. “My new hand, Obito. A recent immigrant from the north. He’ll need help settling in, so I do hope you’ll all make him feel welcome.”

At once, everyone turns sheepish at her words, gazes averting and coughing small apologies.

Obito just looks at her in wonder.

A routine then develops. Every morning Ryū wakes before dawn to start her baking, and Obito handles whatever she needs. He chops the hauled logs for her fires, carries heavy sacks of supplies from her wagon, and even helps do repairs on the building as the weather wears it.

And all the while, she keeps up her same gentle manners. Every meal is a hearty one. She patiently mends any holes he tears in the garments she gave him, and patches the wounds his hard work earns him. She takes him out to do her shopping, buying him anything that catches his eye he doesn’t voice, but she still notices.

And Obito realizes he’s growing dangerously fond of her. Any man that eyes her too closely gets glowered off, his height and bulk an adequate intimidation. His work before saw him grow strong, and he’s done so again working under her roof.

His English grows in leaps and bounds. Soon he’s just about perfectly fluent, going pink whenever Ryū offers a patient correction to his grammar.

And then...Spring is upon them. And he has a choice to make. Stay where he is...or strike out once again on his own now that the weather is fair.

...it’s not much of a choice, honestly.

Instead, he has another quandary.

After a time, Ryū started paying him, much to his embarrassment. But he’s been saving every penny beyond what he absolutely needs. And after confirming to her that he would like to stay...he takes his meager savings into town.

It’s a small one, so the shops are limited. In fact, there’s only one jeweler. So he steps through the door nervously, glancing around as his gut swims.

...he’s here to buy a ring.

While he’s hardly known romance in the past, there’s something sure in him about this. All through the long Winter, the pair of them kept so close and working hand in hand, he’s come to know that there’s no comparison to her kindness, to how cared for and respected she makes him feel. She doesn’t mock his appearance, didn’t sneer at his broken English. Didn’t even balk at his dual nature. To her, he’s a man like any other: nothing to be feared, to look down upon.

And he wants nothing more than to stay by that kindness. To keep it safe.

...he wants to marry her.

...but will she have him? It’s one thing to treat him this way, but...does she love him as he so ardently loves her?

...he doesn’t know. But he has to try.

So he emerges from the shop once again penniless...but with a simple silver band dotted with an opal. Nothing flashy, but...he can’t help but feel she’ll like it all the same.

But before he can give it to her...he has to be sure of something.

“Can I...ask you something…?”

Closing down the shop for the day, Ryū turns to him curiously. “Of course.”

He fiddles with his shirt. “...are you…? Do I…? Er…” A pause to gather his thoughts. “...does my...nature frighten you…?”

She blinks, considering him. “...you mean...what you are?”

A nervous nod.

“Of course not. I have no reason to be afraid of you, Obito. You’re the gentlest, most gentlemanly man I know. Even if there’s a wolf under your skin, that doesn’t frighten me.”

“Even if you...never see it?”

Since his arrival, Obito has never Shifted back. He’s been human since he woke up in her bed.

Ryū heaves a small sigh. “...go on, then.”

“Wh-?”

“Change. I’ll prove I’m not afraid of you, Obito.”

He balks, not expecting this. “...er…” Looking around, he slips past a door and disrobes, not wanting to tear his garments. And then he changes, maintaining an upright form. Peering around the doorframe, he manages to squeeze through, tail tucked nervously between his legs.

As she promised, there’s no fear in her eyes. Instead, Ryū approaches, considering him curiously. Over his scars, white fur has grown rather than black. A hand reaches and brushes along it, making him shiver. “...now why would I be afraid of this?” she murmurs. “You’re just an overgrown pup.”

His ears pin down in embarrassment.

That earns a warm smile. “...I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But...you’re still you, y’know. What you look like doesn’t change that. Though I think my ceilings are a little low for you this way, aren’t they?”

A pause, and then he nods as she chuckles.

“Does that ease your worry, then?”

Another nod.

“...good.”

He has nothing left to fear.

Still, he waits just a little longer. Until a beautiful night with a full moon.

