#I cannot handle today truly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugurouge · 8 months ago

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— yes, my lady : sebastian michaelis x f!reader

content warnings! reader is a descendant of the phantomhive family, power imbalance (master/servant) but also (human/demon), somewhat monsterfucking if you squint (i wanted to make use of his ‘true form’ a little), smut, size difference, manhandling, praise, pet names (my lady, darling, dear), orgasm control, sacrilege, a tiny bit of blood, topics of loneliness

summary: after another tiresome day out in the world, you are greeted with your recent mistake—sebastian. a hand-me-down from your ancestors that you summoned by chance and who now apparently has a contract with you. yet this modern world, working women, independence, and your awfully bratty attitude are challenges that are entirely new to him. however, he did swear to serve you. so, allow him to take care of his tired "mistress"

wordcount: 5k | my kinktober masterlist

It’s not every day that your job becomes stressful enough to fully tire you out. But today, today was even more draining than you had anticipated. Deep red eyes watch your tired form from across the hallway, raking over your figure as the owner remains quiet. Sebastian hasn't quite understood the fulfillment behind humans working themselves to the bone, nor the desire for young women to eagerly venture out to conquer “corporate,” as you once called it.

Yet, understanding or not, he is sworn to serve you and look after you. You are in his care until the contract is completed.

For this, he steps forward, his touch as sultry and gentle as his voice that welcomes you home. “My Lady,” the demon begins, as strength returns to your figure upon the stabilising hold of his hands on the small of your back while you remove your heels. You meet his smile with a glare from your pretty eyes, still wary of your newly added decor.

“I can handle myself just fine, Sebastian.” Yes, you’re a feisty one. Sebastian has been well aware of that fact since the moment you met. You dislike men staring at you in the street, loathe the forced small talk with them at work, or having to humour one of them when all you want is to be in the safety and comfort of your home. The once safe haven you now share with some sort of butler, or so he proclaimed. Never would you have expected such an outcome from your family’s antiques.

But here you are, the independent woman from before, now with a handsome devil at your beck and call. “You appear particularly exhausted tonight. Why not let me take care of you and help you to a restful night?” Sebastian proposes with gentle calmness to your vervour as his hands return to rest behind his back.

He irritates you. His act of concern for you when all he truly cares for is your soul. The motive is clear, yet he play-pretends to be something you cannot wrap your head around. “And what could you do for me?” you challenge in return, crossing your arms in front of your chest as the tip of your nose lifts a little higher to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “Anything you wish,” replies the butler, without a hint of malice in his words. “I would propose running a hot bath, brewing a warm cup of tea, and—” he pauses, clearly having caught himself with an idea you would despise.

The proposal sounds pleasing, almost exactly what you would do if you weren’t feeling too lazy to run a bath for yourself. But he doesn't need to know that. Your expression remains unfaltering, almost challenging. “And what? Speak, Sebastian.” The quirk of your brow ticks Sebastian off in just the right way, your confidence and demand a challenge he secretly enjoys.

The distance between your bodies grows smaller, and a gloved hand tips your chin up as red hues draw near. “A massage for your exhausted figure, my Lady.” He drawls the title, a pinch of condescension hidden in his words. You can’t resist the idea of standing on your toes, leaning further into his space to see him shrink away as your lips almost brush Sebastian’s while you speak: “Carry me, Sebastian.”

Yet, he does not shy away. He feels your pulse quicken, hears your heart drumming a beat of bravery, while your sweet lips could offer a relief he hasn’t felt in millennia. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth upon your demand and, without hesitation, you find yourself in his embrace. Knees and shoulders pressed firmly against his body, Sebastian carries you to your bedroom.

He knows tonight won’t be easy on him. Sebastian is well aware of the mischief you try to conceal, to seem more mature than you actually are. But tonight you appear different; tonight, you bring new challenges to your rendezvous once your head finds its rest on his shoulder. The tease of your breath against his neck, your smaller fingers playing with his necktie as you wet your lips. Nothing good comes from those pretty lips, Sebastian notes.

“Sebastian?” How can you suddenly say his name so softly? He looks down to you, the crimson tinge to his eyes making him appear like a starved hunter under the faint lights of the streetlamps and mood lights in your apartment. “The water is already set and at the perfect temperature for the female body.” Of course, he had heard your footsteps from afar and decided that tonight would be perfect for a bath. He is an expert at planning, at being one step ahead of everyone else. That is, until you continue speaking. A simple command, short and to the point, too alluring: “Undress me.”

You need to try harder if you wish to get a rise from him. For now, you find yourself seated on your bathroom counter with a newly found frown adorning your face. It doesn’t suit you, but it entertains Sebastian. “Your wish is my command,” he speaks an octave lower, honey almost dripping from his words before skilled fingers smooth out the fabric of your blouse. Sebastian’s gaze does not meet yours while he unbuttons it; he stays focused on the task without lusting over your exposed skin.

Suddenly, you wish he would want to devour you. The gloved touch that teases your upper body is not enough, yet so close to the fulfilling feeling of desire that you miss.

The clothing item is pushed off your shoulders before his touch ghosts along your waist. “May I continue?” The question is accompanied by one hand held out to you, palm facing up for you to grasp and rise to your feet. In one swift move, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror as Sebastian spins you around to undo the intricate buttons of your skirt you had struggled with this morning—why must designers place them in such difficult spots?

To nobody’s surprise, they are undone as quickly as your blouse, before your silk dress follows suit and pools around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but a tantalising set of underwear—dark red, almost a perfect match to Sebastian’s eyes. You eyes meet through the mirror and you refuse to shy away. No, like the little vixen that you are, you lean forward just enough to expose yourself further to your demon as you pretend to busy yourself by wiping off your lipstick.

It feels humbling to witness his gaze remain unfaltering; Sebastian continues to look into your eyes rather than the places you want his greed to be. “I will prepare your tea now,” he states as business continues as usual before leaving you alone.

A sigh is all you allow yourself as your shoulders slump. You really tried to seduce him. At the thought, you find a smile tugging at your mouth, the lust to be desired something that has been missing for a while now in your life. You know work, you know how to overwork yourself, and you have no time for flings or meaningless encounters. That was when he entered the picture.

Upon Sebastian’s return, he finds you seated in the bathtub; You’ve made sure to keep your hair out of the water and expose your neck, for hungry eyes to appreciate the shein layer of damp on your skin. The plate beneath the teacup meets the ceramic of your bathtub as your widened—nearly pleading—eyes shoot up to challenge his. If only you had acted a second quicker, you would have caught him staring at your cleavage, barely covered by the water and foam.

“Is there anything else you may need?” Sebastian inquires. He hates to admit it, but tonight seems like a greater challenge than he anticipated. How the simple word “You” could weaken a demon of his calibre is something for future Sebastian to concern himself with. Present Sebastian relishes the desire tugging at his stomach, the way you stare at him so submissively. Until you continue speaking: “Massage me, my butler.”

You turn your back to him as he takes his place behind you on the edge of the bathtub. Would you still be so smug if he grabbed your cheeks between his fingertips? If he forced you to look deep into his eyes while coaxing the cutest sounds past your lips? How can you act this way when at night you hump your pillow and beg for more, something better? Yet in the daylight, you behave like a spoiled princess, and he only adds to that imaginary status of yours. How badly he would love to ruin it. One or two more slip-ups, and he might find a loophole in your contract and commands.

To your dismay, gloved hands meet the skin of your neck. “Take them off, Sebastian. Touch me fully.” Your words bounce off the bathroom tiles, and his reply of “Yes, my lady,” echoes back. Shivers elicit along your neck as his skin touches yours, and the strength behind Sebastian’s touch massages the knots and the sorrow from your shoulders.

The moment is sweet enough to let your eyes fall closed, your head resting against Sebastian’s thigh as you sigh a gentle moan of relief. The sound snaps Sebastian’s attention to your face. With your eyes closed, he allows himself a moment to admire your features. Even a demon can admit that some humans are indeed beautiful. Sometimes, that beauty doesn’t surpass their soul, but in your case, there is something so unique about you that captivates Sebastian’s attention and lust.

You catch him staring as your eyes flutter open, the position you find yourself in so vulnerable, with him leaning above you. “Naughty butler…” you tease, and Sebastian wants to wipe that cheeky smirk right off your face. “If you have so much time to stare at me, you might as well wash my body for me.” The disrespectful teasing, as if he were nothing more than a pet, reminds Sebastian of someone else, someone he couldn’t wait to devour many years ago. But what else could he do but make himself useful for now?

In a swift move, Sebastian shrugs off his jacket and pushes up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt before kneeling beside your bathtub. He appears disinterested again, putting on a perfect mask of nonchalance as he runs the washcloth along your shoulders and arms, warming your figure and letting rose-scented water wash the sorrows away.

Until you’ve had enough of this act. Until you grow overly confident as you lean into his proximity: Your fingers lace around Sebastian’s wrist like a personal handcuff, your eyes locking onto his. “Be more thorough, Sebastian. Wash away the filth.” You go as far as to help him run the cloth over your chest. The drag of his nails against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine, and Sebastian watches you attentively, to witness your pupils dilate, the pink tip of your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your noses almost touch. He has never obeyed such a troublesome person before.

You start to bring out the worst in him—something that wants to teach you a lesson, something to remind you how different the roles could be if it weren't for this contract. The washcloth is pushed over your breasts and dips beneath the surface of the water to run along your stomach before being abandoned entirely as Sebastian’s fingers dip into the supple flesh of your thighs. Blunt nails drag along your inner thighs, and he loves to watch the shift in your demeanour; how you grow shy beneath his touch, your stare faltering as he draws dangerously close to your sacred area.

There is no bite to your bark as you cry out his name, your need for him too evident while you try to maintain a pretence. "S-Sebastian!" Finally, you act as your thighs press shut around his hand, panic ever so evident in your pretty eyes he can't stop the devilish smirk from spreading across his features. "My dear, don’t tell me you expect to play with fire and come out unharmed…"

The next moment, your back meets the cold stone as Sebastian races forward, hands placed left and right from your figure on the edge of the bathtub. The impact forces a puff of air to escape your lips as your eyes snap up to meet your butler’s dark pair, searching for a trace of humanity in those pools of crimson. "Behave…" you attempt to regain control, which is met with a chuckle. "I only follow your commands," he challenges as the cloth returns to clean your body. "You wanted me to be thorough, let me be thorough."

However, the lips that crash against the racing pulse in your neck have nothing to do with the command of cleaning your body. Sebastian acts upon his own selfish accord, upon the lust you’ve ignited by teetering too close to the dangerous territories of demonic desires.

And he makes you feel too good as he ravages you, suckling and nipping at your skin until you can't help but moan, your head falling back to offer him more space. You can't even think of a fitting command, the sweet words for him to "Don’t stop, please," a much more natural reaction as his palms cup your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you whimper ever so prettily.

"Who would have thought you could turn into such a sweet darling?" Sebastian teases with whispered words against the shell of your ear, the hum that follows so deep and low it has your stomach fluttering. Your fingers lace between his dark strands, effectively holding him in place as you return to being face-to-face with Sebastian. Shamelessly, you allow yourself to rake your eyes over his sharp features. You've never wanted anything more than him. But the thought evaporates upon the sharp sensation of nails against your waistline and hips, upon the pair of fingers pushing between your folds before rubbing against your clit.

Oh? How willingly you part your legs now, Sebastian muses.

"Is this thorough enough, my lady?" he mocks as his fingertips press against the opening of your pussy, your eager hole giving way slightly as he pushes past. He knows what he’s doing to you. He sees it in the crease of your brow, feels it as your hips buck against his touch. "More, Sebastian, I need more tonight." Like the greedy thing you are, you take it upon yourself to play with your breasts, yet the silent plea in your eyes tells your butler all you want is for him to take care of you.

“Oh dear,” he whispers gently, but smiles victoriously as your moans tumble from your trembling lips when two of his fingers push inside you. "Do you give yourself to me? Allow me full reign, hm?"

The idea sounds great, perfect, until you manage to flutter your heavy eyes open and see the devious apparition in front of you. Sebastian’s eyes are more slanted, set ablaze, deep pink hues now replacing his usual red, with lust overflowing past his thick lashes as pointed teeth hide behind his full lips. Giving yourself to a demon doesn’t seem like the best idea, but the fingers stimulating your gummy spot have you nodding regardless. How lucky you are that you need to use words under these circumstances.

“Darling, tell me,” Sebastian urges as his thrusts become harsher, uncaring for the water or your comfort as your tits bounce and your walls clamp so promisingly. “N-no, no, Sebastian! Just, ah—” you falter as you try your best to stay present, to keep control over this demon while he fingerfucks you. “Think, speak, quickly, little Lady,” he further pressures you. What he wouldn’t give to do with your body whatever he wants. “Just-, just tonight! Sebastian—” the way you moan his name makes you a sinner itself, it should send you to all seven hells as the echoes ring inside his mind. “Look after me, tonight,” you finally manage to cry out as your walls pull in desperate need. “Make me feel good,” your final demand.

But instead of sweet release, you feel the disappointing emptiness as he retracts his fingers, leaving you a heaving mess in your bathtub—only now do you notice how cold the water has turned. “You can ask more nicely than that, my dear.” There is little consideration to be spared for the length of your bath once a strong arm wraps around your waist. Sebastian wastes no time in having you seated on his lap, your wet form drenching his clothing as he spreads your legs over his thighs and presses you flush against his chest. “I will look after you until the day you die,” he whispers into your ear, and maybe if the words weren’t so true and less intimidating, you could consider them romantic.

You notice that Sebastian’s form has returned to fully human, with almost tender eyes meeting yours this time around, turning your desire mellow and seasoned with sweetness. “Kiss me, please.”

He follows suit as your lips crash together a moment later, his palms stabilising your back in his hold. “More…” you breathe. Your fingers reach out to guide one of his hands on your back, between the valley of your tits, down your stomach, until you ultimately buck your hips against his, seeking further friction in desperate need. He tightens his hold on your body, tugging gently at your frame as he leans forward to suck on your wet skin, leaving marks in his wake. A small grin tugs at his lips as a soft whimper escapes you. “What’s wrong?” The whispered question makes goosebumps spread over your skin as the chill of his breath battles with the warmth of your bathroom.

“Want to be ruined by you.” The words that fall past your lips seal your fate. “Please, make me feel good, Sebastian.” You sound so desperate, only a fool would resist. “Taint me,” you shamelessly sigh against his ear, “Let me feel you.”

“Taint you…” he murmurs, halting his movements momentarily to witness you grow impatient before one of his arms holds a firm grip around your waist, restricting your movements as you’re now fully pressed against his chest. “How much more does my little Lady want to be tainted?” His free hand ghosts along your puffy lips, your slick making the drag too easy, too appealing to not draw circles into your clit, only pulling back any time he feels you squirm on his lap. Your little cries are music to Sebastian’s ears. It’s so good, too good, the way his fingers move, almost as if he already knows all your weak spots. “Do you wish to experience bliss only I could give you, and ruin yourself for all eternity?” His questions urge you to wrap your arms around him, to hide your face in the gentle embrace of a monster, as though you’re trying to hide from judgement itself upon your immoral fantasies. “I wish for that, Sebastian.”

No further words are needed, not when your lips convey more as they meet Sebastian's. A kiss so fierce, he may steal the air from your lungs and drag you to hell himself. Teeth pull at your bottom lip unapologetically, his tongue meeting with your own, entwining with another until you taste him. Meanwhile, the familiar stretch of his fingers, accompanied by the filthy squelching of your arousal, threatens to overload your senses. The teasing returns as your lips part to allow Sebastian a front row seat to your desperate play, as his thumb presses into your clit. You really yearn for this orgasm, don’t you? Of course, you do, with how tightly you clench around his digits, pulsing as though you’re trying to keep him inside—as if he couldn’t offer you a much better alternative.

“Let go, my dear, you look so beautiful right now, I want to see you come undone for me.” Sebastian encourages, as his fingers expertly curl against your walls, each time pushing past the limits of what you’re able to take. So you let go, finally, allowing your eyes to shut as your fingers fist the fabric of his dress shirt. He’s never received praise in a prayer-like form, the sighing thank-yous tumbling free between your moans, so unlike the feisty thing you pretend to be. You are adorable. “Very good, my darling, just like that.” Sebastian whispers, as the movements slow down until his fingers still inside you, until the heaving of your chest and the trembling of your thighs calms, and you fall into his embrace.

But much to Sebastian's surprise, and despite his predictions about your exhaustion, you return his previous affections. Your lips kiss along his neck as you undo his necktie, fingertips already so eager to free him from the confines of his clothes, it makes Sebastian wonder who the real glutton between you two is. “My Lady,” he innocently halts your advances as he entwines his fingers with your own, kissing each tip while holding eye contact. “Shouldn’t we proceed to your chambers? I don’t wish to bring needless discomfort upon you—you need your strength to handle me.” At that, you feel his tongue drag along your pointer finger before a final kiss is placed on its tip, while a devious smile returns to Sebastian’s lips. If only you wouldn’t look so adorable each time he teases you. But you are already too far gone to keep up pretences, when you can instead allow someone else to finally be your resolve.

So it's only natural for you to command Sebastian once more. “Bring me to my bed,” you mumble while your arms already lace around his neck. He follows.

Yet it catches you by surprise once you’re simply dropped into your bouncy mattress and sea of pillows. However, in the next moment, you find yourself caged underneath Sebastian. Your hands roam free to undo his dress shirt and shrug it off his figure, allowing your nails to drag over his pearly skin until you reach his pants and finally feel what lies hidden behind the dark fabrics.

You seem in control, until firm hands spread your thighs and Sebastian leans in, to nibble along your inner legs, shining in the moonlight as he dives between your thighs to lap at your cunt, his tongue pushing past the tight ring of your entrance before dragging all over your hot and puffy pussy. He then licks and kisses his way up your stomach, sternum, and nipples, while the surprising satisfaction of his cock—hot, hard, and leaking with pre-cum—coats itself with your juices. He grinds against you until you writhe for more, until his hands find rest on the back of your knees so he can press your legs up against your sides, fully opening you to thrust into you without struggle, without restraint, as lust overcomes him.

You shake your head at the stretch of his girth welcoming your pussy, sweet pleas mixed with whiny complaints escaping your lips without much thought. “‘S too much, Sebastian… can’t…” you admit. The chuckle that follows is devious, before a soft sigh in satisfaction follows as tender lips place an adoring kiss to your cheek. “You will,” Sebastian whispers, followed by the command “Now just surrender to me.” His lips seek out your own once more as he picks up a relentless pace.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red streaks that run deep. You can’t look at anything but him—his strong body on top of yours, the visible strain to his muscles while he ruts into you—until you find yourself once more captivated by his eyes. He almost looks at you lovingly, no hungrily. But Sebastian doesn't just want to consume your soul; no, his desires reach beyond basic greed. He wants to own you, to keep you to himself, to reign over you until your best years are over. You can see it clearly while swimming in crimson. But with the delicious drag of his cock inside your walls, you might just let him. Who would have expected you to be tamed this well by getting fucked?

“Please, please, please,” you exhale as your head lolls from side to side, writhing beneath your very own demon. Oh? You’re quick to beg. Quick to turn desperate, so eager to have more of something that should never have been yours. “Sebastian, Sebastian,” you repeat like a mantra as his hands hold your fragile body, digging into your hips to force you into a perfect arch for Sebastian to ravage your skin. He litters kisses over your chest, laps at your nipples, and drags your hips back down to snap against his while he is guided by gluttony.

“Give yourself to me,” you demand with no trace of shame in your bones, finally giving him a task worthy of your beautiful soul. “Stay with me, be mine…”

You almost feel dizzy with how easily Sebastian hoists you up until you’re on all fours, ass perfectly exposed for him to fully sheath his cock inside you, effectively pushing your upper body into your sea of pillows. But in stark contrast to his rather harsh handling of your body, his lips return to press soft kisses along your back. “I am yours if you are mine, my darling.” The words flow like honey before your blood coats Sebastian’s tongue as he breaks the skin, engraving himself on your skin.

Your fingers dig into the cushions, searching for support as you struggle. But the strong arm lacing around your body is all the comfort you will need from now on; his cold touch will soon set you ablaze.

Sebastian is deep inside you, the head of his cock finding your sweet spot almost naturally as he perfectly curves against your velvet walls, hips snapping against your ass with unforeseen fervour. His hands dig into your hips, surely bruising your hip bones for the coming days, but you’ve never felt this good before. Never so full, never as cared for as by the monster that is in love with your soul. You moan his name in delight, making Sebastian proud once you eagerly bounce back into his thrusts.