Going out the back door in the dark to toss some rubbish, Ryū comes up short with a gasp. In his four-legged form, Obito stands just outside the light.

“You startled me!” she chastises with a laugh.

He just stares.

“...what?”

Obito gives a dip of his head, shifting a bit in place.

Her brow furrows. “...you want me to see something?”

Closing the gap between them, he gives her a nudge, turning his side to her and crouching.

Understanding makes her eyes go wide. “...oh…” Carefully, she slips up over his back, marveling at the feeling of his fur. “...well, now wh-?”

Standing, he turns...and then runs.

A surprised cry gets stuck in her throat, hanging on for dear life as Obito races through town, a shadow in the moonlit street. But once the shock fades, her heart grows light and giddy.

Well this is...new…!

Out into the countryside he races, grinning wolfishly as she laughs into the wind. Miles disappear beneath him. And he only stops once he reaches an old, looming oak tree he remembers from his travels.

Ryū slips from his back, legs jelly-like as she giggles. “Wow...that was…!” But as she turns...he’s gone. “...Obito?”

“H-here!” Finishing redressing with clothes stashed behind the trunk, he gives a sheepish grin. “The one downside, heh.”

She just laughs again. “So...what possessed you to make off with me in the middle of the night?”

...okay. It’s now or never. Obito’s expression sobers, and Ryū’s head tilts curiously. Gently, he takes both her hands in his own. “...for a while, I was more beast than human,” he begins, trying to remember the speech he’s formed in his head for weeks. “I was...alone. Without a home, or a family. My heart ached. It was sad. So I...I started looking for...something. I wasn’t sure what. When I collapsed on your doorstep, I was so lost. But, you brought me in. You gave me kindness. Gave me everything I had lost the day I became what I am. You never flinched. Never wavered. And I...I have found a home in you. I never want to leave. I…”

All the while, Ryū listens silently, her expression slack with surprise. And as he reaches to a pocket, descending to a knee, her stomach bursts with butterflies.

“...will you let me stay...forever?”

Unbidden, tears bead along her lids, staring as he holds aloft the little silver band. “Oh, Obito…!” A smile blooms across her face, so wide her cheeks protest. “Yes…!”

...he can barely believe it. Shaking hands take her own, carefully putting the ring in place before yipping in surprise as she launches at him, knocking them both over into the grass under the moon.

Before he can react, she presses her lips to his, a pent-up desperation in the act. Face blooming red, he reciprocates once the shock wears off. Arms lift to pin her to him, smiling against her as she giggles giddily.

He swears his chest might burst.

Only once their mess of kisses ends does she sit up, looking down at him with boundless affection. “...seems you’re not a lone wolf anymore, are you…?”

A hand reaches up, burying into the waves at her temple. “...no. Not anymore.”

The sounds of their laughter ring out in the dark, relishing in the newfound joy of their engagement.

And on another hill, watching silently, a silver wolf then slips back into the night.

     ...this turned out SO LONG and I didn’t even include everything I wanted to kdjfhgkdjhg I have a Problem xD      Anywho, this is actually a plot Meg came up with (for the most part) like...months ago that I finally get to write! I’d actually like it to be more fleshed out BUT I’m out of buffer drabbles, so I can’t be getting TOO out of hand (I say when this is almost double my goal word count for these drabbles >w>)      I really like this concept and honestly I wanna RP it really bad now! I’m a sucker for monster AUs (as evident from yesterday’s piece, huehue) so I couldn’t turn this one down xD But for now I have some irl things to get done, so I’ll try and start work on tomorrow’s when that’s done. Especially since I’ll be gone half of tomorrow. The universe just does NOT want me to write kjdfhgkjdfg      Thanks for reading!

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Common Thread, Day 3 of Batflash Week - Spells & Missions

John Constantine awoke to discover one of his old enemies had broken free from Hell again. How? By a bloodstained message left in his bathroom mirror. If he doesn't come to where she wants him, he'll never see one of the best things that had ever happened to him. All he needs to do is walk into her trap alone and everything will work itself out.

Unfortunately Batman throws a wrench into the plan by storming in.

Are they brave and bold enough to rescue Barry?

John Constantine stares up at the faded sign of the warehouse, spray painted in a mess of symbols any self-respecting warlock would spit at. It’s one of many graffitied markers of kids playing with forces they know nothing about. Lucky that none of the sigils were any good sewn together by the hands of a novice.

Except luck runs out. Evident by the dried blood splattering the ground next to a perfect symbol used to summon demons. Kicking over an upturned crate John finds a severed hand clutching a dirty page with instructions on it.

“Doesn’t anyone know,” he mutters, inspecting the spell printed out, “that by tampering with forces you can’t begin to understand there’ll be hell to pay?”

And it’s usually at John’s doorstep they show up, aiming to collect.

Blythe takes what’s hers in blood .

He hadn’t expected her sorry ass to climb its way from Hell so soon, especially since he left her ground under the hell of Neron’s well-polished boot. Underestimating her resourcefulness proved much to dangerous, yet he does it constantly. John thought he learned his lesson when she kidnapped Oliver. In school the teacher always had to go over her lessons more than once before John understood, and the habit’s followed him like a horrid stench.

Now someone else he cares for is suffering under her clutches. John hopes he isn’t too late.

A rustle sounds from nearby. John drops the page, tensing in his squat. Mud squelches underfoot as an intruder steps closer, human from the sound of it. If Blythe wanted to surprise him she wouldn’t announce her presence in such a pedestrian manner.

“Whoever’s there,” he starts, sparks dancing at his fingertips, “I’m half-cocked and ready to fire off like it’s nobody’s business. Announce your presence or spend the next millenium picking yourself from between brimstone.”

“John…”

Sighing, John relaxes somewhat. He recognizes the broody timbre of the man waiting nearby. While it wasn’t a demon, John suspects an ounce of the devil runs through his blood. Why else would someone choose to dress like a giant bat?

“Batman,” he stands, lips thinning into a masked smile, “What brings you around these haunts? I know it must remind you of home but…” John drops the sentence, Batman catching it perfectly from the sneer crossing his expressions.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, skipping pleasantries. Of course.

“Fancy a bit of a stroll,” John shrugs, “bilge water does wonders for the body’s health…”

“ John …”

John levels a glare at Batman, readying a cigarette. “Why should I say what you already know. I’m here for the same’s you are.”

Although for vastly different reasons, John supposes. Batman was his colleague, one of the original seven. A detective who could follow the clues Diana in all her grandstanding glory wouldn’t have been able to notice. Trying to find the bigger picture where there is none. Because this wasn’t some prophecy or plan to take over the world.

It was the consequences of a mistake finally catching up. Doesn’t matter how fast you can run when there’s a blemish on your soul. A dark print where John brushed up against his life, if only for a moment.

Batman peers from behind his cowl, scanning him. “Zatanna send you?”

“Didn’t have to,” John says, “got a direct line from the perp herself.” He snaps his fingers, a photograph appearing instantly. John shows Batman, letting him keep the picture as he drifts closer towards the doors. John memorized exactly what was on it.

Blood smeared across his bathroom mirror in an imitation of a crack. Upon closer inspection, John realized what it was.

A lightning bolt.

He reaches the door when Batman slams him against it, crushing his face against the rusted metal. “Easy!” he whines, “I never got my tetanus shot!”

“This,” he growls, “This is your fault?”

“When isn’t it my fault!”

“What did you do? What did you do !”

“Back… off!” John throws Batman to the ground with a quick spell, eyes glowing when he sees the other hero skittering to a fighting stance. Red edges at the corner of his eyes, driven by a bottomless fury. Curious, if he weren’t on the receiving end. “Listen,” he starts, “you could get your rocks off beating the shit out of me or we can go in and save him. Which do you prefer?”

Batman huffs heavy breaths, thinking. Ultimately he relents, fists hovering at his sides. He strides forward. John plants his feet, hoping the mud will keep him from instinctively flinching backwards.

Stopping inches from his face, Batman growls. “If he’s hurt - in any way - than there’s no cheap parlor trick you can do that’ll save you.”

John scoffs, drunk on false bravado. “You haven’t seen my best cheap parlor trick, then.”