The husky sounds of pleasure grow clearer as his movements slow down. You feel yourself being further pushed against the mattress, to spread your legs wider and arch deeper, for his penetration to slowly steal your sanity. Who would have expected the pressure of his palm against your stomach would make you clamp around him this much? Moaning, whimpering, pleading as you beg for mercy, trying to tell him it’s too… “Too good, Sebastian, I’m—”

His movements are slow but precise, accentuating the way you desperately clamp around him in an attempt to hold him inside you for eternity. “Yes, fall apart. Let go for me,” Sebastian’s eyes roam over your smaller body beneath him—a sweaty, shaking mess. He will take care of that right after you are done. For now, instead of worrying, his hands grab at your ass almost aggressively, spreading your lower lips even further as he ruts into you.

The high-pitched squeal that escapes your throat when he picks up his pace again serves as a perfect display of your misery. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes as your hips are pushed back to meet Sebastian’s relentless thrusts. “Make me proud, little Lady...” his final demand, with sneaky fingers returning to play with your clit as he hoists you off the bed, holding you tightly against his chest.

You’re fully seated on his cock, entirely engulfed by his embrace and consumed by the demon, just as you bask in the sweet release coursing through your veins. Sebastian allows himself to be lost in your pretty cries and the way your pussy practically drips from both of your orgasms. True to his nature, he watches you like a devil on your shoulder; dark red eyes witnessing your fucked-out expression while the cutest smile illuminates your features.

His lips caress your neck as he whispers, “Do you feel better now?” You hum and let your fingers card through his hair, a tired “I do. Thank you, Sebastian” exchanged from your mouth to his ear.

Swiftly, Sebastian moves to carry you back to your spacious bathtub and lets it refill with warmth. “How about my Lady actually relaxes this time around?”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x reader #black butler x reader #black butler smut #sebastian smut #sebastian michaelis smut #✧ softly spoken #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji sebastian #about.sebastian #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #sebastian michaelis x you #kuroshitsuji fanfiction

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sailoryuns · 4 months ago

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BABY FEVER 🍼

genre. husband!heeseung x wife!reader

warnings. tooth-aching fluff, smut, fingering, eating out, unprotected s*x, impreg kink (!!!), bath time aftercare, i believe that’s it.. wc -> 2.1k

“i’m gonna put a baby in you someday,” your husband casually says while rubbing your stomach.

“in this cute little tummy right here,” he points near your belly button, planting a small kiss to it.

you two were finally alone after heeseung offered to help your parents move and rearrange some of the new furniture that arrived today. you had decided to stay at your family’s beach house over the summer for a change of scenery as you hadn’t been here since you were a teenager, let alone seen your parents in person since last year.

this wasn’t the first time he’s said something like this and it surely won’t be the last, but you burst into a giggle, “quit kidding around, hee.”

he’s always playing around but you can count on one hand how many times he’s actually finished inside you, since you’re not on birth control for health reasons you have to be extra careful to not end up getting pregnant.

there’s been a handful of times where he’s had to run to the store and get you a morning after pill which you’d just hope for the best and leave it up to the universe. you have noticed that heeseung has been more vocal about wanting children lately, so maybe he’s hinting at finally taking the next step.

“and if i told you i wasn’t?” he shifts slightly, eyes flickering up to stare into your gaze. “would you let me paint your walls? give you a baby so i can see my pretty wife bear our children?”

the thought of you carrying his child pops into his head a lot, probably on an hourly basis—he’s more than ready to start a family, but he’s still not sure where you stand 100% on the idea. there was no pressure on his side, but it’s important to make sure you’re both on the same page.

your hands snake up to his chin, cupping it firmly, ready to make the final say once and for all. “yes hee, i’ll let you do anything to me. i trust you, i trust us.”

you’ve never trusted someone as much as you do heeseung, he’s the reason you even get out of bed in the morning, makes you want to push yourself to become a better person. real love is the refusal to never give up on one another, even through the toughest, most ugliest moments.

what you’ve come to realize is that you have all of him and everything he’s promised to provide is all yours; his heart, his last name, his vow to stay by your side forever— through sickness and health. he’s given every single aspect of himself he has to offer, the only thing left that’s missing is a tiny addition that carries both you and heeseung’s DNA. you’re more than curious to see what the outcome will be, harboring no regrets inside. heeseung’s smile grew wider, feeling faint tears rim his eyes at the thought of you putting all your trust in him. you have no idea just how much that means to him.

his head lowers back to your torso, imprinting a trail of kisses, slowly making his way down further and further. your skin feels as if it’s on fire, boiling hot like the scorching summer heat.

he took an ample amount of time to worship your body, leaving wet kisses to your inner thighs, “i’ve wanted this for so long…” he hums against you, insides buzzing with raw passion and desire. “want to finally do this together,” he gently nibbles, a faint bite mark appears to which he repeats on the other side.

“your tits are gonna get even bigger, more plump and so full of milk,” he continues, elated with so much enthusiasm, “that pregnancy glow will make you even more gorgeous.” he wasn’t saying all of this for nothing, he truly cannot wait to experience it all, how your belly will grow each month, all the random/weird food cravings you’ll get, and gracefully handle any sudden mood swings you may have.

you were aching for him, you couldn’t even answer back, your heads reeling with too many thoughts— the thought of him stuffing you to the brim with his cock. you were topless but wanted him to take off the rest, wanted him to fuck you until your body physically shakes and you can’t think of anything but him being buried balls deep into your sousing cunt. you had to savour every last bit of this though, etch every little detail in your brain to replay as a supercut one day; remembering the time you two made love to conceive your first child.

heeseung’s slender digits move skillfully to hook around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down along with your drenched panties. “it’s crazy to me how this is all mine,” he pauses to admire your glistening arousal, scooping it up with his one of his fingers to have a quick taste— saccharine.

“i have the prettiest, sexiest, hottest wife in the whole fucking world.” he’ll never not compliment you, even when you’re old and gray he will always remain the same.

“oh stopp,” you toy with your bottom lip, feeling your cheeks grow hotter and hotter by his constant sweet talk. then you become a pile of mush, simply too absorbed with pleasure as he sunk one of his digits into you, thrusting in and out slowly.

“fuck.. feels s’good- please don’t stop.” you beg for this to never end, bidding all concept of time to vanish in hopes of it lasting infinitely.

“we’re going to create the most beautiful family,” he coos, licking a stripe to your clit, swiping up and down as he continued pumping his fingers in your wetness, “just you and me.”

he only came up for air to say those last few lines, diving right back in to drink up your deliciousness. his tongue adds light pressure to your overly sensitive bud, making you twitch and subconsciously jolt up— his free hand forcibly brings your hips back down, locking you in place so you have nowhere to go— forced to take all that he gives you. paradise. that’s what this is. you’re already close to the edge, the broken moans that escaped your lips are like a soft ballad to his ears, cursing under your breath, panting, crying out his name repeatedly.

“ah! s’close… don’t stop, don’t stop..” you plea so pathetically, voice getting shakier as you reach your climax, his face was soaked, fucking drenched.

he’ll willingly drown, submerge himself into the flood of you, no other place he’d rather be than between these perfect, plush thighs. he drives you into further insanity when his pace drew more rapid, finding the ultimate sweet spot. the lethal combination of his fingers and his tongue working to give you a mind blowing orgasm, all you could do was utter feeble, plaintive cries, latching onto his fluffy hair as you ride out your sudden high that’s stampeding into you full force. your body goes inert, limbs pliant beneath his embrace.

“you did so good for me angel, so proud of you.” heeseung briefly pecks both your thighs, giving it a little smack once he comes back up to face you again.

he quickly discards the rest of his clothes, but everything’s moving in slow motion. his movements are frantic yet it still wasn’t quick enough, he needs to feel you so badly. his manhood throbs against your folds, sliding his shaft between the puffy, saturated lips, making such delightful sounds.

“quit teasin’,” you whine, not in the mood for prolonging this anymore.

he doesn’t say anything, just twisting a smile in response, but he’ll give you exactly what you want. who is he to deny his wife’s orders? so he finally enters you, filling you up little by little, inch by inch; and when he’s fully settled in, your walls cinch around his length immediately.

“never fails to amaze me how i fuck this little pussy on the daily but you’re still so fuckin’ tight… always squeezin’ me babe.” his breath hitched towards the end, already sounding so pussydrunk from the way you suck in the entirety of him.

your legs hook around each side of his waist, keening at the way his cock drives into you, slow but sensual, moving your hips to match his rhythm.

“be a good girl and wait for me. wanna cum together.” he husks, to which you obediently nod at his request.

your jaw slacks open wide from his cock hitting your walls beautifully, each stroke he gave sent you to a further state of delirium. he picks up his speed a little more, his brain empty with no thoughts but this warm, dewy pussy swallowing him up, groaning as you leave scratches along his back. heeseung’s sweet compliments never stop, they only intensify.

‘you’re all mine, and i’m all yours baby’

‘your face looks so pretty when it’s all fucked out’

‘love fucking this perfect little cunt’ and ‘i love you so much, my angel baby.’

it brings you to the verge, strings of shattered moans evade your senses.

your hands greedily come up the sides of his face, pulling him in for a frenzied, yet passionate kiss caging him in just in case he has second thoughts, trapping him with no choice but to cum inside.

“shit— keep going like that and you’re def getting pregnant tonight.” he groans against your lips, this only made you clench around him tighter,

“please- wan’ your cum, put your babies in me..” you want him to paint your walls white, milk him for all he’s worth and some.

his strokes get sloppier as his high approaches, squeezing your thighs as he plunges deeper. it doesn’t take much longer for him to shoot his load inside, planting every bit of his seed as the waves of your second orgasm ripples through you. you’re both heavily panting and gasping for air, when he pulls out you’re left empty again, but at least you were stuffed with his hot cum. he looks down at the mess he’s made, sodden and creamy, picking up some that’s spilled out of your cunt to push back in.

“we can’t let any go to waste, right ?”

“mm… yea.” you bit your lip, still shaking, static electricity flowing through your veins.

he topples over in exhaustion, way too tired to move. well, at least for now— he’ll be able to go again in another hour or so.

“you’re going to be such an amazing mom,” he says while snuggling up in the crook of your neck.

“remember the day i asked you out? i thought you were gonna say no.” that was random… but when it comes to heeseung, he was practically known for saying the most unexpected shit at the oddest times.

“what?” you were so confused, firstly this came out of nowhere, but also why would he ever think that? it was basically love at first sight with each other.

“wasn’t nearly as confident back then, i used to practice in the mirror how i’d do it.” he chuckles at those old memories, in hindsight none of it was necessary because he didn’t say any of the lines he rehearsed. defeated the whole purpose.

“since the day we first met i knew you were the girl i’d spend the rest of eternity with.” his fingers trace down your spine as he spoke, you’re so overfilled with joy that you could cry. you regret absolutely nothing, the only thing you do is all the other men who came before heeseung, all those losers who were wastes of time, but that journey has led you here and this is where you’ll stay for the rest of your life. it still feels like the honeymoon stage with him, a never ending blissful rollercoaster.

he’s a romantic at heart just like you, he still writes occasional love letters to you and is always doing something to bring a smile to your face— whether it be coming home with your favorite candy, buying you flowers, or taking you out on cute, fun dates. every day is like a new surprise, never knowing what you’re gonna get when it comes to your husband’s spontaneity.

you’re both a little sticky, sweaty, and smell of nothing but pure sex. heeseung ends up carrying you all the way to the bathroom, deciding to run a nice, relaxing bath for the two of you. he adds your favorite lavender bubble bath, making the water extra bubbly and soapy for you which he knows you love.

when you’re both in the bathtub, your backs facing him as he uses a loofah to clean you up, embedding gentle kisses to the nape of your neck and shoulders as he does it. he held you for what seemed like forever, just admiring each other’s company while under the water, almost falling asleep right in his arms.

writing smut at 10 am is crazy work 💀😂 but uhhh this is a mess and all over the place idec, i just need husband!hee more than oxygen fr #breedable #heescumdump <3

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #enha smut #enhypen smut #heeseung scenarios #enhypen scenarios #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts

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ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

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Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Six: peel

tw: man handling, corset ripping (sorta), non-con undressing, john price has anger issues

The sun is kinder today than it was yesterday.

Brooding clouds blanket the sky with dynamic shades of grey, blocking out the unforgiving golden rays that would otherwise beat against the back of your neck. A kind zephyr plays with the hem of your dress as you trot along the path behind Soap. The wind toys with his hair—that odd shaped cut that still reminds you of a horse’s rear—and you watch him grumble and huff as his fingers intermittently attempt to smooth the strands down.

Your horse whinnies and huffs beneath you, prompting you to lean forward and give him a few pats on his flank. Though, you suppose this isn’t your horse. Not truly, anyway. He still belongs to that stranger whose corpse now feeds God’s lesser creatures in the midst of some field. You wonder what his name is. Would a man who was capable of diminishing you into nothing but meat even bother naming a creature at all?

“Kyle?” you call.

You hear the dull thud of horse’s hooves behind you temporarily quicken before slowing back to a leisurely gallop. “Yeah?”

“What do you suppose would be a good name for him?” you ask.

“For the horse?”

“Yes. It feels cruel not giving him a name,” you explain. “I keep thinking of him as nothing but the horse in my mind.”

Kyle sits in thought for a moment as he tugs on the collar of his shirt. The first button comes loose, exposing his sternum. Huffing, he looks down at himself and shakes his head before ignoring it.

“Well, I’m always fond of animal names,” he shares.

“Animal names?” you repeat.

“Yeah. Like Bear, here. I reckon yours looks like a Goat to me,” Kyle humors.

“Goat? I’m not calling him Goat, that just feels… cruel.”

He shrugs but is unable to hide the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You could always name him Jester after his previous owner.”

Jaw falling slack, your scoff escapes you before you’re able to smother it. “Now that is especially merciless.”

“Rather funny, if you think about it.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

Stentorian rolling thunder suddenly erupts in the distance, and your horse—who you now cannot stop thinking of as Jester—shivers as he perks his head up. Squinting, you focus your eyes on the horizon as clouds billow in the distance with lightning that cracks across the sky as if it’s trying to illuminate Heaven’s basement. There’s a stark contrast between the viridian earth and the darkness of the sky that makes the world suddenly feel ten times larger. The wind picks up and it’s cool enough to have your skin perking with goosebumps. Even Kyle seems uncomfortable as he adjusts his hat to sit lower on his brow.

“You got a poncho in that carpet bag of yours, Lamb?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t have one… I think Riley packed my coat but…”

“You should put it on,” he warns. “I think we’re about to have a lovely shower.”

The rain begins just as you shoulder your coat over your torso. It begins as a soft drizzle—nothing but small spackles of spit that hit the crown of your head and the back of your hands as you grip the reins. Jester’s skin twitches with each drop that hits him, but he follows along the trail even as it morphs into sloshing mud.

The lowering countryside only darkens as the storm progresses from a summer squall to a full blown tempest. Sheets of deluge pelt the earth and you along with it, and while your coat offers some reprieve at first, it very quickly becomes overwhelmed as every stitch and fibre soaks up the moisture. Now, it sits heavier than sin upon your shoulders and back as you keep your head bowed to protect your eyes from the oncoming precipitation.

Thunder cracks louder than a gun and twice as angry as your father while lightning spears through the sky in the distance. It fractures the clouds like the broken shards of a mirror, and temporarily leaves you blind. Your cracked knuckles revel in the cold water soaking your skin, but you find the joints in your fingers going stiff. You can’t see a single thing through the brume. Mist hangs so thick in the air that you’re not sure if you’re even still above water.

“Aye, pishin' it doon out here!” Soap barks over the clamor. He’s placed a hat on his head to protect his face from the storm, but you can still see the way his hair peeks out, completely soaked.

“How far is Little Wood from here?” Kyle calls out.

John is quiet for a moment as he assesses the road ahead. “Too far to count on.”

“Is there anywhere closer? I can’t see shit out here,” Soap asks.

“We’d sooner freeze to death before making it to any town,” Riley grumbles.

Kyle hisses through his teeth. “Well we can’t camp here! We’re too exposed!”

The next crack of thunder sends your shoulders stiffening before every muscle in your body starts to twitch. Skin tensing and jaw chattering, you try to keep your sniffling to a minimum as the men deliberate your options. You can’t recall a time that the summer has ever felt so frigid before. Yet now, soaked to the bone, you fear your fingers may fall off from your palms as nothing more than stumps. Between the rain cooling your skin, and the wind biting into your flesh, you’re certain you’ll be dead come morning.

“Riley!” John shouts, seemingly deciding on a course of action. “I want you to ride east of here. Soap, you go west. Ten minutes, yeah? Any trees, any structures, you find it and report back.”

Neither men speak a word before they nod and speed off in separate directions. John’s horse trots closer to you, but you still can’t raise your head as the rain continues to pelt you. You attempt to pull your coat closer to your body. It squelches as water rings free from the fabric.

“How are we doing, Lamb?” John asks, his voice a surprisingly sharp susurrus that cuts through the pitter-patter of rain.

“I’m fine,” you say, consonants interrupted by your chattering teeth.

“We’ll get you someplace warm,” he assures. “And we’ll invest in a hat for you eventually…”

Riley and Soap return a few minutes later. While Riley’s search bore no fruit, Soap rambles on about some old abandoned farmland hidden just over the ridge to the left of the trail. Everyone concurs immediately, and you find Jester galloping after the others while Soap leads the way. You pray the horse knows what he’s doing—you’re blindly believing in him while your eyes are useless through the storm.

As you come along the edge of the property, you quickly notice that several old fallen pine trees have made the farmhouse useless, but the vacant barn is still mostly intact. The doors open and close just fine to protect from the algid wind, and while the small hole in the roof would be troublesome to a farmer, Kyle notes how it’ll make perfect ventilation to light a fire inside without inadvertently suffocating everyone. Old straw and rotting hay lines the back wall, but the horses hardly seem to mind as they nuzzle through the dry bedding.

Once everyone is inside, John shuts the doors behind him, darkening the barn. The shadows don’t persist for too long before both him and Riley light a fire from old paneling. Flames burst to life, and it’s only then that you feel you’re able to breathe a sigh of relief through your clacking teeth.

“Alright everyone,” John says as he stands. He removes his hat from his head—his hair is surprisingly dry—and flicks the moisture from the brim before glancing at everyone. “Get warm. Get dry. We’ll rest here until this shit blows over.”

No one argues. Everyone begins removing their layers where they wring them out to dry in some far corner. Riley even removes the mask on his face—that black bandana that always seems to obscure him—and you find yourself gawking at the sight of him. Scarred, crooked nose, and thin lips. He looks more normal than you had anticipated for a man as secretive as him, yet the moment his eyes find you, you decide to concern yourself with your own situation instead.

Numb, trembling fingers have difficulty undoing the buttons on your coat, yet you slowly begin to manage. One by one, they pop free from their facets and you slip it from your shoulders as best as you can manage as it clings to the fabric of your overdress. Once you’re free of it, you wring out the moisture that plagues it before adding it to the makeshift rack that Kyle set up on the left wall.

Still shivering, you slowly begin to waddle towards the fire John tends as he adds larger and larger pieces of wood to feed the flames. They devour it with excited fingers as the blaze opens its maw and swallows it whole, leaving behind sparks that sputter into the air where they dance and die into nothing more than just a memory.

Just as your feet begin to skirt the warmth of the fire, John’s eyes lock onto you. Huffing, he pokes at the logs on the fire with a stick. “Thought I told you to get dry.”

Your brows furrow, you gesture to the blaze. “I’m working on it.”

Shaking his head, John wipes stray moisture off of his face. “Not wearing that. You’ll freeze if you keep that on.”

“But all my other clothes are wet, and I’m not… I’m not going to wear just my chemise,” you argue.

Though John is crouched down, his aura is foreboding. A strange callosity fogs up the azure hue of his eyes as he tilts his head in thought, gaze lowering to the way rainwater drips from the skirt of your dress. Then, he stands, and suddenly he is a towering, immovable beast.

“I’m not asking, sweetheart,” he says sternly.

Though you’re soaked to the bone, your mouth suddenly grows sere. “I-It’s not proper,” you argue. “Being like that in front of men—in front of all of you. My daddy he- he would…”

Words fail you as your father’s old soliloquies invade your mind. Purity—virtue—chastity. You’ve seen the way he looks at the prostitutes who manage to sneak their way into town. Scandalized and bitter, he would always berate them unabashed. Scantily clad whores fucking out of wedlock and using their bodies for sin.

Dress pure. Stay covered.

John’s hands gesture to the dilapidated barn around him. “Daddy isn’t here right now, is he?”

Save yourself for your husband, should one ever marry a tragedy such as yourself.

“I’ll be fine like this,” you insist.

“You’re shivering out of your damn skin,” John retorts as he steps around the fire. “If you stay wet, you’ll be a corpse come morning. Now come, let’s get this off.”

His hand hardly brushes your arm before you’re shouldering him away, and the way he raises his eyebrow and tilts his head down has you regretting your actions. He is not kind to you when he places his hands on you once more. Fingers digging into your waist, he forces your body to spin as he faces you away from him. Flailing arms attempt to reach behind you to push him away, and when that doesn’t work you twist, but he huffs and pulls you against him as he tugs on the lacing of your corset.