Batman shoulders him on his way towards the door. “Hurry up,” he says, “let’s not waste time.”

A beat passes, John crossing his arms as his cigarette dangles - unlit - between his lips. He curses and flings it down. Stomps over it while moving towards the warehouse.

While barren on the outside, signs of life were more evident inside the cavernous building. Mussed floors, littered with abandoned beer bottles and an amp or two, remind John of his wilder days years ago. Could picture himself and Chaz a few yards away rocking to a cruddy band performing on a makeshift stage. Sees the perfect place to snog, hidden from the view of the crowds. Where you can slip a finger or two in and hide moans under angry screams and shredded licks.

Those thoughts lead him to another time in another place. A bedroom with mussed sheets and hands that scoured every inch of his skin while trembling instinctively. Achieving orgasm was like being struck by lightning.

Sobered, he casts a dim eye towards Batman. The detective scans the room with an objective eye, bouncing from shadow to shadow. “You see anything?”

“No,” he says, “do you sense anything?”

“Not without a little help,” John says. He flicks open his lighter, a small flame bursting forth. Spinning it in small, concentric circles, John whispers Latin until the fire grows in size. It changes from a bright orange to an enchanting blue, hopping off the lighter. Dancing around John, the flame drifts over to Batman and circles him.

“What is this?”

“A little tracking spell,” John shrugs, watching the fire shift dangerously close to Batman’s cape. Only to veer suddenly on a different curve. “Like our own will o’ the wisp. It’ll follow the energy of the person we’re looking for.”

“You sure it’ll work?”

“I believe it will. And with magic that’s half the battle.” They fall into silence as the flame finally flies from Batman. Darting towards the right, it hovers by a faded poster briefly until it charges through it. Burning the poster to a crisp. “Now that’s one way to find a secret entrance!”

Batman huffs, cape fluttering after him while he leaves to follow John’s wisp.

“It was no problem at all, Batty Boy… I can show you how to do it after we’ve wrapped this up… right…”

John chases the detective before he fades from sight.

Past the poster was an ominous staircase descending into the bowels of the Earth. A little on the nose for a demon, but John bets she didn’t have much time to decorate to her liking. If she wanted to cause dread to bloom in the hearts of her enemies, she hit the nail on the head.

Distracting himself from all the horrors waiting for them at the end of the staircase, of what Blythe might have done to him - John guesses why Batman stepped from off his pedestal for such a personal vendetta that didn’t involve him.

From his earlier display John doubts the League knows he’s here. Asking about Zatanna, like she sent John there to fetch the errant hero. Like John wasn’t the whole reason Blythe had a valuable bargaining chip that could fetch her ten kingdoms in Hell. And then the violent outburst at finding out John was at the root of their problem...

John faced down angels and demons alike yet none made him want to cower from the full force of their glare like Batman. If he were able to smite John wouldn’t even have atoms left.

“So,” he starts, voice echoing in the cavernous staircase, “how did you figure out this was the place to find him.”

“Clues.”

“Any elaboration on that or…?”

“ No .”

John sighs, fiddling with his lighter. “Look, I get it. You’re worried… so am I. Blythe she - she’s done this once before, to someone I care about. The first time didn’t end so well and I… I’d really hate it if something were to happen to him. He… he doesn’t deserve it. So you can trust me on this, I’m here to help .”

Batman pauses, John nearly slamming into him. He slowly cranes his neck and reveals half his face in the light of the wisp. John bites back a gasp, surprised at the venom dripping from his features. The words of encouragement were supposed to fling the bullseye from his person, except John managed to tattoo it to his forehead.

“ Care ?” Batman asks, “I don’t know what personal stake you think you have in this but - but you do not get it. Not at all . So stay out of the way, let me save him, and we’ll never have to see each other again. Understand ?”

The wisp snuffs out their light before he can answer. In its place thousands of candles lighting the walls. Reveals the true darkness of the stretch below them, how one misplaced foot could lead to an eternity of falling. Thankfully the stairs end in a few steps.

Right by the door, where they will most definitely find Blythe waiting for them inside.