“Stop it!” you shriek. “John Price, get your hands off of me!”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself because you’re being a prude,” he growls. As he works on ripping your clothes apart, you feel everything loosen. Your corset, your overdress—all of it. You attempt to hold up your overdress, but John rips it from your hands as he forces it down over your hips; you feel your skin scream as he inadvertently pinches the flesh of your thighs. “I told you I’d get you to Grand Hollow, so like it or not, you’re cargo now, sweetheart.”

Raging against him, you step forward only to trip on the skirt of your dress. Someone chuckles as you fall into soft straw bedding with only your hands to catch you, but you try to push it out of your mind as John follows you, sinking to his knees before you as you twist on your back. He tugs the rest of your over-dress down your legs before tossing it to the side and then working on your shoes and stockings. You don’t even bother to kick or fight against him as he peels you, revealing all the layers you wish he wouldn’t.

Panting, John sits back on his haunches with one of your stockings still in hand. You’re now bare before him, donning nothing but your chemise and pantalettes. You can do nothing but wipe frustrated tears off your cheeks as he stares down at you. “You are the most headache-inducing cargo I’ve ever had the misfortune of traveling with,” he says with a sigh—you can scarcely tell if he’s joking or not.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as more tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes, obscuring your vision as if you’re still in the tempest outside. “If I’m such a nuisance, then why’d you even help me!” you wail. “I know it’s not out of the kindness of your own heart!”

Silence stretches between you and John as the rain continues to beat against the roof of the barn. You wonder how you got here—how you went from shooting a rifle with him this morning, to now screaming at him half naked next to a campfire while his posse watches on with curious eyes and poorly-hidden smirks.

Despite the malice on his tongue, John looks at you softly. His face relaxes as his eyes study you, inspecting every inch of your face until he traverses lower. When he reaches your breasts, you watch as his pupils dilate and swallow the blue of his eyes until there’s nearly nothing left. Self conscious fingers rests on your chest where they brush against the fragile chain of your necklace.

John’s eyes lock onto the shimmering jewelry as the campfire bathes you in amber light. Eyes narrowing, you clutch the cross charm in your palm, hiding it from his view.

The moment it’s out of sight, John huffs before he pushes himself back up to his feet with a grunt. Keeping eye contact, he gathers your shapeless dress from the ground before turning his back and meandering to where your coat is hanging with everyone else’s clothes.

“Garrick, get Lamb a blanket,” he murmurs. “I’m not keen on letting her freeze.”

You spend the evening swaddled in a cotton blanket perched next to the campfire as you try to save your last shred of decency. Even the men shed their layers, opting to lounge in their undergarments to keep their legs covered, yet unabashedly show the bare skin of their chests. Riley has more scars than you can count with thick keloids dotting along his chest and arms, and you notice a fair bit of tattoos that you’d never caught on to before. Kyle falls asleep almost immediately as he lays on his stomach next to the fire like a purring cat, and Soap nods off half naked by Riley’s side.

The only person who keeps their sopping wet clothes on is John. You watch him as he eats, grey shirt clinging to every inch of his torso as if it’s a second skin. When he catches you glaring at him, he greets you with a smile as he continues to chew on his supper.

If you were braver, you’d mutter the word hypocrite under your breath.

Later, you’re lulled to sleep by the raindrops beating against the roof and Riley’s soft snoring from across the campfire. This is perhaps the coziest you’ve felt since you left home, despite your rather unfortunate change in wardrobe (or lack thereof). Nestled in a bed of straw, cocooned in a blanket—you don’t think people often get this type of luxury when traveling. Not that you’d consider having your clothes ripped off something to be envied; even in your slumber you find yourself still upset with John Price.

In your dreams, you’re braver. Stronger. You’ve got a silver tongue that’s as sharp as a knife yet as pretty as a songbird. There’s been countless dreams where you’ve brought your father to his knees instead of the other way around—you do not make him bleed, but you do make him beg.

Yet, with John Price, you find yourself stunned. That piercing blue of his eyes cuts through your dreamscape as if it’s nothing but the soft mud at your feet, and you find yourself tongue tied.

When morning comes, you’re roused by rustling. The relentless downpour must have ceased sometime in the night because it’s eerily silent as your eyes flutter open, still laying on your side. Quiet sunlight peeks through the hole in the roof on the far side of the barn, cutting through the air to illuminate the figure hunched over the fire.

Broad shoulders face you as they curve and rummage through ash, sending sparks flying as more wood is added to feed the dying embers. Thick muscles line straight along a strong spine, and you watch how they contract with movement. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man like this—you don’t think you like the feeling that twists in your stomach at the sight. It burrows, boiling hot into your abdomen before fluttering lower and lower.

The feeling vanishes when your groggy brain makes sense of the discoloration on his skin.

They’re scars, you realize. Long, puffy scars that dissect the muscles of that strong back. They’re akin to a bear’s favorite scratching tree—nothing but angry pink lines that desecrate the skin of another human being. Then, there’s smaller scars. Circular holes that dot along fat scapulas and the back of his neck. You swallow the way your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of such violence, even if it’s now only a memory of scar tissue and keloids.

Each slash was made with unbridled, virulent enjoyment.

As if feeling your gaze, John Price glances over his shoulder to look at you. While the dawn’s glory illuminates him as if he’s an angel, his dull eyes scream that he’s anything but. He is haunted by nameless ghosts, and you’ve just witnessed the apparition for yourself.

“Go back to sleep, little lamb,” he murmurs. His voice is soft as he returns his attention back to the fire before him. “There’s still time to rest.”

Mouth having gone dry, you stare at him for a moment longer before pulling your blanket closer to your chin. “You ought to do the same.”

John scoffs. “You sound like my mum.”

“You look tired.”

“Been dealing with naughty animals,” he goads.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “I don’t mean to… be difficult.”

Sighing, John places one more expertly placed piece of wood onto the fire before his body twists to hide his scars from you. He’s sitting now, fully facing you. Dark curls of sparse hair cover his chest where it trails down through the softness of his stomach, and then lower. With one leg bent and his arm resting on his knee, he offers you the softest smile he can muster.

“You’re not difficult,” he assures. “I’m just not a good man. Not a very patient one, either.”

Humming, you think for a moment. “I just still don’t know if what I did was right… leaving, I mean. I’m scared all the time, and I think it makes me do stupid things.”

“You did the right thing,” he says earnestly. “Leaving isn’t easy, but your life will be better in Grand Hollow, I’ll make sure of it. Trust me, Lamb, your daddy isn’t missing you, and you shouldn’t miss him, either. He’s just missing the control he had over you.”

Bottom lip trembling, you nod at his words before nuzzling further into your makeshift bed. John sighs once more before leaning forward. His fingers brush against the exposed skin of your shoulders as he draws your blanket higher up—he’s warm. Warm like a kiss to the crown of a head.

“Don’t think about it too hard, love,” he shushes.

“Okay,” you whisper.

John leaves you to rest after that. His feet are soft through the barn as he tests the dryness of the clothes hanging up on the left wall, but your brain pushes out the noise. With your eyes closed, you still think of him: the scars on his back, the warmth of his fingers, the comfort of his voice. For a moment, you think you might be going insane as that odd burn returns to plague your stomach, but it’s quickly washed away as the fire crackling next to you lulls you back to sleep.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates

#ilium writing #jp ilia #dwsu #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #female reader

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zarathelonewolf · 7 days ago

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I do not care. I do not care.

My fox cousins lost a mom today and I am so fucking upset about it.

I almost agree with what Mike Tyson said about people being too comfortable with the Internet nowadays because if they hurt someone they won't receive a reaction as painful as it would be in real life.

What the fuck do you mean she deserved to be harassed because she had autism and BPD.

What do you mean OTHER RESCUES bullied her for the way she handled rescuing some foxes from fox farms. She was on your same fucking side dammit!!!

What do you MEAN we can't have NICE THINGS FOR FUCKING ONCE.

I am outraged. This is not just a woman whose life was cut short by mental illness. The ableist and/or arrogant assholes who brought her to this final act are to be held accountable. I hope they are haunted by what they did for the rest of their lives.

Rest in peace Mikayla Raines. You were truly a wonderful soul. You are irreplaceable and will forever be missed. Your actions to rescue animals in danger will never be forgotten and will forever be cherished. May Save a Fox continue its journey and live on in your name❤��

Post Scriptum because I need to be less scared about speaking my mind on the Internet, aka EDIT:

I understand Mikayla may have made mistakes handling foxes/may not have managed to always keep all of them alive. At the same time, there were other rescues and veterinarians and people in general helping her, so what I mean to say is, the situation was clearly monitored. People weren't just letting her hoard animals or be negligent to them willy-nilly.

If there were concerns about her being in the wrong, instead of a fucking snark subreddit and empty criticism on social media, the State could have been warned. But I have seen around people discussing the possibility that fur farms have been involved in this smear campaign so the logic, or abscence of the very same, behind this criticism shebang towards her, seems to get more and more complex by the day. Unfortunately discussion on Reddit is dying down... Though I have read concerning things there. What the fuck KazeoLion...

There were issues with funding, that is something I remember. It was spoken of in the videos. There were also things that had to be done for the sake of the foxes and animals themselves, like registering as a fur farm (because that is the Law in the State, for the cases of people like her who cannot fully convert her facility into a rescue, and because it allowed her to get closer to fur farms and yes, pay them, but also force them into deals that would make them cease to operate in some cases). Also not releasing all foxes, because some were too domesticated or disabled or were illegal to release.

The only accusations I have seen which hold some water are those of her owning exotic pets, like Fawzi or pythons.

Still does not justify the death threats, the snark subreddit, and the fact that the Tumblr users who contributed to the snark subreddit and the misinfo shared on it need to be called out and they are instead trying to cover their asses. Acting like they never contributed at all which is... False. Because they did.

Do not approach things the same way they did however! I have been meaning to say this. No death threats.

This post started as a call out to Reddit snark and her irl friends, but since it's been getting "famous" (I really did not expect people to talk about this issue, but it seems I was wrong) and it's been found out that the snark was started/fed by someone here on Tumblr, the involvement this platform had should not be ignored, that is true. The "random Tumblr blogs" did have an impact. And I am tired of people saying it did not. But this, calling people out? That's what we should focus on.

Not bullying. No death threats. Do not stoop to their level. Do not become the same kind of scum they did. And please uplift your local animal rescues and support Mikayla's family. Focus on this, focus on helping things grow and progress again. If I am not mistaken Save a Fox still accepts donations. I cannot personally donate to anything, but I would like to encourage people to do so if they are able (also check the reblogs of Palestine gofundmes I have on my blog, they need support now more than ever!).

That's it, that's the edit.

Another EDIT BECAUSE I AM GETTING FUCKING PISSED:

STOP THE FUCKING TRANSPHOBIA. THEY WERE ASSHOLES. BEING ASSHOLES IS NOT INTRINSIC WITH BEING TRANS. IF YOU THINK IT IS YOU ARE FUCKING TRANSPHOBIC AND I HATE YOU.

#save a fox #mikayla raines #mental health #animals #harassment #stop harassing people

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starlightxsvt · 6 months ago

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Guilty | sibilance. 3

synopsis ➳ ❝ after months you see Wonwoo at the annual party. lines are crossed, accusations are made and just after, your colleague voices out a crazy proposition.❞

pairing ➳ lawyer fem!reader x rich badboy!wonwoo (ft. Jeonghan)

genre ➳ angst, smut, drama

word count ➳ 4.5k + 900(patreon bonus)

warnings ➳ cursing, toxic ex vibes, slight love triangle, rough sex, unprotected intercourse, dom!wonwoo, big dic!wonwoo, messy makeouts, dirty talk, degradation, cream pie, no aftercare, so much drama.

previous chapter

The weather is misty today. Winter has passed quickly over the past three months, and now spring is starting to ease the chill from the air. Yet, you still feel just as tired, if not more so than before.

A break is an imminent necessity, but you will not be getting any until you wrap up your current case. It is a huge one, viral on social media due to its scandalized nature, but most importantly, your client and his opponent are extremely exhausting. It is like managing toddlers, and you are ever so grateful that Jeonghan is also handling this case with you.

It is a particularly sensitive case because your client is the owner of the biggest textile company in the country and also, Chairman Jeon’s good friend, Mr Kim. Last month, he married his daughter off to another huge chaebol family in the country and the issue began with the catering service for the wedding, owned by Mr Kim’s ex business partner and current rival. The guests all got food poisoning right in the middle of the ceremony and the bride had an allergic reaction, throwing Mr Kim into a fit as he claimed it to be an attempted murder to get revenge on him.

Things have been chaotic since then, keeping you on your toes.

Despite being snowed under your work, a particular rumour floating around the Jeon Corporation caught your attention and has been a constant form of distraction ever since you heard it.

Word on the street says that Chairman Jeon is set to announce a new CEO at the annual party of the company taking place this weekend and apparently, one candidate is his own son and the other is a completely new hire. Six months ago you would have laughed at the rumour of the Chairman’s son, Wonwoo— who you know personally, taking over the company but now, you can say nothing for sure.

It has been nearly three months since you last saw him, partly due to your hectic schedule and also due to the lack of work at Jeon Corporation. Since you have not visited the headquarters recently, you have not been tortured by the sight of that infuriating man but you have to admit that thoughts of Wonwoo have been plaguing your mind. They pop up randomly in your head and you hate your mind for betraying you like that.

You are supposed to move on. And it was not even an actual relationship so why are you still thinking about that stupid, spoiled brat?

“Your drink.” Jeonghan places your coffee on your desk, snapping you out of your reverie. You turn from the window in front of which you were standing and walk back to your desk, taking a sip of your latte with a grateful smile. “I still cannot believe you got my order exactly right on the first try. Thank you.”

It is truly insane. A month ago one day, as your work started piling up, you stopped taking your usual coffee breaks and instead asked Jeonghan to grab you something, forgetting to mention how you like your coffee. Unbelievably, when you tried what he brought for you, you were astounded to the point of silence.

Turns out you and his sister have very similar tastes so he got lucky with that.

“You are most welcome.” Jeonghan smiles, throwing a cheeky wink at you. “Just knock on my door if you need anything.”

“Will do.” You pause for a moment. Just as he is about to close the door behind him, you call, “Jeonghan, you’re attending the party this weekend, right?”

The man steps back into your office. “Yes. Actually, I am glad that you brought it up.”

You wait, looking at him expectantly.

“Would you be my date for the evening?”

You smile. “Gladly.” Everyone you know already has a plus one so you were dreading showing up alone. As always, Jeonghan has come to the rescue.

“I am honoured.” Jeonghan smiles, his eyes crinkling beautifully. “I was worried Mr. Pi would ask me to be his plus one. I mean it was either going to be you or me.”

You snort a burst of laughter. “I know, right? But he will not get off our backs when he figures out we’re coming together. You know he has that weird obsession of pairing us together like a couple.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan’s face grows serious.“That isn’t a bad idea, you know.”

A soft sigh falls from your lips.

“You should move on from him. It has been long enough, don’t you think?”

“I am over him,” you reply, almost defensively. “Listen, if there is one thing I have learned, it is, not to date where you work.”

Jeonghan chuckles softly. “Office romance is quite fun you know.”

You arch a teasing brow. “Someone seems experienced.’’ The man smiles secretively before stepping closer to the door, pulling it open with one hand. “Just giving you a heads up, you haven’t seen me in a suit yet.”

“I see you in a suit every day, Jeonghan.” You sass.

The man rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. A proper three piece suit. A tuxedo. Prepare to have your mind blown.” He shakes his palms for dramatic effect.

You sip your coffee. “Mhm, stop pestering me now. I have so much work to do.”

The man flashes a smile before pulling the door closed.

You still have a grin lingering on your lips as you open your files and start skimming through them.

—

On Saturday night, Jeonghan is in front of your house sharply at 7.

You rush to the door as you receive his text, putting on your heels and scrambling to get your purse and phone.

You are going to be late but hey, at least you will be fashionably late.

Buying this emerald green dress impulsively six months ago was not a bad idea, you now realize, because you love how the dress fits you. With your hair and makeup done, it is almost a completely new you and you may have taken too long admiring yourself in the mirror.

Jeonghan’s jaw goes slack as he watches you step out of your apartment building. His expression makes you laugh and you cannot help but shake your head at his overexaggeration.

“Wow,” his eyes move up and down as he steps closer to you. “Fucking hell. You look absolutely stunning.”

Shyly you avoid his gaze. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.” You gesture towards him, waving your hand up and down his height. The coffee-coloured three piece suit is truly a fabulous compliment to his brushed back blond hair.

The man shakes his head. “You were the one who should have given me a heads up. I have the prettiest woman in the party as my date.”

This man sure has a way with his words.

“I can see why you are such a successful lawyer, Mr. Yoon.” You saunter past him. “Let’s get going now. We’re already late.”

“Yes madam,” he rushes past you to hold open the car door, making you smile.

—

The venue is crowded when you arrive.

It takes no more than five minutes for your colleagues to spot the two of you and five more minutes later, you are graced by Mr. Pi’s holy presence. He gushes over the two of you and when Jeonghan escapes the conversation by saying he’ll get drinks for you, Mr. Pi corners you.

“Are you sure you are not dating our dear Mr. Yoon?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “No, Mr. Pi. Come on now, let it be.”

He hums and then nods thoughtfully, pushing his sunglasses up his nose bridge.

Who knows why he is wearing that indoors and at night.

“I understand,” the man rubs his chin slowly and seriously as if he is pondering the most critical issue of life. “Our chairman’s handsome son left a lasting impression on you.”

Even before you realise it, a soft, almost wistful sigh escapes your lips. “Can we not talk about him? At least not here?”

Mr. Pi looks at you from above his sunglasses, “This is the place to talk about him. Tonight people will talk about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Wait, what?

“Mr. Pi—” You reach out for him but he spots an old colleague and walks over to him, ignoring you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Right then, Jeonghan is back with two flutes of champagne in his hands. You snatch one from him and immediately gulp it down. Then, you narrow your eyes at him. “Nice job, jerk. Leaving me alone with him.”

The man cheekily shrugs his shoulder, unable to fight off the knowing smile blooming on his lips. Grinning at you, he sips his champagne.

With a shake of your head, you go around the room accompanied by Jeonghan, mingling with old and new faces. The stage is being set up for the upcoming speeches by the top executives of the company. The closing speech will, of course, be Chairman Jeon’s. The grand hall room increasingly grows crowded as you finish two more glasses of champagne while socialising, everyone eager to hear the big announcement.

“I think you have drunk enough for now.” Jeonghan blocks your hand when you reach for the fourth glass as a waiter passes by. You pout, “Oh come on. Socialising takes a lot of energy. I cannot talk to these boring people about boring things on a Saturday night while being sober.”

A scoff of amusement comes from him and he opens his mouth to say something but his vision shifts, focusing on something behind you. His expression changes and you turn your head back to see what he is looking at.

Not what. Who.

Wonwoo stands a few feet behind you, looking unfairly stunning. The contrast of his black blazer against his crisp white shirt is stunning and with sharp features and his hair brushed back, he is a scene stealer.

He, however, seems not to attract attention as he remains on the edge of the hall room, near where the lights are dimmer. As your eyes meet his and the raging beat of your heart loudens, he holds your gaze before taking quick steps towards you.

Within a couple of seconds, he is right in front of you.

“We need to talk. Privately.” He says, his posture slightly rigid, and he looks around the room as if making sure no one sees him.

You don’t have much time to process his words as he ushers you away by tugging your wrist. You look back at Jeonghan almost helplessly and the man gives you an understanding nod. “I’ll be here, don’t worry.”

You are quickly rushed out of the grand room and pulled down a hallway at the end of which there are a few private rooms. Wonwoo pulls you inside and shuts the door behind you.

The room is messy and if you are not wrong, it seems to be his dressing room.

In your mind, an equation starts to form as you take everything in.

Finally, your eyes land on Wonwoo after scouring the room and you find him looking at you attentively.

There is a hard lump in your throat that you have to swallow.

“Hi.” The man says quietly, almost shyly.

“It has been a while,” you murmur as a greeting, trying to keep your voice as flat as possible.

“Way too long,” he replies, his voice much quieter as he enunciates each word slowly and carefully. You wonder if it is your mind playing tricks on you or if the depth of his eyes just increased tenfold.

Whatever, you cannot let yourself get caught up in this again. The tension in the air is thickening by the second.

“Why did you bring me here?” You avoid his eyes, your gaze settling on the skin peeking from underneath his shirt as the two buttons are undone.

“Right.” Wonwoo blinks as if breaking out of a trance. “I wanted to tell you something. I mean…it will be announced later but I thought you out of all people should hear it from me first.”

The way he speaks, his eyes skirting around, his hands fidgety tells you what the news is. You voice it out for him. “You are taking over the company?”

You see his pupils widen. After a moment's pause, he says. “Yes.”

Hm. He is dressed too fancy to attend as a mere employee anyway.

You are proud of him for sure. He has grown as a person since you last saw him. But at the same time, there is dread in the pit of your stomach. With him now taking over the company, there is no escaping him. You will be seeing him, whether you like it or not.

“Congratulations.” You hum. “I appreciate you informing me separately but it wasn’t necessary. We don’t have any personal contact. I am just another employee, Jeon…Chairman Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo looks at you with surprise and you wonder if it is your icy demeanour that makes him frown.

“Still…I have to thank you. You had a huge part to play in getting me here.”

Oh really?

For a brief moment, your mind flashes back to earlier this year when you were seeing each other. The late night talks about his future with the company. You find yourself wondering how he managed to earn his father’s trust so quickly because you remember him telling you his father would never let him take over. Due to his unrefined behaviors, of course. But it seems that he has grown out of them which is good for him.

“I better get going. Jeonghan is probably waiting for me.” You step towards the door but Wonwoo grabs your upper arm, pulling you back with a gentle tug.

“Do you not miss me? Not one bit?” His voice is so thick with emotion that it feels foreign to you. Like his, your throat closes up, and you hate how a few words from him make tears burn in the back of your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. Just let—”

“It does! There is something else I have to tell you.”

“I don’t care!” You yell, jerking yourself free from his hold. “You can not act all familiar after so long. We are not like that anymore! Why can’t you understand?”

In the semi darkness of the room, you see his eyes glimmer.

The very next moment he is kissing you.

And you are kissing him back.

Just for tonight, you tell yourself as your resolve slips. You are going to give in just tonight. Just one last time. You truly don’t have it in you to turn away from him now, from his warmth, touch, and embrace when this is what you have been longing for the past few months.

Maneuvering your body with his, he pins you against the wall, trapping you with ease. And tonight, there is nowhere you want to escape to.

"I missed you." He whispers like a mantra, devouring your mouth like a starved man. He trails kisses down your jaw as his hands remove your straps from your shoulders, revealing the entire expanse of your shoulder and neck for him to play with. In between heated kisses, his hands explore your breasts, playing with your soft mounds over the fabric of your dress.

No words are exchanged between the two of you.

Your hands move over his chest, feeling the firm muscles under your fingertips before pushing his blazer off his shoulders. The lines are hazy just like your mind as you cannot decipher who pulls whom closer. In the dense cloud of lust, you can only fathom the opening of the buttons of his shirt and his warm body pressing next to yours.

“I need you,” Wonwoo murmurs against your lips. One of his hands moves expertly down your thigh before he grips the back of your knee and places it around his waist. You pull him even closer, smashing your lips against his, hot and heavy as your tongue meets his.

Briefly, you hear the groan of his zipper being undone. You lift your dress, standing at an angle that helps him comfortably slide between your legs, his unrelenting grip on the back of your thigh.

"Put your hands over my shoulders and hold tight. " His whisper is a command as he positions himself at your entrance, pushing your panties to a side.

And before you can blink, he's inside you. The stretch of the intrusion makes you jolt and let out a loud, breathy groan of pleasure that makes you squeeze his shoulders and bite your lip.

This. This is exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you needed.

You feel every delicious inch of him, moving in and out of you, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. making your body shake from the onslaught of pleasure. Your hold on his shoulders tightens as little squeaks escape from your lips and your legs wrap themselves around his body tighter when you start to taste your release.

"Gosh, you're so tight. I missed you.” He grunts with each thrust. “Letting me fuck you against a wall, in my dressing room. Tell me, did you miss this? Did you miss me like I missed you?" Wonwoo demands, a hand reaching up to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Look at me and tell me you did not miss me,” he pants, a snarl etched in his tone as he removes his hand from your face and grips the back of your throat, pulling your face closer to his.

"W-Wonwoo," you try to moan. Wonwoo keeps watching you with a darkened gaze, his pace matching the fierceness in his gaze as he continues to drill into you. He shakes after giving you a particular hard thrust, that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back. “You are still that dirty girl. You're still my filthy slut."

You hate how much you missed his filthy mouth.

"P-please," you pant, breathless trying to grind your clit against his pelvis. One touch on your clit and you're gonna come. "Please, let me come, Wonwoo."

The man smiles, and it almost appears cruel and cocky as he grabs your wrists in one hand and pins them hard on the wall. He increases his pace, thrusting in and out of you so hard that your back starts aching. However, you are way beyond complaining because the next moment his release is filling you up, triggering yours. Your cry is loud and unceremonious as you cling to him and ride out your high, feeling your release in the deepest fibres of your being

A short moment later, Wonwoo’s grip on you loosens. With a slightly hazy mind, you watch you grab some tissues, cleaning up you and him. With the haze of lust disappearing gradually, you find your head clearing up. The silence in the air now feels suffocating and you find yourself playing a guessing game.

Why is he so quiet? What is he thinking?

As Wonwoo buttons up his shirt and fixes his jacket, his gaze meets yours and you see his eyes fall on your lips. Pressing your fingertips around your lips, you realise your lipstick is smudged. Quietly, he hands you a tissue paper and you walk to the mirror, using it to dab the lipstick stain around your lips.

In the mirror, you watch Wonwoo watching you. All throughout, another strange, suffocating silence persists. As you toss the tissue in the bin, the silence is finally broken by his quiet, somber voice, “My father arranged a marriage for me.”

Your body grows ice cold.

For one long, horrible moment, you stop breathing, thinking, praying that you heard wrong.

“What are you…what— what do you mean?”

“He wants me to marry a chaebol heiress— Yuna Lee, sometime next year.”

Suddenly, you are scrambling to get your thoughts in order. It is always like this with him. One moment it is quiet and the next you are hit by a full speed freight train.

“You should not have done that. We should not have done that. Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Well, I tried—”

Suddenly, your blood is boiling and you are seeing red.

“What was this, a goodbye fuck?” You hiss, fixing the straps of your dress.

“What?” Wonwoo scoffs. “No! I have been thinking about you for months! Trying to figure out how to approach you—

“With all that thinking you sure did one good job!” You find yourself turning towards the door.

“Oh come on! I…I missed you. You drive me crazy. You know damn well my brain stops working when you are near me.”

“No, Wonwoo. I don’t.” You grit.

The passion, the emotion that you have been holding back all these months comes out in tidal waves. “In case you don’t remember, during our relationship, you were always so nonchalant, so detached. You did not give a shit about me. Not really because I was a fuck buddy to you. A girl getting paid to get your ass out of trouble every time and also someone available for a quick bang!”

Wonwoo’s demeanour shifts. You visibly see him get defensive. “Well, it's not like you professed your love to me! You did not ever hint that you were in love with me.”

Your mouth falls open at the absurdity of his words.

“You… you did not treat me with the minimum respect. You would disappear for weeks, Wonwoo, completely out of the radar only to show up when you needed my help.” You pause. “Never mind, it is pointless to argue with you.” You turn, reaching for the handle of the door.

Wonwoo stops you by roughly tugging on your arm. His grip is iron solid. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to leave without hearing my piece!”

You place a hand on his and use it to remove his fingers from your skin. “The time for speaking was months ago. Not now in a dressing room, minutes before you are about to be announced the new CEO.”

“I finally have my life together!”

“Do you?” You take a step closer to him with a challenge. “Do you really?”

Wonwoo remains silent, his eyes sparkling with thundering storms and clouds of emotions.

You continue. “I was your comfort zone. You used me when you needed me and then forgot about me when you were not in the mood. It would not have mattered if I professed undying love for you. You did not love me, not in the right way. You did not and you don’t right now. This is you trying to find comfort in something familiar…me.”

A twisted, unironical smile appears on his lips. “Oh, so you are what now, a therapist?”

You remain silent, watching him without blinking.

The man shakes his head, scoffing. “If you only knew how I truly felt…” His fingers card through his hair as he takes a step back. “You have no idea how I feel. In fact, right now, I don’t think you even know how you feel!”

Your lips part, ready to interject, but he goes on. “You are right. This was a mistake. I should not have told you about my dad’s plans of getting me married. No, because you would have liked to just straight up receive my wedding invite, huh? I should have just married her and showed up with her one day and introduced you as a special friend, no? Would you have liked that? Would that be the right thing to do?”

Each syllable coming out of his mouth burns like acid. Tears blur your vision but you force yourself not to cry in front of him.

“I fucking hate you.” You breathe, uttering each world slowly. “I hope you have a miserable life with her, you asshole. Never show me your face again.” Gathering your dress with one hand, you march towards the door, not stopping when he calls out your name or tries to hold onto you.

He can go to hell.

Your steps are quick as you pick up pace, running down the long hallway of the private rooms and then down a common corridor before you come to the large foyer in front of the elevator. With your skirt fisted in your hands, you dash for it but a voice makes you pause.

You turn back to find Jeonghan calling your name and jogging after you. As he comes to a stop in front of you, his eyes go up and down the length of your body, taking notice of your dishevelled appearance.

“Are you okay?” His fingers gently touch your arm but you don’t let him pull you closer.

You need to leave.

“I need to go home.” You whisper, voice wobbly.

“Why are you running?” He steps closer to you, a desperation in his voice that matches the look in your eyes. “That bastard keeps hurting you and you keep running from him. Go and fucking… I don’t know— cause a scene! Drag him on stage and smack him once or twice.”

You are not in the mood for this.

“Stop it, Jeonghan,” you grunt turning away but the man steps in front of you.

“No! I won’t stop when I see you repeatedly suffering because of him.”

If you were not so overcome with emotions, you would roll your eyes.

“Just let me go.” You hiss, stepping past the man blocking your way. As you cross him, however, a harsh grip on your wrist forces you to stop.

“Go out with me,” Jeonghan says in the calmest manner, the hold of his fingers on your wrist steadfast like his voice.

You almost make a move to yank yourself free but the diction of those words stops you in your tracks as if a thunderbolt has just struck you. You slowly turn your head back to meet Jeonghan’s eyes, wondering if he really said that. The strength you had moments ago to break your hand free suddenly dissipates as you meet his piercing gaze.

Along with your heartbeat, time stops.

You forget to blink, feeling the subtle tightening of his grip on you. As the silence hangs longer in the air and the depth of his words settles into the empty grand hall and every crevice of your tattered heart, you find yourself motionless, thoughtless, speechless.

“Date me. You know I’ll treat you better.” He states, again.

You feel like you are hyperventilating. A shaky breath comes from your lips and after that, each breath is a struggle.

Suddenly, everything is too much.

Too much light in this hall. Too much noise in the background.

Too much sincerity in his words.

For a moment, you genuinely find yourself considering.

And as your gaze strays from your colleague for the smallest moment, you notice Wonwoo standing a few meters behind him.

The look in his eyes is inexplicable but you feel every emotion radiating off him and you immediately know he heard everything. He doesn’t move, however. As the silence persists, his gaze darkens, watching you like a hawk, almost as if he is waiting to hear your verdict.

At the same time, the longer you look, his gaze appears vulnerable, betrayed.

And you feel…guilty.

Want to know how Jeonghan actually got the reader's order right? Read the special scene here!

series masterliest

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt imagines #seventeen #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo #svt fanfic #svt smut #seventeen angst #kpop imagines #jeon wonwoo #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader

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sweetpascal · 11 months ago

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

gif by: @pedropcl

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: your thoughts are now consumed by joel. you cannot function properly without him nearby.

warnings: MINORS DNI. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], dumbification, toxic attachments, joel is SO fucking manipulative, aftercare (very late), cuddle fingeriinnggg, slow making out, finger sucking, pussy pronouns, joel "just the tip" miller, bare pussy grinding, spit as lube cause he's a nasty man, joel is also a scary man

wc: 6.7k

notes: my depraved baddies, we're getting closer and closer to the enddddd. also, virginity is a social construct. i understand that someone can still "lose their virginity" from fingering, BUT THIS IS FICTION. IGNORE IT. AND ENJOY IT. PLEASE. 🥺🥺🥺

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There has never been a time in your life when you felt truly alone. You always had your close group of friends, with whom you spent time nearly every other day, having a great time. You also had social media to keep you busy during times of boredom. Regretting not making the most of those two makes you feel foolish. That's all you'll ever be; a foolish little girl. Joel was right. You're nothing without him. You need him. You need his guidance to navigate the harsh realities of the world. Losing your only two means of escape is forcing you to face revelations you're not ready for. You're not prepared for adulthood, not just yet. At this moment, you feel utterly alone.

Minutes pass as you shuffle on your feet behind Joel, gazing at the back of his head while he sits at the kitchen table. He was considerate enough to leave your door unlocked, granting you the liberty to wander around the house, yet ensuring the front and back doors remained closed and locked. "Can't trust you going out alone anymore," he had said to you earlier today. His reasoning was fair. You had acted recklessly, and now you're facing the consequences. You don't hold Joel responsible. You never did blame him for his decisions. If only you had heeded his advice from the beginning. Be a good girl.

"Uh, Daddy?" You softly call out to him, your voice meek and quiet like a little mouse. Joel barely turns his head, motioning with his finger for you to come closer. With shaky steps, you stand between his spread legs.

Joel's gaze lifts to meet yours, his hair disheveled from constantly running his fingers through it. A sense of satisfaction swells in his chest as he notices your nervousness around him. You struggle to maintain eye contact and can't help but flinch whenever his hand moves abruptly.

"You should be getting down on your knees when you address Daddy, babydoll. It's the only polite thing to do, don't you think?" He tuts at you softly, raising his brows expectantly. He just realized that he hasn't provided his girl with a list of rules to follow. Considering your innocent and unaware nature, he thinks that assigning such a significant task might be too overwhelming for you to handle all at once.

With wide eyes, you scramble to your knees in front of him, your hands placed on the ground between your knees. The positioning accidentally causes the straps of your dress to slide down your shoulders, just barely exposing your chest to Joel's predatory eyes.

"Attagirl," he murmurs, the backs of his knuckles lovingly stroking your jaw, his thumb just barely pressing into one of the finger shaped bruises. "Now, what did you want to ask me, sweetheart?"

The intensity of Joel's gaze makes the question die on your lips. His fingers continue to stroke your jaw gently, their warmth coaxing you into a state of calm. The anxieties that once troubled you are fading away, leaving only the desire to please him, to heed his words, to fulfill his wishes. Joel. Joel. Joel.

He can see your eyes go unfocused the more he keeps his hand connected to your bruised skin. A sick smirk plays on his lips. Seeing you immediately submit to him so easily excites him. To have you down on your knees before him, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted. There's a part of him that wonders why he loves this, this power he holds. Joel is a depraved man, one that feeds into that sick monster hidden beneath him. He never acted this way with your mom. He never even spanks her, let alone gets her to submit in such a way that makes him feel like a god.

The second your body started developing into the womanly figure you have now is what had caught his attention early on. Maybe it's because you looked so much like her in her teenage years, or because you're just so fucking innocent and pure. Either way, his attraction for your mom had long since faded away, and you were the next best thing he wanted to take and destroy.

"Sweetheart," he calls out, gently shaking your shoulder to recapture your attention. "Is there something you want to tell me?" His voice, coupled with the gesture, brings you back to the moment.

With a frantic blink, you refocus your eyes on Joel. He nods, signaling for you to speak, the slight twitch in his jaw betraying his growing impatience. As you shuffle on your knees, your backside presses into the heel of your feet. You attempt to conceal your grimace, yet the intense pain swiftly radiates. Tears gather in your eyes as the burning sensation and fuzziness become overpowering.

Sniffling softly, you say, "I-I was just w-wondering if... if you can, um, make my behind feel a little better?" The question was shy, and you didn't even want to look at him, for you think he's going to reject you.

Joel's grin broadens at the sight of the soft, dejected expression on your face, and as your shoulders slump and your head hangs low, you brace for his scolding for having asked him to do such a task. You deserve to feel the pain of last night's punishment. You don't deserve Joel's gentle hands massaging the sore spots, kissing and whispering sweet praises in your ears. You weren't a good girl, and you don't blame him for not treating you as such.

His voice was so sweet and cooing. "Yeah? You want Daddy to make the pain go away?" His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, your little pink tip just barely poking out to rub across the pad.

The saltiness of his skin has your mouth salivating. You suck his thumb further between your lip, jerking your head to a weak nod as you hum affirmatively. Joel hums as well, only deep in thought as he weighs his options. He could keep on with his heinous punishments, forcing you to plead for him to stop--it's such a dangerous game to play. Alternatively, he might be kind today and pamper you, lavishing you with affection that you feel you don't deserve, which could further endear him to your impressionable mind. As he looks into your eyes and sees the way you're gazing up at him, his thumb firmly tucked between those lips and your silky little tongue swirling around the tip, he chooses the latter.

"Get your butt upstairs and lie on your tummy while Daddy grabs a few things, okay, babydoll?"

The soft breeze of your ceiling fan emitted a chill throughout your body, albeit a pleasant one. Goosebumps erupted on your skin, almost soothing the heat radiating from your bruised backside. Lying on your stomach, you wait patiently, straining your ears for any sign of Joel, but silence is all that meets you. The anticipation of his arrival has you swallowing hard against your pillow. It's as if he's moving quietly and slowly on purpose, prolonging the moment to heighten your sense of anticipation.

This was how he played his sick games. He was the cat, and you were the mouse. He loves being the predator and you, his prey. And for some obscene reason, you love it too.

A small creak at the doorway made you tense for a moment, but you relaxed upon seeing Joel standing there, his large frame filling the doorway. In his hands were two things: a white cloth rag of some kind and a bottle of lotion. You shiver delightfully, knowing that in just a few minutes he was going to be taking care of you in the way you needed.

"Ain't you a peach," he grins and steps inside, using his foot to fully shut the door, officially trapping the both of you inside. Joel's grin widens when he sees just how marked your backside is, the welts swollen and skin broken, large bruises that are all types of hues of blue and purple. "Hmm... Now, that's what I like to see."

You don't respond, opting to stay silent as you curiously observe him from over your shoulder. He pats your hip with the back of his hand, wordlessly telling you to scoot over. Once you do so, Joel unbuttons his shirt, completely removing the offending clothing from his body and tossing it aside. His chest and stomach were now fully exposed.

In the light, with a clear mind, you finally have the chance to take in every inch of Joel. His skin was so tan, it almost blended between caramel and bronze. Dots of hair speckled his chest, a mix of dark brown and gray. Then, there's hair around his belly button before it trails down to disappear under the waistband of his jeans, the hair getting darker and thicker. His skin is a canvas of freckles and old scars, each one a silent story that tempts your curiosity. Questions about their origins linger on the tip of your tongue, yet they remain unasked, perhaps to be explored if alone time with him arises once more.

"Your head is in the clouds again, babydoll," Joel teases, his voice holding a light-heartedness to it, immediately easing your nerves. At the sound of your quiet giggle that you muffle in your pillow, he gets comfortable between your thighs, gently coaxing them to spread wider to accommodate his large size. "There we go," he whispers under his breath.

The hot rag in his hand is gently laid over your backside, the fabric big enough to cover both cheeks. The sudden feeling made you flinch and whine unpleasantly, one foot gently kicking to try to distract you from the pain. Joel hushes you softly, one of his hands sweetly rubbing up and down the back of your thighs.

"Just relax, babydoll," his voice was so soft and comforting. "Let Daddy take care of your pretty self." He applies light pressure to the hot rag, further soothing the sensitive, enflamed skin. Another whisper comes from above, a little less pained and a lot more relieved. "That feel good, baby?"

You let out a drowsy hum as you succumb to the sensation. There was a liquid heat pooling all around your lower half as the pain from your backside gradually melts into a dull ache. Joel glances down between your thighs, your pussy lips spreading open, labia and clit on display for him to see. There's a shine covering your untouched hole. The pearly slick, slowly, slowly, slowly sliding out of your hole and trailing down to cover your clit. There's a small flutter as your pussy clenches, just briefly. An ache in Joel's jaw and his mouth salivating reminds him that now is not the time to act on his impulse. As much as he wants to bury his face between those thighs, he knows he has to make sure that you're going to be working properly before he has his fun again.

When the rag gets cold, he removes it from your backside. The cold air bites into your skin, the sudden shock taking you by surprise. The sensation of pin pricks across your exposed skin causes you to squirm. Joel is aware that it's painful once more. Your soft whimpers of discomfort prompt a quiet chuckle from him.

He grabs the bottle of lotions and squirts a generous amount into the palm of his hand. "Just a second, babydoll," he tells you softly, coaxing you to lay flat on your tummy again. You wait for a few seconds, and then you feel it.

There's a gooey warmth that covers both of your cheeks. It makes your eyes flutter shut. Then, Joel's hands start to massage your tender flesh, gently rubbing and smoothing out the aches. The pressure was so good, and the weight of his hands on your ass allowed your brain to slowly turn into mush.