Batman nearly knocks him over with his cape, closing the distance to the door. “Like I said,” he reminds John, “stay out… of the way…”

John fixes his jacket, glaring at the disgruntled detective. “Seriously,” he mutters, “what did I step in to have to deal with this team-up?”

Closing the gap, they walk confidently into Blythe’s lair - sure that a trap awaits them. On first glance John doubts his first conclusion. Nothing about the gauzy drapery or the lazy river littered with reeds and lily pads seemed dangerous. All the deadliness sucked into the mannequin posed elegantly across a blood red chaise lounge.

“Oh John! I was waiting for you,” Blythe crows, dumping her wine glass over top a stout demon with a tray soldered to his horns. “And you brought a guest! I warned you about that didn’t I… but I guess I’ll forgive it for such a handsome devil he is…”

“I didn’t bring him,” John defends, jerking his thumb at his dour companion, “He and I are after the same thing… separately.”

“Of course. Because that makes absolute sense…”

“Cut the bullshit,” Batman growls, “where is he?”

Blythe shifts her features into faux innocence, tapping a sharp nail to her chin. “Hmm… he … I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about - oh !” The illusion shatters, a shark’s grin cracking her face. “ Of course … how could I forget! He’s been such a lovely guest…” She claps her hands, a figure shuffling from out of the shadows.

John chokes on air as he sees the haggard slump of Barry’s body. Arms swinging while he walks, Barry stumbles into view. His skin lost the golden tan he remembered, instead a sickly pallor that makes his heart stutter.

Batman drifts closer, shaking. “Barry…” he whispers. His shoulders droop for a moment. In the next, they climb back to where they were. Stiff and ready for combat. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing too noticeable ,” she coos, reaching up to squish his cheeks together. Forcing drool to dribble down his chin. “I think he looks like every other adult his age. Lifeless, hopeless, without a soul -”

“You took his soul?” John yells.

Blythe smirks, revealing a glowing amulet around her neck. It crackles with unbridled power, a wild storm trapped within. “It looks absolutely lovely. I’ll be the envy of every creature when I return with it.”

“Like hell you will!” He spits a quick spell into his hand, summoning a fireball to hurl at her. It passes between her and Flash, Blythe flinching out of its path. Barry remains frozen.

She snarls, “If that’s the game you want to play…” Four more arms erupt from her sides as she stands, green fire crackling in her palms. John curses when she launches all of them like a catapult. He skitters to the side, hiding behind a column.

Readying another spell, John sees Batman opposite him fire two bat-a-rangs at Blythe. She catches them both, only they explode and coat those hands with quick drying foam. “Disgusting!” she screams, “Don’t you know how difficult it is to get this type of blood as nail polish?”

John smirks, “Doesn’t matter what you paint ‘em love, it won’t help you look better.”

Another fireball chars the marble pillar, a few embers too close to his skin. He waits for another barrage of attacks to move. Runs over to Batman’s newest hiding spot behind a large, wooden chest while summoning a line of spectral knives in his wake. They fly for Blythe.

Skidding next to Batman, he sees Blythe dodging knife after knife. “Damn…”

“Pretty good trick,” Batman says, prepping a few more of his weapons, “where’d you learn it?”

“Your girl Zatanna -”

“Not my girl -” “Used it on me after a bad night in Vegas when I wouldn’t leave. Not that it did much good. She’s more powerful than before.”

“So,” Batman frowns at him, “how do we defeat her?” “Usually it wouldn’t be so easy,” John tells him, “I could do a quick banishing spell, send her to Hell like all the other times. But if I did it now, where she goes Barry does, too.”

“How did he get involved in all this?” Batman asks, “Why go after him?”

John finds a loose cigarette in his pocket and lights it, sucking on the bitter smoke. “Because she knew it’d hurt me.”

He can’t explain further, their shield splintering from a concussive force. John hears a splash, Batman no doubt landing in the river. John luckily skids close enough for his fingers to dangle at the edge. Quickly he pulls them close, in time to dodge the piranha-esque demon jumping up to feast on him.

Safety isn’t long. Blythe grabs his jacket, pulling him up until his feet dangle. Tips of his shoes scuffing the floor.