He continues massaging your cheeks, even going as far as to "accidentally" swipe his thumb against your puckered hole. The action caused you to jolt and gasp, the sound of his laughter making your cheeks warm. When the ache was now dulled into a pleasant numbness, you stretched out your limbs like a little kitty in the sunlight, a soft hum vibrating into the pillow. You look over your shoulder and watch as Joel wipes his hands clean with the damp rag he had used. Seeing his bare chest has you biting down on your bottom lip.

"Uh... Daddy?" There was hesitation in the way you spoke. The idea occurred to you the second Joel had removed his shirt. The sight of your stepdad in your bedroom, clad in just his jeans, touching you in such a way was exciting. Warmth pooled in your stomach, a certain liquid heat that was hard to ignore.

Joel gazes at you with expectation, his eyebrows lifted as he catches the hesitant expression on your face. It seems like you're eager to ask him something, yet you're apprehensive about his reaction. Before this ambiguous relationship began, you'd always rush over to him, words spilling out rapidly to pose questions without a second thought. He was charmed by it. Your eyes sparkled with innocent curiosity, hanging on his every word, which he thought was incredibly cute. However, given his recent behavior, you've become more cautious about your inquiries, wanting to ensure they're significant.

"Can... Can we kiss, like how we did last time?"

The surprise on his face made you giggle. He wasn't expecting you to ask for something like that, let alone think of the naughty stuff he's already done with you at the beginning of the week. Joel clears his throat and trails his eyes over your nude backside, zeroing in on your bare pussy, almost screaming for him to touch and lick up. When he looks back up at you from where you lay against the pillow, your bottom lip tucked underneath your top teeth and your messy hair, he finds himself nodding.

When he props himself up against your pillows, you immediately clamber onto his chest, one leg resting between his legs while your other is propped up and slung over his hip. With your head resting comfortably on his shoulder, Joel rests one arm behind your back, curling it to cup your jaw from behind. Your heart is facing as you get close to his face. Eyes half-lidded and lips parted, you're the one that makes the first move.

When your lips meet, it's like stars bursting behind your eyelids. So soft, so inviting. Joel's lips are as addictive as an expensive drug. You crave their touch every second, every minute, every day.

His tongue enters your mouth and you're quick to eagerly suck it between your lips. He groans huskily and pulls his tongue away before messily kissing you. The hand that rests on your hip slowly trails down and around the back of your thigh before the tips of his fingers rest along your labia. Then, he starts rubbing up and down, further spreading the wetness that leaks out of your empty pussy. He touches everywhere. Your swollen clit, puffy labia, bare pussy lips, and your fluttering hole are left untouched.

You're nibbling on his bottom lip, eagerly shoving your tongue sloppily into his tongue. Joel groans at the taste of your mixed saliva. To have you in his arms like this, naked and so very vulnerable, it was driving him fucking insane. Your hips are shifting and bucking towards his hand, but each time his fingers rub deeper, he pulls them away. When he also pulls his lips from yours, you chase them with a desperate whimper.

"Patience, babydoll," he mutters, glancing down at the pleasure-drunk expression on your face. "Let Daddy have some fun." Joel continues smearing your wetness all over. The messy sounds of your slick being rubbed with his long, thick fingers has you blushing fiercely with embarrassment--embarrassed at the fact that he's touching you like this, probably in the same way he's touched your mom in the past. It's so dirty and naughty.

Your hand gently pets at his scruffy jaw, lashes fluttering so prettily like a butterfly's wings. Lips parted, you slowly and gently kissed him again. This kiss, however, was a lot different than the others. There was a tenderness that Joel got lost in. It made his heart skip a beat, like actually skip a beat. You're so sure he can feel your heart racing as well. Languid kissing was now your favorite thing with him. The soft, wet smacking sounds of your lips connecting and disconnecting has you whimpering delicately.

Joel's fingers now focus on your fluttering pussy hole, slick dripping out non-stop, further adding to the stickiness on his finger pads. The hand holding your jaw from behind your head tightens to pull you away.

"I'm goin' to put a finger inside, okay, baby? Daddy's goin' to make that little pussy feel so good," he whispers needily against your wet lips. When you protest, he shushes you and kisses your lips repeatedly. "Be quiet while Daddy has his fun."

Very carefully, he pushes his middle finger inside your pussy, shushing you again when you let out a squeak and try to pull your hips away. Joel's fingers follow your movements, only deepening each time you try to move. He slowly fucks his fingers inside your pussy, the tight, wet heat making his dick thicken in his jeans. The sloppy sounds of your slick, coupled with your weak whimpers has him growling lowly. He retracts his finger and goes back to rubbing your pussy in up-and-down movements again, only this time he's paying more attention to your needy clit.

"Tha' feel good, honey?" He murmurs sweetly against your lips, kissing you once, twice, three times before glancing down at you. With a shaky nod, you tell him in that pretty voice yes, yes, feels s'good. "Mhm."

Your hips are barely grinding against his thick bulge as if they have a mind of their own. There's a neediness in the way you mouth at his neck, your tongue and teeth mapping every inch that you can reach. With your focus now on something else, Joel takes this opportunity to move his hand from your weeping cunt and bring it between your bodies to slyly unbutton and unzip his jeans. He slowly pulls them down, leaning his head back down to capture your lips in another syrupy slow kiss. His cock springs out of his jeans and rests above the waistband of his boxers.

You're not paying attention to what he's doing--so focused on his lips, his warm skin, his chest, his tongue, his scent, just Joel. Daddy. Daddy.

With your attention on his mouth, Joel blindly grips the base of his cock and brings the tip to your opening. He glides the engorged tip up and around your fluttering hole, tapping it lewdly and crudely against it as wet smacking sounds filling the air. Your eyes fly open, and your body seizes as you grab onto his burly forearm.

"Daddy, no! I'm not ready yet!" You practically cry out, eyes wide and frazzled as you frantically shake your head. You've seen the size of Joel. The man is packing. He's fucking massive. And you know you're not ready to take all of him. You can't imagine the pain of being split open by something so long and so thick.

Joel hushes you sweetly, removing his hand from his thick base to tenderly grab a hold of your hip again. "Jus' grind tha' pussy on Daddy for a little bit, baby. Ssshh... you can do tha' for me, right?" His hips start to slowly grind his dick between your pussy lips, your labia spreading open and your clit catching his frenulum. "You wanna be a good girl for me, right? You wanna be punished again, babydoll? Hm? That what you want?"

Feeble whimpers leave your swollen lips at the thought of Joel further punishing you, beating your backside black and blue again. Resting back onto his chest, you shyly wiggle your hips until the position is comfortable enough for you to grind your hips forward and back. Joel grins and cups the back of your thigh to lift it higher on his waist. The feeling of his cock, now covered in your wetness and gliding easily between your pussy lips, has you feeling so tingly and warm down there. It was a new sensation. Getting to feel the thick vein that stretches from the base all the way to his tip was surreal.

"It... It feels... good," you whisper against his scruffy jaw, lips parted next to his chin to let out heavy breaths as the warmth spreads. "I-I like it."

Joel's deep chuckle reached your ears. "Daddy knows best, babydoll," he tells you, his hips grinding a little harder, so his tip nudges the hood of your clit to fully expose the sensitive nerve. "Daddy knows what's good for you, honey." His hand tightens on your jaw, fingers squeezing your cheeks to part your lips. "You're jus' my little girl that don't know any better, ain't you? Hm? Are you my dumb babygirl?"

The kiss he gives you is filthy. Your hushed whines are muffled as his tongue fights against yours. The liquid heat burns bigger and stronger, spreading all throughout your lower half, down to the tips of your toes and back up again. Your cunt is fluttering wildly. You feel the same sensation as when Joel ate your pussy. He knows it's going to happen. He can tell in the way your whines get more high-pitched and your hips stutter against his wet cock.

When he pulls away, you chase after him again, one hand desperately grabbing the back of his neck to pull him back down. No, no, no, please, don't go, don't leave me. Eyes filled with tears, you weakly beg him, "Da-Daddy, p-please don't... d-don't stop."

As Joel pulls away, the panic clear as day in your eyes has his heart thudding faster. Oh, you poor girl. So desperate to keep him close by. It was an adorable sight, seeing your eyes filled with thick tears as you beg him, over and over again to please, don't leave me. But he hushes you softly, gripping your jaw tighter and pressing into the bruises. His free hand comes up to his lips where he spits a thick wad of saliva in his palm. His hand goes back down between your bodies to coat his cock in his spit, some of it dripping down his heavy balls.

"Can I put the tip inside your little pussy, baby?" Joel breathlessly asks against your swollen lips, pressing a tender kiss before repeating the question again. "Can Daddy put the tip inside? Hm?"

He grinds his cock up and down your pussy again, the added slickness of his spit creating this disgusting, sopping noise. You start protesting as he notches his thick tip at your wet entrance. Grabbing at his forearm once again, you try your best to keep him from pushing it inside.

Shaking your head frantically, you tell him again, weakly, "I-I'm not ready yet, Daddy!"

Joel shuts you up by biting down roughly on your bottom lip, breaking the skin and licking away the blood that dots the pink flesh. With your blood on his tongue, that only fuels the animalistic need within him to fucking split you open.

"It's just the tip, babydoll," he tells you again, his voice deep, gravelly, wrecked. "You can take it, honey. C'mon. You can... take it." Ignoring your crying protests, he slowly pushed his hips up to slide his tip inside your pussy for the first time. He groans heavily against your mouth, sucking your bloody bottom lip between his own and licking the redness away. "Fuuuuuck."

The burn was nearly excruciating. Having something so thick and wide inside your virgin pussy has your breath catching in your throat. To know that Joel wants to put every single inch of himself deep inside is terrifying. I'm not ready. I'm not ready. No, no, no.

"See? It ain't so bad, huh?" Joel's grin is sick and wide as he feels your hole fluttering wildly around his tip. He gently starts to push his hips in and out, slowly fucking his tip into your cunt. "She's jus' suckin' me right in, ain't she? Fuuuck, baby. She's jus' drivin' me fuckin' crazy." His accent was getting gradually thicker and almost incoherent. His heart is racing over a hundred beats per minute under your shaky palm.

You're trying to breathe in and out deeply to not focus on the uncomfortable pain. The stretch was slowly setting to a numbness. The tip of Joel's cock keeps pressing against a spot beneath your pubic bone, giving you the feeling of tingles but more intense. Joel's smile gets much wider when your body relaxes against his chest, your nose pressing into his neck beneath his ear to let out hushed moans that you're trying so hard to keep silent.

"There we go," he hums deeply. "She jus' needed time to get used to Daddy's dick, hm?" The way he's talking to you and referencing your pussy has you melting into a puddle. It's all so intense and overwhelming--you never want it to end. "Jus' you wait 'til Daddy gets so deep inside of her." He accentuated the word by nudging just an inch deeper inside your pussy, forcing a choked groan from your drooling lips.

Joel's hand is still curled around the base, just below his tip. He can feel the coil tightening in the pit of his stomach as his balls draw tighter. He's panting heavily against your forehead, the slick noises just adding to the liquid heat spreading along his large body. Fuck, he was going to cum just like this, his tip lodged inside his stepdaughter's tight, virgin cunt. A sick, old man he is--defiling his wife's daughter and enjoying the depravity. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Fuck," Joel growls, his nostrils flaring, jaw clenching, and teeth baring as he grips his base tightly and yanks his hips away. He slots his cock between your ass cheeks and strokes his hand up and down hastily, your bruised cheeks jiggling from his fist meeting the flesh repeatedly. The sight has his toes curling. The drowsy whimper you release in his ear and the fucking scent of your pussy that he can smell all the way up from where he lay has his cock throbbing. "Daddy's cummin', babydoll. Oh, f-fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck."

His cum shoots out from between your ass cheeks, thick ropes of white painting your bruises and cute little back dimples, even going so far to reach up your spine and almost landing in your hair. He just won't stop cumming. It's going and going. Joel's entire body is trembling as he jerks the tip, forcing out the last few dribbles of his cum onto your puckered hole.

You felt his spend splattering across your skin, and you wiggle impatiently in his hold, wishing you could've seen it with your own eyes if you weren't so tucked against his neck. Joel lets out a heavy, shaky breath. His beautifully hooked nose brushes against yours, coaxing you to lift your head.

He brings his cum-covered fingers to your lips, the tips rubbing lovingly across the bottom. Maintaining eye contact, you part them and let Joel slowly push his fingers into your mouth. The taste of his cum on your tongue was unlike anything you've ever tasted. It was a masculine, heavy taste, which perfectly accentuates who Joel Miller is. Your eyes flutter shut as you eagerly bring in a third finger, your lips stretched wide around his thick fingers.

"Attagirl," Joel huskily mumbles. "Jus' like that."

You and Joel have fallen into a steady routine. There's an unspoken agreement of where your place is. He can shoot you a specific look and you immediately know what he's trying to say. Joel's an easy man to read, at least to you. There have been many instances where you overheard him and your mom arguing about him being so closed off. But with you, he's so natural at showing you multiple sides of him. You don't mind, really.

As evening falls, Joel is at the stove preparing dinner for both of you. Although it's not your preferred meal, his word is final--what he says, goes. You've learned not to refuse what he's offered so far. Standing near him, you observe his actions with keen interest. Joel often glances back to ensure you're there. You trail behind him, following his every step without question, much like a lost puppy would. Even when he steps into the bathroom, you find yourself waiting right outside the door for him to emerge. It was a weird feeling; a fear you never knew you had within you when it came to your stepdad. You feel as though if he leaves for just a split second, he's never going to come back. And you'll be here lost, alone.

"Dinner time, sweetheart," Joel declares, snapping you out of your daydream. As you dash to the table, he halts you with a hand on your arm. "Whoa, slow down there, speed racer." Chagrined by his gentle chiding, you offer a subdued apology.

As Joel takes a seat at the table, you attempt to follow suit, but he loudly tuts and extends a hand to halt you. Grasping your plate, he sets it down beside his feet. His expression leaves no space for objections. Similar to the previous day, you are left without utensils to eat with. Wordlessly, you get down onto your knees and wait for him to tell you when it's okay to start eating. Joel starts eating his meal pathetically slowly. He's doing it on purpose--you know he's doing it on purpose. He loves making you squirm. He loves to draw it out longer than it's supposed to--just an added perk to his game.

When your stomach starts grumbling loudly, you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. Joel barely casts you a glance. He keeps eating his meal, even going as far as to hum loudly as the savoring flavors explode on his tongue. When he has just a few bites left, knowing that your food is now cold, he looks down and gives you a single nod.

Immediately, you bow your head to your plate and begin to hastily mop up your meal. It's untidy and careless, yet it doesn't bother you. You're uncertain when Joel might surprise you again, preventing or restricting your eating. As you take each bite, you watch for a sign from him to cease. Looking up, you notice his focus is solely on his own meal, methodically chewing. Sensing your gaze, he commands without glancing your way, "Eat your damn food before I take it away." With a strained whimper, you comply.

Silence stretches through the air as you both eat. You refrain from mentioning to Joel that your stomach is cramping from eating too quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the meal he prepared with care. When he looks at you, he notices the gradual slowing of your jaw as you struggle to swallow. It's becoming apparent to him that feeding you just once a day is taking its toll.

Suddenly, a series of knocks sounded at the door—five urgent, frantic raps. Panic gripped you, shoulders tightening and jaw clenching as you exchanged a fearful glance with Joel. His brows knitted together, and he quickly wiped his hands and mouth with the napkin.

He points down at you, "You stay right here, and don't make a peep. Understood?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before forcefully pushing back his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden floor. You wince and watch anxiously as he stomps over to the door and peers through the peephole.

Joel's jaw clenches upon recognizing the visitor. Muttering, "Son of a bitch," he pulls the door open, one hand gripping the doorknob while the other rests atop the doorframe. There on the porch stands your lanky guy friend, the one you visited the lake with. "Can I help you?" he asks, his tone sharp and unwelcoming.

Your friend shifts nervously, taken aback by Joel answering the door. He softly clears his throat, attempting to peer over Joel's shoulder, but Joel moves nearer to the doorway, narrowing the gap on his side.

"I was wondering if your stepdaughter is home?" he stammers, avoiding eye contact with Joel. "She hasn't been answering her phone, and our friends are really worried," he adds, while Joel feels a sense of satisfaction from the fear he perceives in the boy's demeanor.

"She's grounded," Joel says, his tone getting colder when the boy tries, yet again, to look over his shoulder. "Now, I suggest you turn your ass around and get the fuck off my porch."

Your friend's eyes widen, and he takes a staggered step back at Joel's violently dark tone. "The fuck is your problem, man?!"

From within the house, the volume of your friend's voice escalates, almost to a shout at Joel. You observe Joel's hand clench around the doorknob, and it's surprising that it remains intact under his grasp.

He can't understand what overtakes him; perhaps it's knowing you're mere feet away, or maybe it's because the kid has witnessed things about you he disapproves of. However, the only thing Joel is aware of is the white-hot rage engulfing him. You watch as he storms out and slams the door with such force that the vibration is felt on the ground where you kneel.

Outside, Joel's hands clench the collar of the boy's shirt, likely tearing the fabric with his sheer strength. He thrusts him against the porch post, almost splintering the wood and the boy's skull with the impact. Joel leans in, his shoulders rising and falling, emitting a low growl from his throat. The boy's whimpers are muffled as Joel's knuckles press into his windpipe.

"Listen to me, and you listen good," Joel leans in close, his voice low and dangerous. "If you so much as talk to her again, look at her, touch her, or even think about her, I'll have you wishin' you were never born." Your friend's toes are barely skimming the ground as Joel has him literally lifted up against the wooden post. His hands are frantically grabbing Joel's forearms, feet weakly kicking. The man doesn't budge--he only presses harder. "If you come back to my house to bother my girl one more time, I will fuckin' kill you." He gravely whispers the last threat and releases his hands, watching as your friend pathetically falls to the ground onto his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air as he grabs his throat. "Now, go on. Get."

Joel remains on the porch, his fists clenched at his sides, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. His gaze is fixed on your friend as he dashes away and fumbles into his meager Honda Civic. Even after the vehicle disappears down the road, Joel is motionless. The fury within him, burning in his chest and gut, has not subsided; it has only grown stronger.

Within the house, silence prevails. A single loud thump disrupts the quiet, followed by stillness. You pause for a moment, the sound of your own heartbeat the only noise. The urge to call out to Joel is strong, but the words are stuck in your throat. Anxiety creeps back into your chest, gnawing at your heart and corroding your veins. Did Joel leave? Where is he? Where did he go? Please, come back. Daddy, don't leave. Where are you? Please, please, come back. Don't leave me here alone. They're going to get me. Please. Oh, God. He's gone. He's never coming back.

White noise fills the cracks in Joel's mind. He sits on the porch swing hunched over, both elbows resting on his knees as he twiddles with his gold wedding band. His knee bounces up and down in quick succession. Someone had gotten too close to his home--to his special girl. The lanky fucking kid. Joel's hands clench into tight fists, just begging to slam them into your friend's face over and over until he's a mangled, unrecognizable pile of flesh and broken bones.

He's uncertain of the time he's spent out here; it might have been minutes or perhaps an hour. Time mattered little to him. His thoughts were consumed by you, his little girl. In his eyes, no one could match what he has provided for you, and he believes you would agree. Joel is confident in his knowledge, convinced that you belong to him. He sees himself as your destined protector, even if his hands were metaphorically elongated like a beast with monstrous nails ready to strike.

You belonged to Joel Miller, whether you knew it or not.

As the streetlights flicker on, he realizes it's time to head back inside. The neighborhood is winding down for the evening. A sudden memory jolts Joel; he had left you alone in the house. Leaping from his seat, he flings the door open, then slams it shut, securing both the bottom and top locks. Turning towards the kitchen, he freezes upon spotting you—a mere few feet away, curled up in a fetal position on the floor, whimpering and trembling.

"Babydoll," Joel tuts and carefully walks around you to bend down, tenderly pushing your hair from your face and catching sight of your tear-filled eyes. "Did I tell you to move? Hm?"

The sound of his voice was like a lifeline to your heart—his words were the breath you needed, and you felt as if you were at death's door. In a rush, you stood and threw your arms around his shoulders, almost toppling both of you to the ground. Tears streamed down your face, and sobs of distress were just barely restrained the moment his body pressed against yours.

Crying out to him, "Y-You left me! You l-left me a-alone! I thought... I thought you weren't coming back! The bad people were gonna t-take me away from you!" Trying to bury yourself deeper in his neck, you silently begged for Joel to take you somewhere, far away from here.

It was naive to believe you could manage alone. At your current age, it's only a matter of time before your mom discusses the prospect of moving out. Yet now, the mere idea of being apart from Joel triggers a wave of panic. How can you explain to your mom that without him, you feel incomplete? She might find it appalling. It wasn't difficult to keep your relationship with Joel a secret, but the threat of being pushed out of the house makes you wonder if it's worth it.