She drags him close enough he can smell the hideous sulfur-and-carnation perfume she wears. See the lines in each hideously sharp tooth. “I could do so many things to you,” she says, “To make up for all the knives you planted in my back -”

“Had to…” he huffs, struggling in her grasp, “Otherwise it’d be the other way around. And I can’t recover as fast as you can.”

Blythe caresses his face with a free hand, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. “You talk big, John. But you’re as weak as every other human. Let your heart lead you even though it hurts itself thousands of times. Provide fodder for the many enemies you create by existing .”

John chuckles, “You been talking to my dad?”

“Oliver was one thing but him …” Blythe looks at Barry, souring his routine. “Do you know the number of demons wanting to carve their name into the soul of a hero ? You’ve given me the best kind of gift I never could’ve asked for…”

He glances behind at where Barry’s soulless body rests, his eyes gazing at him with a frightening emptiness inside. John never prays for himself, and the few times he does it’s for other people more deserving. Barry Allen deserves a miracle, and John Constantine is far from that.

But Batman delivers.

Jumping from the river, he latches onto Blythe’s neck with a shout. She drops John to fend off Batman’s attack, stumbling around due to the other man’s grapple.

“John!” Batman shouts, “Now! Do it now!” He stabs her shoulders with bat-a-rangs, Blythe’s screams shaking the room. Batman drops and rolls away, over to John. “John!” “But what about -”

Batman dangles Barry’s soul in his sand, the chain wrapped around his fist.

John pauses briefly, in awe of the soul. He breaks from the spell when he hears Blythe’s cursing and metal clattering to the floor. Nodding, John stands and begins chanting the exorcism.

“You can’t do this to me again!” Blythe screams, stomping towards them, “Every time you send me there I come back angrier. Tougher. More vicious.” The ground under her feet begins crumbling, hellfire shooting upwards. “You can’t save anyone . His soul was damned the moment he allowed you into his bed!”

Columns fall around them, crushed by debris. Batman turns to him, “What’s going on?”

“This whole place is coming down around us!” he yells over the roar of demolition, “Grab our boy and make a run for it. Otherwise we’ll be seeing more of Blythe!”

John finishes the incantation, watching Blythe’s shadow disappear. He then spins on his heel and follows Batman up the stairs, Barry over his shoulder. Steps crumble as he jumps off them. Racing to the top, they keep running until they’re outside the warehouse where they began.

Panting, John leans against a few crates. “That’s my cardio for the year…”

No time for rest, Batman grabs his lapels and drags him over to where Barry stands still soulless. “ Fix him .”

“All right, mate, the hardest part’s over… Hand me his soul.” Batman carefully gives John Barry’s soul, his inner lighting snapping against the container. Holding it feels like being stung by a thousand loving jellyfish or covered in a large blanket that carries a fantastic amount of static cling. His skin puckers and hair stands on end. “Okay, love,” he whispers to the soul, “time to get you home…”

Muttering a quick spell, John cups the soul ever so daintily in his hand. Then he slams his fist into it, shattering the glass.

Batman jumps him, “What’re you -”

“Easy,” he says, pointing, “look!”

The soul flies around, a storm cloud pulsing with life. It zips between Batman and John - brushing affectionately against the former’s head for far too long - and circles Barry’s body. Growing in size, the soul obscures Barry leaving only a shadow. Glowing brightly, it seeps into his skin.

Barry gasps for breath, life returning to him. “God,” he sighs, collapsing to the ground, “what happened?”

“Wouldn’t bother asking Them, love,” John says, lighting his third cigarette of the hour, “They had nothing to do with where you were.”

Batman helps Barry to his feet, arms wrapped around his sides protectively. Barry leans into the embrace, resting against the brooding hero. John watches with interest as Gotham’s knight speaks in the softest of whispers against the shell of Barry’s ear, the speedster nodding every few seconds.

Feeling ignored, John clears his throat. Both of them turn to him. “Listen, Barry,” John starts, scratching his neck, “I want to apologize for what happened back there -”

“John…”

“If it weren’t for me, Blythe never have pinged you on her radar -”

“John -”

“And I’d understand if you’d never want to see me again -”

“ John .”