"I-I don't think I can do this anymore, Joel," you wept, sniffling and breathing heavily in his shoulder, fingers desperately grabbing at the fabric of his t-shirt to keep him close when he shifts an inch or two away. "I can't... I can't be away from you. I can't th-think, I can't function, I can't breathe w-without you, Daddy!"

There it was, the answer he's been waiting for. Hook, line, sinker. Joel has damaged you so severely to where you need to be around him or else you'll go crazy. This is what he was waiting for, fucking aching for. So young, so innocent, so pure. Now tainted by his predatory hands, bruised and marked by his false promises and sick fantasies. This is a dream come true. His wedding band almost burns through your skin as you feel the cold metal on your bare shoulder.

"Oh, my sweet babydoll," he coos in your ear, that honeyed tone of his easing your worries.

If only you understood his thoughts about you, his desires from you. Convincing your mind that this relationship is normal, making you believe that this is true love—you poor, poor girl.

Joel continues, his voice gradually turning dark as his hands tighten around your shoulders, nails digging crescents into your delicate skin, "This is just the beginning."

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xxsabitoxx · 1 year ago

Text

xxSabitoxx is now archived.

After some heavy consideration over the last few months, I have come to the conclusion that I am going to be archiving xxSabitoxx.

I have poured nearly three years of my life into this blog. I have seen several friends come and go. And most of all, I have been blessed with such a large following that I truly don’t deserve.

However, my love for writing has slowly diminished, just as my love for this site has. I am not going to go into boring detail as I do not want it to seem like I am searching for pity.

But, before I go, it has been brought to my attention that many are displeased with the way I handled a particular anon ask last week. I wanted to take a second to apologize, as I agree that I could have answered that question much more level-headed and maturely. It has since been deleted because I did not like the way I was spoken to, and I especially disliked the way I spoke to them.

I could have responded to that ask in several ways and I chose to be rude, and for that I am sorry.

With that being said, I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs on Tumblr over the last decade under a few other usernames and aliases. I’ve witnessed the steady dumpster-fire decline of Tumblr etiquette and people's genuine disregard for others on here.

I am simply one person with a life outside of the stories I choose to write. I have several priorities that will always outweigh my hobbies.

After all this time, I can say I am finally done. I’m over it. There is no point in putting effort into a hobby I no longer have a passion for. So I am closing this chapter today to start fresh tomorrow.

I cannot begin to thank you all enough for choosing to read my work and support my blog. Whether you’ve been with me since the start or just followed me today, you supported me in some way and I’m forever thankful for that.

I’m deeply sorry I couldn’t do more, and I am especially sorry for those who were waiting on stories that will never be written. I hope you can forgive me but I understand if you can’t.

It has been both a wonderful and terrible journey as xxSabitoxx / May. And as much as I would love to be done with this and simply click the “delete blog” button in my settings – I know many of you enjoy the stories I’ve posted and quite frankly I have grown attached to this blog as well.

So, it shall remain an archive that may one day revive itself but please do not hold your breath. If the day comes that I decide it’s time to delete this blog, I will take the time to move as much of my work as I can over to ao3 before doing so.

So, until we meet again, take care.

- May

1K notes · View notes

lilliankoo · 1 month ago

Text

play you like a game, boy • jeon jungkook.

chapter 5/8

genre: antagonist tribe leader jk x princess reader

word count: 5.8k

synopsis: the blessed leader of forest tribe "lav" jeon jungkook wants you and will do anything and everything to make you his wife. he’s blessed by the goddess, even a leaf cannot move without his permission but he worships the ground you walk on. now, there are two paths presented to you; marry him & return his love or refuse and watch him conquer your father's kingdom. power is like an evil yet a tempting apple and now its in your hands. are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt him? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

warnings: body horror, intense physical pain, mystical rituals, emotional distress, loss of control, manipulation, supernatural occurrences. power dynamics, confusion, subtle hypnosis, made up goddess, rituals. unsettling mysticism / occult elements.

Masterlist.

——————

The sun filters gently through the curtains, casting soft, golden light across the room. You’ve been awake for a while now, your mind lingering in a haze of thoughts. The scent of the candles you lit the night before still lingers in the air, swirling around you like a lingering dream. You lie on your back, Jungkook peacefully resting beside you. His presence is calm, serene, almost as if he belongs here, in this moment.

You turn your head, eyes studying his features as if trying to memorize the way he looks in this quiet morning light. Jungkook is undoubtedly the most striking man you have ever laid eyes on. Back home, people whispered of him as a monster; rumors of a cruel tribe leader whose heart mirrored the darkness of the beasts he led. Yet here he is, beside you, his face bathed in the soft light, looking nothing like the savage they described. He looks almost angelic. His long hair cascades across his face, a few strands brushing against his cheeks, and his lips part slightly with each breath. The rhythm of his slumber is peaceful, so far removed from the dangerous, unpredictable image others painted of him.

Usually, Jungkook sleeps in his own chamber, but last night, he chose to sleep beside you. As you watch him, the weight of reality settles over you. You realize just how much you’ve been swept away by this strange, intense connection. Growing up, love was a foreign concept; something you never truly experienced. Your parents, always consumed by their duties to the kingdom, never had time for affection. Their love, if it even existed, was reserved for their crown, not for you. So when Jungkook shows you even the smallest ounce of tenderness, you can’t help but bask in it, even if it feels like a fleeting dream. Lost in thought, you don’t notice that Jungkook’s eyes have opened. He stares at you, his gaze heavy with unspoken words. He murmurs something in his language, soft and unfamiliar, before leaning in to gently kiss your eyelids, your nose then finally your lips.

You smile into the kiss, your heart fluttering, and you sit up, breaking the kiss. Looking around the room, you suddenly realize that there are no clothes on the table where the servants usually leave your attire for the day. You frown, wondering where they’ve gone. Jungkook sits beside you, following your gaze, his eyes briefly narrowing in thought.

"Did they forget?" you murmur, more to yourself than to him, though his presence is enough to make your words feel less like a question and more like an unspoken curiosity.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. He simply looks at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile, Jungkook's gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, his smile softening, as if he’s savoring the quiet, peaceful start to the day. Then, he shifts slightly, his voice breaking the silence with a low murmur.

“They won’t bother us today,” he says, his tone calm but firm. "I told them not to disturb us. No interruptions."

His words are clear; there’s an unspoken promise in them. It’s rare for him to assert such control, especially over his tribe, but today feels different. His eyes never leave you as he continues, “The plan for today is simple. We’ll visit the Goddess Devti temple in the morning. After that, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

You feel a flicker of surprise. Free? After everything, this kind of freedom is something you’ve never experienced before. Jungkook notices the surprise in your expression, and his lips twitch upward, as if he finds amusement in your reaction.

“You can wear whatever you wish,” he adds, a subtle warmth in his voice. “But I’ve chosen something for you.”

He stands up, his movements graceful and purposeful. From across the room, he retrieves a carefully folded garment and approaches you. As he unfurls it, you take in the intricate details of the outfit; a delicate blend of two worlds. It’s a gown, but not just any gown. The bodice is sleek and fitted, the fabric rich with embroidery that mirrors the patterns and textures of his tribe’s clothing. Yet the gown itself has the elegance of a French design, with flowing silk and delicate lace that falls in soft, luxurious folds.

It’s beautiful. Unique. You can tell he put thought into it, something beyond a mere request or expectation.

Jungkook watches you carefully, studying your face as you take in the outfit. “I thought…” His voice trails off for a moment, then he continues, “It would blend your heritage with mine. A little bit of both.”

You pause, feeling a wave of emotion settle over you. He’s slowly trying to reconcile the world you come from with the world he knows. It’s subtle, but there’s a shift in him, a quiet willingness to accept the pieces of your past, even if they’re so different from his own. He’s not just asking you to be a part of his world; he’s slowly bringing you into his own, while trying to understand yours.

“I love it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the weight of his gesture settling in your chest.

Jungkook’s eyes soften, a rare tenderness creeping into his expression. He nods, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good. Then let’s get ready,” he says, as if the moment is already slipping away, and the day ahead is waiting.

But there’s something about the way he speaks, the way he looks at you, that makes you feel like this day is more than just another step in a long journey. It feels like a small but significant promise; one where both of you can find a balance between the worlds you’ve known and the one you’re beginning to create together.

—---------------------

The women move around you in a flurry of activity, their hands working with practiced ease. One of them carefully combs through your hair, Another woman adjusts the delicate lace of the gown, the fabric pooling at your feet like a river of silk. You catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror, your reflection is almost unrecognizable. The gown, a blend of delicate French elegance and the bold, intricate embroidery of Jungkook's tribe, transforms you into something between two worlds. You feel beautiful, but more importantly, you feel like a part of something bigger, something that bridges the gap between where you’ve come from and where you’re going.

As you finish adjusting, the sound of footsteps echoes in the hall, and Jungkook enters the room. His presence fills the space, the energy shifting as soon as he appears. He’s wearing clothing of his own, though his clothing is far more luxurious than what the others in his tribe wear. The fabric of his tunic is deep, rich crimson, adorned with gold thread that catches the light with every movement. His cloak, made of dark, velvety material, billows behind him like a storm cloud, embroidered with symbols of his people. His dark hair is pulled back, revealing the sharpness of his jawline, the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, neither of you says anything.

The servants begin to gather around, preparing to follow as you both leave. Jungkook gives a brief nod to the women who helped you prepare, then turns to you, his gaze softening slightly.

"We’ll walk to the temple," he says, voice low, his tone carrying a weight of reverence. "There will be no breakfast today. The Goddess Devti will eat first."

You blink in confusion but nod in silence, unsure of the meaning behind his words. The customs here are still unfamiliar, but you trust him, and so you follow without question.

The air is cool and crisp as you step outside, the sunlight filtering through the trees that line the path. Jungkook walks beside you, his stride confident, his presence as imposing as ever, yet there’s an undercurrent of quiet reverence in the way he moves. The servants trail behind you, keeping a respectful distance.

As you walk through the forest, the world around you feels suspended in time. The sounds of nature are muted, as though the forest itself is holding its breath. The path curves gently, leading you past the lake you had noticed the previous day, the same lake where you’d seen the mysterious woman. The water is still, its surface reflecting the soft light of the morning. But there’s no sign of the woman now, only the quiet ripples that shimmer in the early light.

The forest grows denser, the trees thickening until they open up to a clearing. And there, standing tall and majestic, is the temple. At first, it seems to emerge from the very earth itself, its stone walls weathered but strong, ancient yet still full of life. It blends with the surroundings, as if part of the land, its design organic and natural. Vines wrap around the pillars, and the roof is crowned with delicate carvings of animals and celestial symbols, all intertwined.

The temple is breathtaking. A sense of calm washes over you as you approach, the air thick with the scent of incense rising in tendrils, its smoke curling in the breeze. The large wooden doors are adorned with intricate carvings of the goddess and gods unknown to you.

Inside, the grand hall opens up to a vast space, the stone floor polished by centuries of reverent footsteps. At the center of the room stands a statue, tall and imposing, draped in a green veil. The veil shimmers softly, like it’s alive with its own energy, covering the statue’s face as if to preserve its mystery. The statue of Devti is clad in the traditional clothing of Jungkook’s tribe, woven, intricate, and adorned with symbols of nature and life. She holds a bowl in her hands, which you assume will soon be filled with offerings.

Around the base of the statue, a collection of gifts has been laid out; brightly colored fabrics, baskets filled with fruit, and ornate plates stacked with rich foods. The offerings seem endless, covering the floor in a display of abundance. The incense burns steadily, a quiet hum filling the air, and the soft murmur of voices echoes from the servants, who have quietly begun to stand in reverence.

Jungkook stops beside you, his expression focused, almost solemn. He doesn’t speak, but his gaze lingers on the statue, a deep reverence in his eyes.

“This is where we offer our respect,” he says, finally breaking the silence. “Devti is the protector of this land. She watches over us all, guiding us.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. There’s something deeply sacred about this place, and though you don’t fully understand the significance, you feel the pull of it, a connection you can’t explain. The air seems heavier here, charged with the reverence that Jungkook and his people hold for this place and you can’t help but feel, just for a moment, as if you, too, are a part of it.

Jungkook watches you with a quiet intensity, his eyes softening as they trace the way your gaze lingers on the statue. There’s something about it that draws you in, something mysterious, almost magnetic. The statue, veiled in green, exudes an ancient power, and the more you look at her, the more you feel an unspoken pull. But you’re so absorbed in the figure before you that you don’t notice Jungkook’s movements until you feel his hand slip gently into yours.

He squeezes your hand softly, as if trying to ground you. You turn to him, meeting his eyes. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze, something between affection and a quiet urgency.

“Come,” he murmurs, and before you can ask him what he means, he gently places a hand on your waist, guiding you to the front of the statue. His touch is firm, yet tender, as if he’s steering you with purpose. The servants shift aside to make way, their movements reverent, and Jungkook steps behind you, his presence comforting but also commanding.

He glances at one of the servants, giving a subtle nod. The servant steps forward, holding a small, ornate box, its surface gleaming in the soft light. Jungkook’s gaze never leaves you as he takes the box from the servant and hands it to you.

You take a breath, your fingers trembling slightly, and open it. Inside, the box is filled with delicate jewelry, gems of every shade, glimmering with an ethereal glow. There are necklaces, rings, and bracelets, each one intricately crafted with fine detailing that speaks of both skill and reverence.

Jungkook’s voice breaks the silence, steady and calm, but with an undertone of something deeper. “For centuries, only the women of the tribe leaders have worshiped Devti,” he explains. “She only accepts gifts from the women. The tradition is still relevant, even now. Men were not allowed near the temple, but that changed when the forest found its mother.”

You don’t have the chance to voice your question before Jungkook continues, his hand still resting on your waist, steadying you.

“You,” he says, his voice soft but filled with meaning. “You are the one i chose, today we will see if she chooses you too.”

The words don’t make sense, and the confusion must be obvious on your face, because Jungkook seems to sense it. He takes a deep breath, and his gaze softens further as he seems to be gathering his thoughts.

“My mother…” he begins, his voice almost distant as if recalling something painful, “my mother, being the wife of the leader/ my father, worked with devti and took care of us. However, without any trace, she abandoned us when I was 14. Since then, the forest has been without a mother, no one has made offerings to Devti. The tribe believed we had been cursed because the goddess had abandoned us.”

His eyes darken, but he presses on, his voice low and steady. “When I turned 20, the tribe members told me I had to marry so that the forest could have a mother again. But I couldn’t; I wouldn’t. I waited. I waited because I knew it wasn’t the right time, i was proven right because then i found you”

You blink, your breath catching in your throat. “Me?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if saying the words aloud would make it all real.

Jungkook nods, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. "I waited for the day I could marry you. I knew the moment I saw you... that you were the one. The forest's mother. Devti would not accept just anyone, but when I saw you, I knew you were the one destined to lead, to restore balance."

Your mind races, trying to make sense of his words. You were the one chosen? The forest’s mother? It feels like a heavy weight settling in your chest, a responsibility you’re not sure you’re ready for.

“I... don’t understand,” you say quietly, the jewelry box still resting in your hands. You glance down at the beautiful gems and delicate pieces, feeling the weight of them both physically and symbolically.

Jungkook’s eyes soften, a flicker of something almost like regret passing through them. “It’s not easy, I know,” he says, his voice full of tenderness. “But goddess has always worked with women. The tribe needs a mother. The forest needs you. And the time has come. You are the one who can give life to both.”

His words wash over you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, trying to process everything he’s just said. The weight of it feels suffocating.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the enormity of his confession. “What if I’m not ready? What if I can’t…”

But Jungkook interrupts you gently, his hand brushing against your cheek, his touch grounding you in the moment. “You are ready,” he says, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “I’ve been waiting for you. And now, the goddess is waiting too.”

—--------------------

Jungkook’s hand rests gently on your shoulder, guiding you with a calm, steady pressure. His eyes never leave you, his voice soft but insistent.

“Lift the veil,” he says quietly, almost reverently.

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers trembling as you reach up to grasp the green veil that shrouds the face of Devti. As your fingers pull the fabric away, the air seems to grow still, heavy with expectation. For a long moment, the veil drapes in your hands, and you can’t bring yourself to look immediately.

But when you do, the world seems to shift.

Before you is the face of Devti, a woman so breathtakingly beautiful that it feels like she doesn’t belong to this world. Her skin is stone yet flawless, a smooth, ethereal shade that glows with an otherworldly light. Her eyes, large and almond-shaped, are the deepest shade of green and silver, swirling with an iridescent sheen that seems to draw you in, like the endless sky on a moonless night. Her features are delicate yet impossibly perfect, high cheekbones, a soft, serene mouth, and a regal nose, all framed by long, flowing hair that cascades down her back in waves of black and born.

But it’s her gaze that steals your breath. The moment your eyes meet hers, a jolt runs through you, as if something deep inside of you has been awakened. You’re almost paralyzed, unable to look away, yet the sensation of her stare is both mesmerizing and unnerving.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath as you step closer to the statue, unable to tear your eyes from the face before you. There’s something so familiar about her, a strange sense of recognition that tightens in your chest.

No… you think. It’s impossible.

But the more you look, the clearer it becomes. The woman in front of you, the goddess Devti, has the same features as the mysterious woman you saw at the lake the day before. It’s her. It can’t be anyone else.

Your heart begins to race as the realization hits you. The woman from the lake, her presence, her gaze, it was her. The woman you had seen, is now standing before you in stone, in the very temple where her power resides.

Your fingers tremble uncontrollably as you take a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of everything. The beauty of the goddess is so intense that it almost feels suffocating, like it’s too much to bear. You admire her, yes, but there’s something about her that terrifies you. A power so deep, so ancient, that you can almost feel it pulse in the air around you.

Jungkook’s voice is distant, as if from far away. His words don’t fully register in your mind at first, drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the fluttering in your chest.

“She will accept your offerings,” Jungkook says, though his voice barely reaches your ears. “Place the jewelry on her, then drape the clothes, offer the gifts... all of it is part of the ritual.”

You don’t respond at first, still lost in the intense gaze of stone eyed gaze. As if your body is on autopilot, you slowly begin to follow Jungkook’s instructions, hands shaking as you reach into the ornate box of jewels.

The first piece of jewelry you pick up is an earring, a delicate golden piece with a sapphire gem at its center. You gently place it in the goddess’s ear, your fingers brushing against the smooth stone. You can almost feel the weight of her gaze on you, pressing down, making every movement feel impossibly heavy.

With every piece you add another earring, a necklace of twisted gold, a bracelet adorned with gemstones, you can’t shake the feeling that Devti’s eyes are following you, watching you. It’s as if she is alive, not just a statue. The air seems to thrum with her presence.

You move on to the next task, draping the goddess in rich fabrics, the same vibrant, woven clothes that the tribe wears, with gold thread intertwined in complex patterns. You carefully arrange the offerings, fruits, small delicate objects, ceremonial foods around her. But the more you touch the statue, the more the feeling intensifies. The fear mixes with admiration, a strange reverence growing inside of you, but also a deep, unshakable sense of foreboding.

Then, as you gently place the final jewelry, something happens.

A soft, almost imperceptible movement then, it’s there.

The statue’s eyes blink.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat as a cold rush of shock floods through your body. You look up, your eyes wide, your heart skipping a beat.

It’s impossible.

The statue’s eyes blink again, slowly, as if it’s waking up. Your body freezes in panic, every instinct telling you to run, to get away from the eerie, unnatural movement.

A scream rips from your throat before you can stop it.

You stumble backward, your feet tripping over themselves as you scramble to get away from the statue. You feel the presence behind you, Jungkook’s steady, reassuring hand as he grabs your arm, pulling you back, guiding you infront of him.

His voice is a whisper in your ear, low and calm, but there’s an edge of urgency to it.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his grip tight but comforting. “She won’t hurt you. This is part of the ritual. she does not harm those who offer respect.”

You want to argue, to demand an explanation, but all you can do is stand there, shaking, your heart racing in your chest as the statue’s eyes remain locked on you, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of its lips.

“It’s just the ritual. Trust me.”

But even as he speaks, you can’t help but wonder, What have you just unleashed?

The world feels like it’s collapsing around you, the weight of what you’re witnessing settling into your bones. Everything is shifting, and it’s happening so fast that your mind can hardly keep up.

The statue, which only moments ago was an inanimate figure of stone, begins to change before your very eyes. At first, it’s subtle, a slight shift in the way the light plays off the statue’s features, as though it’s catching a breeze. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, the stone figure seems to... soften. The sharp lines of her face become more pronounced, more human. The smoothness of her skin, once cold and unyielding, now appears warm and lifelike.

You can hardly breathe as the transformation continues, the statue’s eyes blinking again, their silver sheen reflecting light as they sweep over the room. The goddess—Devti—is alive.