He casts a baleful gaze at the other man, shocked at the warmth coloring his features. “John,” he continues, “it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But, but…” the smoke drifts off his cigarette, “if we’d never… and I hadn’t… don’t you regret what we did?”

Barry shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

Their silence is charged with the infinite possibilities of what could have been. John’s heart fills with memories of when their ships passed each other all those nights ago. Docking briefly at the same port, tied to the same post.

Now Batman interrupts, glaring at John. “What are you talking about?” he asks, “Why did that demon want Barry?”

It’s an awkward and intimate conversation, to be handled delicately. John steams through it with his stubborn charm. Reveals how Barry and he first met when he followed a trail of bodies to Central City on the hunt for a demon. Guessed the next bar he would target for his next victim. Only the demon wasn’t all he found waiting there.

Barry escaped to this place, even though alcohol wouldn’t affect him, for peace of mind. Where John goes, peace never stays. John didn’t realize who he was at first, and chatted him up while waiting for the demon.

“I looked miserable.”

“And hot .”

While distracted, John missed the demon slither away with another villain. After figuring out who Barry was, he convinced Barry they should work together to take the monster down. It took all his best charms to win the argument.

“Ran out,” John shrugs, “Couldn’t even attempt to get him to carry me everywhere in his big, strong arms.”

Barry laughs, shoving him weakly. “Shove it.”

“Gladly.”

Throughout their investigation John continued flirting with Barry. Noticed with each new compliment the walls were crumbling. When he thought he had a chance, though, the demon appeared and grabbed Barry.

“Found him, though,” John says, “Wasn’t hard to track him… Got to him in good time, too. Not many people can resist the wiles of an incubus.”

When John found them, the incubus’s mirage had faded. Leaving the horned, crocodile-faced killer striking at places Barry stood. He joined the fray immediately, firing off a lightning spell that electrocuted the demon.

Together they sent the demon to Hell. “And without thought,” John tells Batman, “I asked if I could shower off the skunk of the demon’s final attack. Real stinker it was.”

Barry agreed, showing John where he lived. After a steamy shower and a low-slung towel, John tried one last flirting attempt.

“And the rest was history…”

Batman scowls, glaring at him. “You two slept together?”

“Only once,” Barry says, rubbing Batman’s wrist, “I was questioning a lot at the time… and he really helped me figure out exactly how I felt about... certain things .”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“John…”

Batman’s expression twitches with the faintest traces of curiosity. “What?”

He grins, tapping the excess ashes off his cigarette. “Ol’ Barry was hung up on some daft loon he didn’t know he had feelings for. Wasn’t sure if what he felt was attraction or friendship and… what was it? Wanted to see if you could be attracted to another guy, yeah? I think I helped you sort through those things mighty well given the three orgasms you had.”

“Three,” Batman chokes, gaping at Barry, “you had… three ?”

Barry blushes under the scrutiny. “So?”

Delighting in the other man’s embarrassment, John continues poking. “And we cuddled. Little ol’ spoon, he is,” he winks, chuckling. With Barry’s face beet red, John lays off the nipple twisting. “In the end, though, he let me know where we stood. His heart belonged to some other luckybastard…” Smiling, he asks Barry. “Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

Nodding, Barry glances at Batman. His hand rubs his chin affectionately. “Yeah… he knows.”

John drops his cigarette, shocked. Batman’s face shifts into a smug mask as he tugs Barry closer to him, pressing their faces together. Presses his lips against Barry’s cheek as a claim. “Oh,” John says, “um… congratulations?”

“Thanks, John,” Barry says, pulling away from Batman. Stretching, he continues talking. “If you ever need me, feel free to reach out. Even if it’s just for coffee… I’m not going to hold this against you, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Barry speeds over to Batman, scooping him in the blink of an eye. “Get home safely!”

They disappear, leaving a dust cloud to put out the smoldering embers of John’s cigarette.

As it clears, John feels a seed of happiness blossoming in his heart. Because while Barry might not be his, he has someone who can love him the way John can’t.

And that’s all that matters.