Your heart races. You step back instinctively, feeling a cold sweat prickling at your skin. The room spins, and for a moment, you feel like you’re going to collapse. You’ve heard the stories—tales of the goddess who blesses the land, whose power could shape the very world itself. But those stories were just stories. In your kingdom, gods and goddesses were treated as myth, as nothing more than tales to amuse children. Your father always insisted it was truth, but you never believed it. How could you?

But now, in front of you, there is no denying it. The goddess Devti is real. And she is alive.

A sob catches in your throat, but you force it down. Everything is foreign. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined. You never once considered that you’d be standing in a room with a deity who, until moments ago, was nothing more than cold stone. Now, she breathes, her movements fluid and graceful.

Jungkook’s presence is a calm anchor in this whirlwind of confusion. His gaze is locked on Devti, unwavering and filled with quiet reverence. He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension in him, the focus, as if he’s waiting for something, watching the goddess with an intensity that leaves you uneasy.

The servants, who had remained motionless up until now, suddenly shift. In a synchronized movement, they drop to their knees, bowing their heads toward Devti in a show of deep respect. Jungkook follows suit, his posture perfect, his head lowering, his form radiating reverence.

You stand there, frozen. You don’t know what to do. The entire room feels alive with power, a kind of energy that makes your skin prickle. Your legs are trembling, and your mind is in chaos, trying to process what’s unfolding in front of you. You’re supposed to bow, right? That’s what everyone else is doing. But something in you rebels, as though you’re too small, too insignificant to be a part of this sacred moment.

You shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to do, whether to bow, whether to stand back. Your instincts scream at you to kneel, but your body hesitates, caught between what is expected and what you feel you should do.

And then, after a long, heavy silence, something completely unexpected happens.

The servants, after bowing their heads to Devti, turn toward you. In a single fluid motion, they bow to you as well.

You blink, eyes wide, unable to process what’s happening. Your heart skips a beat. Bow to me?

You can hardly believe it. You stare at them, eyes darting between the servants and the goddess, expecting Devti to react, to stop them. How dare they bow to a mere princess of another kingdom? you think. I’m nothing; compared to her, compared to this.

But as you glance at the goddess once more, you notice something that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. She’s still watching you. Her green silver eyes don’t waver, don’t flicker. They are fixed on you with a serene, almost knowing expression. There’s no anger, no hostility in her gaze, even as the servants lower their heads to you. She doesn’t strike them down. Instead, she watches, almost expectantly.

The jewels you placed upon her; the earrings, the necklace, the bracelet; glint and sparkle as the light catches them, transforming her into something even more breathtaking than before. She was already impossibly beautiful, but with the gifts you laid before her, she now exudes an ethereal radiance. Her form, while still stone, now seems almost alive, as if she could step off the pedestal at any moment, walk among you, and breathe the same air.

Your breath catches in your throat as the realization hits. This is not just any goddess. This is Devti, the one who has been worshiped for centuries by the women of the tribe, the one who rules over this entire forest, and the one who chooses the forest’s mother.

somehow, you are bound to her.

But even more unsettling is the way she looks at you. It’s not the cold, distant gaze of a goddess on a pedestal. No. Her eyes are full of something else, something alive. Something personal.

You don’t know whether to fear her or revere her.

A strange sensation coils in your chest. Admiration mingles with terror. She’s too beautiful, too powerful, and there’s something about her presence that makes you feel so... small. Yet, when you look into her eyes, it’s as if she’s waiting for something from you, something you can’t quite name.

Jungkook is still kneeling, his head bowed, but there’s a quiet certainty in his posture. He’s not afraid of her, he’s at peace. And that only makes your unease grow.

The room feels heavy, laden with unspoken words, and the air is thick with power and expectation.

What now? you wonder.

As you look from Devti to Jungkook, the question lingers. What is your role in all this? The bowing, the gifts, the sacred ritual, it’s all real. It’s too much to comprehend, but the answers you seek feel just out of reach.

—---------------------

The silence in the temple thickens, the air heavy with anticipation, as Devti’s eyes continue to watch you. Then, in a voice that doesn’t quite reach your ears, she speaks, her words flowing in the tribal language—a language that feels ancient, foreign. It's melodic, almost hypnotic, but you understand nothing.

Still, your body reacts as if it does. Your feet move on their own, taking slow, hesitant steps toward her. Your mind screams to stop, to resist, but it’s like some invisible force is guiding you, pulling you closer. Fear coils in your stomach, your heart pounding as if it’s trying to break free from your chest. You want to turn away, but you can’t. You don’t have control.

In her hands, Devti holds a bowl, She lifts it slowly to her lips, her gaze never leaving yours. There’s no malice in her expression, just an unsettling calmness that sends a chill down your spine.

The liquid inside the bowl is deep, dark red, like the blood of the earth itself. Without a word, Devti motions for you to drink it.

You’re not sure why, but your hand reaches out, trembling as it takes the bowl from her hands. It feels heavy, impossibly heavy, like it’s holding the weight of your fate. As you bring it to your lips, you can’t shake the feeling that this is something you’re not ready for, something that you can’t undo.

But you drink.

The moment the liquid touches your tongue, it feels like fire coursing through your veins. It burns everywhere. It starts in your throat and spreads down to your stomach, to your limbs. Your body stiffens, your muscles seizing in agony. Your back arches involuntarily, your fingers curling into claws at your sides. You try to gasp for air, but your chest refuses to expand, and you feel as if you’re suffocating.

You can't breathe.

Panic seizes you, your mouth opening, desperate for air, but there’s nothing. You try to scream, but no sound comes out. Your head spins as your vision starts to blur. Your body trembles, locked in place, your entire being consumed by the pain. The world tilts around you, and you fear you’re about to break apart, to crumble into dust.

Then, just as you feel yourself slipping away, you feel something else; a familiar touch, warm and steady. Jungkook’s hands are on you, gripping your shoulders with an urgency that brings you back to reality. His voice is a distant murmur, his words unintelligible but filled with urgency, trying to calm you. You can’t focus on them, can’t understand what he’s saying, but his presence is a lifeline, grounding you in the chaos.

Breathe, he seems to be urging you, his voice soft but firm.

And then—everything stops.

Like a switch is flipped, the pain subsides, the fire in your veins cools, and your lungs finally expand. You gasp, inhaling deeply as the world sharpens around you, as if you’re waking from a nightmare. Your body, which had been contorted in agony just moments ago, now feels... normal again. Your muscles uncoil, and you blink rapidly, still reeling from the sensation.

The pain is gone, but the memory of it lingers, a scar on your soul that you’ll never be able to forget.

You look up, still dazed, and see Devti standing before you, her form slowly returning to its original state. Her eyes are now closed, her serene expression unmoving. In that moment, she’s once again the cold, lifeless statue she was before; the transformation complete, as if nothing ever happened.

Jungkook releases a breath he’s been holding, his hands still on your shoulders, his fingers trembling. His eyes are wide, but there’s something else there too, a deep relief, like a weight has been lifted from his chest. His lips quiver as he finally smiles, a soft, almost bittersweet smile.

Tears fill his eyes, and he reaches out, wiping them away quickly, as if embarrassed by his own emotions.

The servants, who had been silent until now, suddenly spring to their feet, their voices rising in a chorus of celebration. They cheer, jumping and clapping in joyous fervor. The tension in the room shifts completely, what had felt like an otherworldly ritual, tense and filled with uncertainty, now feels like a moment of triumph.

You, however, are too stunned to join in the celebration. Your mind is still reeling, trying to piece together what just happened. You blink and rub your eyes, still unsure whether it was real, whether you were real. The taste of the red liquid still lingers in the back of your throat, and your body feels exhausted—like you’ve run a race you didn’t sign up for.

Jungkook steps closer to you, his smile soft but filled with pride. His hand gently cups your cheek, brushing away the stray tears that have formed in your eyes. His voice is low, almost reverent.

“Devti has blessed you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You are... her.”

You stare at him, your mind slow to catch up with his words. Her? You were already confused by the ritual, by everything that had just happened, but the weight of his words settles on your shoulders like a heavy cloak.

You look around at the servants, still celebrating, at Jungkook’s proud face, and then back at the statue of Devti. The realization finally sinks in.

You have been chosen.

But for what? To lead? To serve? To become something you don’t yet understand?

Your body feels heavy, your heart full of a strange mix of emotions. You should feel triumphant, like they all do, but all you can feel is... confused.

What now?

But before you can voice your thoughts, Jungkook places a gentle kiss on your lips, a gesture that feels strangely final, like a promise sealed.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, as if sensing your turmoil. “You’re not alone in this. You never will be.”

———————-

next chapter:

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author’s note: haiii !!!! this was supposed to be a filler chapter but i just decided to add the ritual and like solidify the story for upcoming chapters. Also, i did not show the mean side of leader jk im this chapter caus i feel like this ritual was necessary to write, MEAN JK IN THE NEXT CHAPTER STAY PREPARED!!!! sorry for the delay, life is sooo good and busy rn i barely have time to be on my laptop!!!!! anyways, i hope u guys liked it, let me know your thoughts and your predictions!!!! 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 times are still foreign to me, im still trying to understand how to write smut 💔…. but ayeeee its whatever

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Taglist 💌: @jincapableoflove @voitier @koocreampie @kookxin @mysticprincessstrawberry @imwutim @synamon @withmuchluv-tannie @taekritimin123 @somehowukook @jungshaking @junecat18 @ilyjhseok @darklove2020 @lilyalone @yikes-ukiyo @icandoitwithabrokenhearttt @lilalouti @mar-lo-pap @onlyoursol-ace @margaretro23 @whatsupandy @thegreedyhibiscus @hoelychildofgod @bgfdcvbnjk @investedreader @geniejunn @somehowukook @jungshaking @recklesselfless @jksmilkshake @seagulljk @ttanniett @mageprincess7 @lolfcccfvvvvbbbb @royalguk @whiteoakoak

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cintasvel · 1 month ago

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i've been thinking about the last shot of andor a lot and there's been a lot of debate about how it was handled, particularly within the constraints of bix and her role this season. regardless of personal opinion, gilroy has said the shot was supposed to be hopeful and i get it. you fight today for the children of tomorrow so they can live peacefully. i think, regardless of how i feel about bix's story as a whole, i can get behind that. as cliche as it may be.

what i can't really get behind is star war's commitment to signifying hope for its characters in the most heteronormative way imaginable. each and every single time. it is so incredibly boring and it's been done so many times. let's not insult one another by pretending star wars doesn't have mothers in it and that motherhood doesn't get addressed often. padme is a mother. mon is a mother. maarva is a mother. leia is a mother. hera is a mother. there are a lot of mothers in star wars. motherhood and its connection in signifying hope runs deep within star wars.

what makes it particularly awful this time around is there are actual, canonical, queer characters in andor and, as expected, they do not get even a minuscule amount of hope in comparison to the heterosexual characters around them. cinta's arc happens entirely off screen before she's killed off in the most insulting way you can imagine and vel is relegated to being a megaphone around yavin to encourage cassian and bix into their roles. that's not to say i don't love faye marsay and what she did with her limited screentime. she really fucking sold that vel's lost her will to live for anything but the rebellion. but if we're making an anti-fascist show, you can't just ignore how you handle your queer and poc characters. you just can't.

my point is, the traditional family has always been the pinnacle of hope for star wars. and it's fine. but it completely ignores that for many people -- queer or otherwise -- the traditional family isn't that. vel's entire character screams that isn't that for her by her two most important connections being cinta, her girlfriend and mon, her cousin. the finale does try and balance this with vel reaching out to kleya and her being a constant source of connection and family with mon. but let's be honest with one another, it doesn't hit as hard as it could have if cinta and vel had been alive and together. or, if we really needed to kill them both ('everyone dies in this show' comments truly have aged like milk lmao) if they had sacrificed themselves fighting for that tomorrow. not because romance is inherently 'more important' than platonic relationships, but because cinta is a HUGE part of vel's character and vice versa for vel. you truly cannot have one without the other because andor never tried to write either of them otherwise. vel gets away with a little more because she's mon mothma's cousin and her beef with kleya and luthen helps bring tension and resolve to that. but cinta? outside of her threadbare backstory, vel is all she has (which is tragic by itself).

i've gone off topic a little, but my point is, vel's ending in andor shows her as a rebel commander willing to fight for what she truly believes in. outside of the title, this is not a huge jump from the vel of s1 (arc-wise, personality and character is a whole other story). the major difference is that vel no longer has the hope of fighting for a better life with cinta like she had in s1. instead she is the sole queer person in the cast (i'm sorry kleya fans, i love our girl but headcanons do not count here) and has to live with this utterly senseless tragedy until she's dead. now, i love doomed yuri (and for the billionth time, i am not asking for velcinta to be treated with kids gloves) and i'm well aware cassian/bix also gets this ending, but the difference between how vel and cinta are treated and portrayed compared to their heterosexual counterparts is so staggeringly different. like, you need to be willingly obtuse not to see how.

as a white lady, i'm not going to too deeply into how misogyny and racism plays a key part here -- someone far more clever than i no doubt will -- but if you think cinta's arc was well-respected in compared to the white women of andor (her background literally parallels kleya's, but guess who gets that examined. not cinta!) then i just really don't know what to say to convince you otherwise. it's not even about her being a minor character (kleya was too in s1). it's about how qwoc are only used as tools to further their white counterparts because their stories aren't worth examining by themselves. as much as i tell myself i'd kill for a cinta novel/comic, i know it's not going to happen because that would require cinta to be considered worthy of exploring. and i don't know if lucasfilm publishing will ever think that. maybe i'm wrong! i'd like to be proven wrong!

and so, vel's arc (or lack of it) and the mishandling of cinta is ultimately, why that last shot just didn't land for me. even as i understand why it was there and what it signifies and can even get behind it... i just don't think hope = the children of tomorrow hits for me as much as it used to, even though it's still incredibly relevant.

this was a lot of rambling. maybe it doesn't make sense or maybe i'm entirely wrong. but i think yeah. it's an okay shot. it's probably not what i'd end my anti-fascist show on though when you've not taken the time to examine (or care) why queer characters are only allowed to be miserable. it's 2025, man.

#andor critical #star wars critical #to be more exact #“let people be mothers” ah yes star wars never depicts mothers #famously known for never including mothers at all actually #i love star wars i hate star wars i wish it was better but it's also great #i think this was a lot of rambling but this has been on my mind for days and i had to get it out #aimee chats #this started as bix then went to vel and then cinta because honestly those 3 characters deserved way more than what they were given #i feel like i should tag velcinta but also i think velcinta fans already know how i feel lmao

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lokifys · 3 months ago

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Dirty Diary

Summary: Loki is horny and decides to channel it through writing that is about you, before he pleasures himself.

[Loki x Reader, Smut, Masturbation, Possessive Loki.]

Loki’s Writing:

Is this one of the punishments the Gods above have placed upon me? To feel so much for a singular being and not have the courage to do anything about it? I ponder about her in every waking moment of my day. Every second, I imagine what it would be like for her to simply feel the same way I do for her. Does she think of me as someone she can trust with her life? Is she still deep down afraid of me? It eats away at me little by little, not knowing how she feels about me. I fear that once it consumes me whole, I’ll never be the same again.

I think today’s that day.

My self-control to not give in to my desires of pleasuring myself to oblivion over the thoughts of her has been doing fine. That is until now. My aching length, reacting to the anger and frustration of my overwhelming love for this mortal, has been incredibly pestilent. Thoughts of having her all to myself in my chambers back in Asgard, where I can keep her safe and content there, have made the issue in my pants harder to keep away from. I want her to feel how good I can make her feel. Prove to her that she only needs me and no one else.

As I’m writing, I can feel my pre-seminal fluids gushing and soaking the fabric of my mortal-designed pants I have donned. It does not look as good as the clothing made in Asgard, but it is most certainly comfortable, if I were to speak the truth. These pants, however, would be better off me now considering how my tight cock is straining against it, begging for it to be unleashed. It’s screaming for her. This is all her fault.

What a naughty little minx. Does she know the effect she has on me? What would she say if she knew? Would she want her wet slick to be penetrated by a godly sword that fits just right? Or would she think me a monster? I wouldn’t be able to handle that. I cannot lose her. She’s so dear to me, I believe it’s changing me. I’ve found myself stumbling over my words, which is completely the opposite of what it is to be silver-tongued.

Gods, am I weak? Is love a weakness that blinds even the most powerful being? Well, they wouldn’t be powerful if love truly is blinding them, isn’t it? But it means they’re happy, so perhaps nothing changes? Love is mysterious, and if I hadn’t been under that same spell, I would’ve scoffed at it. Thor got infatuated with a mortal woman, and I thought it was the most ridiculous thing on the planet. Yet now I’m met with the same fate, and I cannot think of anything else other than her.

I need her.

Oh Gods, I need her. I will face death over and over again if it means being close to her. I would kill for her. I wouldn’t believe she would want that, but if I had to do it for her sake, I will in a heartbeat.

I cannot control myself any longer, and I find my hand is slipping into my pants, trying to get any sort of contact my pulsing cock needs. One hand on the pen, one hand on my length.

Today is the day I finally admit I am in love with her, and there’s nothing that can ever make me leave her side. I am her God that she will worship one day, for all of time.

THIRD PERSON VIEW

Loki throws the pen and book away in a fit of frustration and raging lust as he quickly unzips his pants and undergarments, springing alive his massive cock. The tip was very pink and angry while pre-cum leaked out as if it were weeping. Usually, pleasuring oneself back on Asgard was never done way too often as there were always “better” ways to relieve yourself like sleeping with a handmaid or others who are willing to partake in that sort of activity with you. Pleasuring yourself was always just seen as when you have no other choice or you’re just really desperate.

He wasn’t going to hide it. He definitely was desperate. He yearns for you all the time, despite him being around you often. You’re always with him since he’s somehow the only person in the Avengers Tower you manage to become close friends with. People, especially Tony, would tell you to be cautious of him back in the beginning when they started noticing how you’re always around him. You never listened, though, continuing your friendship with Loki. The God of Mischief was a lot of things, but one thing you knew was he never would’ve hurt you.

This friendship means a lot to Loki, but he always wishes for more. He wishes for commitment. To be with you forever.

His hands start making their first movements on his veiny cock, sliding up really slowly before it goes down. He’s imagining the first scene where you’re on top of him, your pussy wet and hot for him, and you’re slowly going down on him, piercing your wet heat. You would let out a breathy moan, trying not to be too loud. Once he’s all in, you’d fall in front to meet his neck, nuzzling yourself as you adjust.

Right now his dick is practically pulsing for you, like it’s signaling your name in Morse code. Soon, he starts picking up the pace and pumps himself, using his leakage as a form of lubricant. His mouth subconsciously opens, and he lets out a breath. Oh, what he’d do to see the look on your face when he surprises you by thrusting into you from below, letting out a moan of surprise. To know you’re both safe with you in his arms, cradling you, is making him go crazy.

His other hand releases the mattress and finds its way to his balls, fondling them. Imagining it’s you below him, sucking and playing with them, is only adding to the experience as he found himself going ham on his length, his fist making a noise each time he hits his skin along with the wetness of his pre-cum. He realizes he’s lacking self-control now, unable to stop himself, so he quickly takes the imagination and goes forward towards the end, where he dreams of how things finish.

The trickster would be on top of you now, his arms sandwiched between you. Mirroring his fast paced fisting, he’d be pounding in you like a wild animal in heat, and your moans would drive him insane. It would be his turn for his head to drop down next to yours, smelling your natural scent as he leaves marks on your neck that would last for weeks. As he would do that, you’d whisper the magical three words that would change his life forever. That would consolidate the bond between you two.

“I…love you.”

“I love you, Loki.”

He imagined you’d repeat that over and over again, and on the last one…

“I love you.”

Loki’s hands were moving faster than lightning speed, and soon, white light filled his vision. He closed his eyes before spurting his seed everywhere on his stomach as he let out a loud groan. His body started shivering very slightly, which was something Loki didn’t really do often. The fact that he managed to do that just by the thought of you and his hands made him even more sure of his feelings for you. He pumped a feel more times before he relaxed and dropped his hand down.

Tears were starting to form in his eyes, and he wasn’t exactly about to cry but rather simply forming and clouding his vision. He wiped them away, not wanting it to be a big thing. He wondered if he did get to have you like this, would you sleep with him for the night? Or would you, like most people back on Asgard, rather sleep somewhere else? Or worse, you’d run to Thor and choose him over the God of Mischief and Lies. Over big, bad Loki.

No, you aren’t that cruel. He knows you. He knows you aren’t like them. Anyways, you mentioned you didn’t find Thor appealing in any shape or form, which was why it intrigued Loki. It made him happy if he was being honest. He is your God. Yours only.

He found his cock perking up again, and he sighed before going for round two, and then three and then more as he spent the entire night pumping and cumming, groaning your name repeatedly like a prayer or an incantation.

And when he wakes in the morning, he’ll be excited to see you again.

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki x reader smut #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfiction #smut

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

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iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

708 notes · View notes

thunderbolt-ing · 27 days ago

Text

"I Can't Do It Alone." — 4

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Fem!Reader Summary: The reader is having a very, very bad day and cannot catch a break. Being a girl's girl has consequences, apparently. Valentina's gone rogue, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse... it did. Warnings/Tags: use of y/n, very canon divergent, emotional manipulation/coercion (not sexual), enemies to allies, chaotic 'team' dynamics, hurt/comfort, the slow burn is finally burning, mild swearing, mild physical violence/injury, reader really needs a hug. (pls let me know if I missed anything) A/N: I truly put you through hell in this one, my bad. Also, Im so sorry for the wait!! it took me a little while to put everything together and have my ideas connect lmao i did not know how to get from point a to point b. this is barely proofread and i wrote some of this at like three in the morning, so i do apologize in advance for any silly mistakes Word Count: 9.1K sorry i spiraled

Hours Later Brooklyn, New York

The outreach went on in full swing, but you were gently nudged aside by a chorus of concerned interns insisting, “You look exhausted, we’ve got this.” You protested and refused, out of habit mostly, but their faces were earnest and their confidence left little room for argument. Truthfully, the exhaustion you’d been fighting off was finally catching up to you. For once, you took a step back and let them take the reins. You watched as they took over with ease, coordinating logistics, managing guest interactions, and handling the press like seasoned pros. They were young, most were barely out of university, but there was nothing inexperienced about how they carried themselves today. You’d handpicked each one, carefully vetting them like Bucky once did to you. A full circle kind of gesture, a way to pay it forward and say thank you to the universe for the life you’ve built for yourself.

“I’ll be in the breakroom if you guys need anything,” you said to one of the senior interns, giving them a grateful pat on the back, “Just a few minutes.” “Take as much time as you need,” she replied with a reassuring smile, already turning back to her clipboard and radio.

In the breakroom, you poured yourself yet another cup of coffee, you’ve lost count at this point, and settled into one of the chairs. The bitter heat kept the exhaustion at bay once again as you settled into one of the worn chairs. You pulled out your personal phone almost on instinct, thumb hovering over the screen as you checked for any sign of Bucky.

Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. Radio silence.

You knew he was fine, you hoped he was fine, though you couldn’t help but feel a pit of concern in your stomach. It didn’t help knowing that he was out there apprehending potentially dangerous people.

To distract yourself, you switched on the small TV mounted in front of you. It was background noise, you were more focused on enjoying the stillness you’ve allowed yourself for the day than actually listening, but that was until the anchor’s voice sliced through the calm like a blade.

“Congressman Douglas Gary has called for an emergency impeachment trial, citing new and compelling evidence that directly implicates Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine in multiple federal crimes…”

You let out a low, humorless laugh and shook your head.

“Finally, he listens,” You muttered into the cup in your hand before changing the channel. You didn’t need to hear the rest, you already knew everything Gary was only now bringing to light. It was typical to take the evidence you and Bucky practically gift-wrapped during the gala, parade it like its his own discovery, and not even spare a damn thank you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting a little, not for yourself, but for Bucky most of all.

Even so, with Bucky out there tying up loose ends and Gary finally moving to reopen Valetina’s trial, you finally felt like you could have some closure. Maybe, just maybe, the chaos was winding down, and you could perhaps—

BREAKING: Mysterious Explosion Reported in Utah Desert Near Secured Vault. Sources Say Blast May Be Linked to Illegal…

The TV screen flashed red with CNN’s breaking banner, the anchor’s voice sharp and urgent. You didn’t wait for the rest as you shut the TV off and leaned back on your seat, the beginnings of a headache were starting to curl behind your eyes. You wanted peace, just five minutes of it. You wanted background noise, something mindless, something…

Buzz. Buzz.

Your work phone vibrated softly in your blazer pocket. You sighed and picked it up unceremoniously, cradling it between your shoulder and ear as you reached for your coffee again.

“Office of Congressman Barnes, this is Y/N speaking,” you answered, your voice laced with practiced professionalism and a hint of exhaustion.

“Hi…Y/N?” a voice replied, uncertain and breathless. “I spoke to Congressman Barnes yesterday about some… matters. He mentioned his partner, and I was wondering… would that be you? I’m sorry if this is the wrong number, public records aren’t that accurate.”

Your brow furrowed, the voice was familiar, but shaken. Then it clicked.

“Mel?” you asked, startled. “Is that you? Are you okay? You don’t sound—”

“Yes, it's me. I’m sorry,” she interrupted, her words coming out rapidly. “I’m using a pay phone. I can’t talk long. Can you meet me? The shawarma place near the Watchtower. Please. I think Valentina knows. I can’t risk calling Bucky. It’s urgent.”

You were already standing.

“Watchtower?” You echoed, grabbing your keys from the pocket of your blazer.

“The old Avengers tower in Manhattan,” she clarified, her voice trembling, “Valentina owns it now.”

“Got it. I’m on my way. Stay put, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” Mel whispered, and the line went dead.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Manhattan, New York

You drove like a woman possessed, weaving through traffic with the urgency of an F1 driver in the final lap. Red lights blurred past you, more than a few if you were being honest, and you were certain that at least three traffic cameras had captured your plates, but none of it mattered. Not the tickets, not the chaos, and not the consequences

All you could think about was Mel, her shaky voice, and the fear within each word she uttered. If Valentina was truly on to her, then every second counted. You could hear it in her hushed tone, in the way she could barely even utter Bucky’s name out loud on the phone. You knew she was in more danger than she was letting on.

This wasn’t just about helping Bucky anymore, this was about Mel, a young woman’s safety. A young woman who was putting everything on the line just to feed scraps of truth behind enemy lines. The least you could do was be there, show up, and prove she wasn’t alone.

You tore through the streets, barely registering the blaring honks and the startled pedestrians who leapt out of your path. By the time you parked—if you could call abandoning your car half a block away ‘parking’—you were already sprinting and dodging commuters while muttering breathless “excuse me”s.

You stopped at a corner, chest rising and falling as your gaze swept across the street. The Avengers Tower loomed in the distance, surrounded by cranes and partially wrapped in scaffolding. They called it the Watchtower now. You thought it was ridiculous. The distinguished Manhattan staple was now lifeless, sterile, and stripped of the charm and grandeur that Tony Stark once breathed into it. It stood like a husk on the skyline, iconic but wrong. A monument to how much everything had changed

And then your eyes found it: Shawarma Palace. It was an older space, clearly having been there for the many changes Manhattan went through. It was tucked between a laundromat and a smoke shop, its red sign standing out more than the others. You made a beeline for the door.

Your eyes scanned across the bustling establishment, heart pounding loudly in your chest. The scent of grilled meat and spices filled the air, but your senses were set on one task: finding Mel. Your eyes swept each table anxiously, trying to match faces to the blurry memory of her from the gala. You barely knew her, you’ve only heard her talk on the phone, but you remembered the way she looked that night with her dark blazer, and the way her eyes never quite settled.

Your breaths came unevenly, caught between exertion and panic as you pushed past a woman carrying a tray of shawarma wraps and sodas. Murmured conversations and the crinkle of paper faded into static, and just as anxiety threatened to rise in your throat, your gaze landed on her. Mel was tucked away in the back corner of the restaurant, half shadowed by a hanging plant and the flickering neon sign in the window.

She looked smaller than you remembered, more exhausted, too. Her shoulders were hunched, her fingers anxiously tapping the table as her eyes darted across the room, scanning the entrance every few seconds. Then they landed on you.

For a second, her whole body stilled, relief softening the tension in her brow, and you mirrored it with a quiet, shaky breath of your own. Without wasting another moment, you made your way to her, weaving past tables with urgent strides. As you slid into the seat across from her, your muscles finally began to loosen.

“I’m here,” you said softly, not realizing until that moment how badly you needed to say it. “You’re okay. I got here in time.”

Mel gave a faint nod, but the tightness in her jaw and the white-knuckled grip she had on her iced tea told you clearly that something was very, very wrong.

“You know about The Sentry Project, right?” Mel asked abruptly, getting straight to the point, her voice low and urgent as her leg bounced anxiously under the table.

“Somewhat,” you replied, quickly combing through your memory for the key details from the hearing. “O.X.E.’s initiative to engineer god-like beings… sort of like biological weapons wrapped in patriotism, right?”

“Exactly.” She nodded fast, relief flickering across her face for just a moment. “The project was deemed a failure. It was shut down and buried. Everyone assumed the final test subject, Bob Reynolds, died during the last trial. But he didn’t.”

You blinked, processing her words, your brows knitting in concern. Mel could see your confusion and pressed on.

“Bob turned out to be alive, and he escaped along with Val’s liabilities that I was supposed to get rid of inside that vault. I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines. That explosion in Utah? That was him.”

Your stomach dropped as your mind snapped back to the breaking news headline from earlier. The secured vault. The blast. The missing piece slid into place with a sickening click.

“And now,” she continued, her voice tightening, “Val’s got hold of him. She’s planning to parade him around as a one-man replacement for the Avengers.” Mel rubbed her temples, visibly disturbed,

Your heart began to race. “But he’s unstable, is that right? He was never expected to survive given that—“

“He is very unstable.” Mel cut in, shaking her head. “They never should’ve experimented on him in the first place. He has… issues, serious psychological issues. Then they pumped him full of some twisted version of the super-soldier serum. No structure, no anchor. Just raw, unchecked power sitting on top of a fractured mind. He’s a ticking time bomb, and god knows what’s going to happen.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, already digging into your blazer for your phone. Without hesitation, you dialed Bucky. The phone barely rang once before he picked up.

“Y/N—hey, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, voice soft with guilt. “I know I said I’d call and—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in, heart squeezing at the sound of him. “But I need your help. Like, we need your help. Now.”

“What’s going on?” His tone shifted instantly, gentle but alert. “What do you mean we? Are you safe?”

“I’m okay. I’m with Mel. But you need to get to New York. Immediately. Val is off her fucking rocker, the Sentry Project is way worse than anyone thought, and there’s a guy named Bob—”

“BOB! YES! THAT’S WHAT WE JUST SAID—” A chorus of voices erupted from the background on his end, followed by the sound of Bucky irritably shushing whoever was with him.

You blinked. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, ignore them,” he said quickly. “Keep going.”

“Right. So Bob is basically a human WMD with major issues, and Val is planning to show him off to the press. All I’m saying is that he should not be field-tested. Please, Bucky. We need you here, now.”

“I’m coming, I promise. Just stay where you are—”

Bucky’s voice faded into the background as your attention snapped to Mel. One look at her face sent a chill down your spine. She looked worse than when you’d first walked in. She was completely pale now, and her eyes locked on something behind you, wide and unblinking.

You turned around instinctively, already knowing something was wrong.

There she was.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine stood in the doorway of Shawarma Palace like a gathering storm. She didn’t look angry, she didn’t need to be when her gaze was enough to send a chill straight through you. The stillness in her expression was unsettling; the quiet calculation in her eyes said enough. She was irritated but not furious, and somehow that made her even more terrifying.

You understood, in that moment, exactly why Mel looked and sounded the way she did.

“Y/N? Hello? Can you at least give me an ‘okay’? Hello—”

“Val found us,” you mumbled into the phone, “Come find me.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your blazer, just as Valentina began to make her way toward the booth. Her steps were deliberate, and her lips curled into a smile that felt anything but kind.

You held your breath as Valentina slid smoothly into the booth beside you, her tailored coat folding perfectly with the motion. She let out a slow exhale as her eyes drifted between you and Mel.

“I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long,” she said, her voice laced with quiet disappointment. Her gaze settled on Mel with a subtle shake of her head, “I asked for my usual shawarma combo, not the whistleblower special.”

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Mel started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already know everything, so just—” Valentina raised a hand, silencing her without saying another word. The gesture wasn’t loud or dramatic, but it landed like a slap.

Then her attention turned to you.

“And you,” she said, placing a perfectly manicured hand on your shoulder in a gesture that felt more like a warning than comfort, “you’re diving headfirst into things you don’t even begin to understand. And for what?” She tilted her head, her voice soft but sharp enough to draw blood. “For the congressman? You’re smarter than that. You can do better than being someone else’s mouthpiece.”

“Yes, yes, save the ‘I can do better’ speech,” You said dryly, brushing her hand off your shoulder like it was a piece of lint. “I’m not the one that’s about to host a show and tell for a weaponized science experiment, but sure, let’s pretend this is about me making poor choices.”

Valentina let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I would’ve liked you,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “But unfortunately… you’ve become a problem.”

She stood from the booth, smoothing down her coat.

“Come on, girls, and don’t try anything clever.” She said, her voice low and her threat mostly aimed towards you, “I’ve got this place on lockdown, so let’s not make this messy. I’d hate for someone to get hurt over a misunderstanding.”

Valentina guided you and Mel out of the door, her hands resting lightly on your arms in a gesture that read more like camaraderie than coercion, or at least to any bystanders watching. You stole a glance at Mel, whose face had gone ghostly pale, and all you could think about was how to get her out of this unscathed. As expected, Shawarma Palace was surrounded from the outside. Undercover agents lingered nearby, casually falling into step behind you like shadows. Valentina didn’t need to issue a single command, they moved with precision as she ushered you both toward a sleek black SUV parked at the curb.

You climbed into the SUV first, followed closely by Mel and then Valentina. The door clicked shut behind you, and the driver didn’t waste a second before pulling away from the curb, merging smoothly into traffic and driving towards the looming Watchtower.

“It’s such a shame we had to meet under these circumstances,” Valentina said with a theatrical sigh, turning toward you with a casual shrug. Then she looked at Mel. “I'd really hate to replace you, Mel. You’re the only one who knows how to spell 'classified' without help. So here’s your chance,” Valentina exhaled slowly, her eyes boring into Mel, “Sort out where your loyalties lie.”

You turned to Mel, who was seated beside you, and gave a small, subtle shake of your head that said ‘don’t fold, not now’. But it was already too late.

“Yes, Val. It won’t happen again,” Mel said, her voice flat, her shoulders heavy with defeat. She couldn’t even look you in the eye.

“Let’s hope not,” Val said, flashing Mel a sharp smile. Then, she turned her attention back to you. “As for you... Well, I’m not feeling quite as generous. How about a little meet-and-greet with my science experiment? I think you’d make a better target practice for him. He needs more of a challenge than tin cans and glassware.”

“Well, you’re in for a letdown,” You shrugged, though a flicker of fear settled deep in your bones. “I bruise like a peach and running? Yeah, not really my thing.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Valentina snapped, her patience evaporating.

Before you could even register what was happening, Valentina fished something out from inside her blazer. You barely caught a glimpse of it before a sharp, searing pain shot through your thigh.

Your breath hitched, and then you were out like a light.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ The Watchtower Manhattan, New York

Your eyes fluttered open, temporarily blinded by a flood of sterile white light that made your vision swim. You blinked hard, trying to focus, but the brightness seared your retinas and left behind a dull ache behind your eyes. The air around you was cold and filled with the smell of antiseptic and metal. Each breath you took tasted sterile, like you’d been breathing recycled air for too long.

Your body felt impossibly heavy, like someone had poured molten lead into your veins. Panic bloomed in your chest as you tried to shift, only to realize your limbs wouldn’t budge. Metal restraints dug into your wrists and ankles, cutting into your skin with every slight movement. You were strapped down, seated upright in a cold metal chair.

When your vision cleared slightly, your gaze swept across your surroundings. The room was stark and lifeless, every surface a blinding shade of white that made it feel less like a lab and more like a morgue. Then, your gaze settled on a man standing a few feet away. He had shaggy brown hair, plain clothes, and he was holding one hand out toward you like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be doing this. You blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of you with the warning Mel had given.

This was him? The test subject? The biological weapon?

You’d expected someone monstrous, intimidating even. Not someone who looked hesitant and heartbreakingly human. His brow was furrowed, his eyes uncertain, and despite the circumstances, he looked more lost than lethal.

“What is it? Performance anxiety?” Valentina’s voice cut through the silence behind him, smooth but fraying at the edges with impatience. She didn’t seem to notice that your fingers had started to twitch, and that your eyes were fluttering weakly open.

“Come on, this isn’t any different from the glassware you’ve shattered.” She added, heels clicking as he stepped closer to him. “This one just happens to be a bit more… fleshy.”

“I… I can’t. I can’t do it,” Bob stammered, his voice strained and cracking under pressure. His hand dropped to his side, trembling. His eyes met yours briefly, but instead of alerting Valentina, he looked away. He was protecting you.

“She’s a person,” he said firmly. “I can’t do that to her or anyone.”

“Robert.” Val’s tone sharpened, “You have the power of a million exploding suns. This? This is nothing. This is a warm-up, just target practice.”

“I-I’m serious, Val, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Val pushed relentlessly, “The only thing in your way is you. You want to prove yourself? You want them to stop seeing you as ‘just Bob’? Then do it. Make them see what you’re capable of.”

“I said no!” Bob raised his voice, now visibly angry that Valentina wouldn’t stop insisting. The room shuddered beneath the weight of his anger. The overhead light flickered violently, casting warped shadows across the white walls. “I’m not doing it, give me something else. Not a person, not her.” He asserted, gesturing with his outstretched hand towards you.

The metal restraints around your wrists and ankles began to tremble, a low, metallic hum rising in your ears as Bob kept his hand outstretched in your direction. You barely registered the heated argument brewing between him and Valentina, your focus pinned to the vibration crawling along the cuffs. Your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, bracing for pain, for impact, for the worst.

Then, you heard a soft and almost imperceptible click.

You didn’t move, you couldn’t. You sat frozen in the chair, every muscle locked with tension. The silence that followed felt louder than the chaos. Your limbs were leaden, your body too numb or too scared to risk standing.

“Alright, alright, let’s bring it down a notch, Bob,” Valentina said smoothly. She barely acknowledged the tremor in the floor, her attention fixed on Bob entirely. You got the sense that she was purposefully prodding at his temper just to see where the cracks would form.

Bob’s shoulders rose and fell with every heavy breath, the fury draining from him slowly. “I’ll do anything else,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the ground. “But I don’t think I can hurt people…”

“You will,” Valentina said gently, like a mother reassuring a child, but the undertone was ice. “You have to, if you’re going to be Earth’s next great hope. Heroes aren’t just made in labs, Bob. They’re made in moments like this.”

“I don’t… I don’t know if I should be doing this,” he said, backing toward the corner of the room.

You tracked his retreat while Valentina followed close behind him like a shadow. Your heart pounded as your eyes scanned the space looking for an exit. Then you saw it: a door across the room, slightly ajar. Your breath caught.

It was now or never.

“Robert,” Valentina cooed, her voice laced with something more dangerous than threat—belief. “You don’t have to think right now. That’s what I’m here for. I see your potential, even when you don’t. I chose you for a reason. The world’s going to know your name… if you let them.”

You rose slowly from the chair, knees trembling but steady enough. You willed yourself to move one foot after the other with your eyes on the door. You held your breath and moved.

“This is your moment to show the world who you really are,” Valentina said, her voice velvet over steel. “The press is on their way, and those idiots will be here any minute now.”

“They’re coming here?” Bob asked, his eyes darting toward Valentina. “Them?”

“Yes, Bob. Them.” She stepped closer, her words slow and deliberate. “They’re coming to shut this down, to erase everything we’ve built. But they can’t. They don’t understand the kind of power you hold. It’s time to show them.”

You moved along the wall, one cautious step at a time, trying to stay within Valentina’s blind spot. Every movement felt like it echoed too loudly in the silence.

“They underestimated you,” Valentina continued, weaving poison into every word. “Left you behind. Let you take the fall.”

Bob’s expression wavered, uncertainty flashing across his features like a storm cloud. He was teetering on the edge of a cliff, pulled between guilt and the intoxicating promise of purpose. You crept around a nearby table, eyes locked on him, watching the flicker of conflict in his gaze. Something in him was unraveling, you just didn’t know which way he’d fall.

“They’re a threat,” Valentina said softly, each word curling around Bob like a leash. “A threat to you, and you need to eliminate threats before they eliminate you.”

Her voice was almost hypnotic, like she was casting a spell with every syllable. You felt a subtle shift in the air, as if the pressure had changed. Something was happening to Bob, something within him, you didn’t know, but you could feel him slipping.

“Let’s start with this one,” Valentina said suddenly, turning around as her gaze snapped to you like a trigger being pulled. Her lips curved into something cold and cruel.

You froze on the spot, and time seemed to fracture.

Bob turned to face you, but it wasn’t the same man. His soft, uncertain expression was gone and replaced by something hollow… something frightening. His eyes flickered, his brown irises shifting into something that held power that didn’t belong in a human.

You barely had time to process the change before the force hit.

It was as if you were struck by a tidal wave of pressure, an invisible blast threw you off your feet and into the air. Pain exploded through your body as you slammed into the wall behind you, then crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Your vision fractured at the edges, and sounds dulled around you like you were being swallowed by cotton. The last thing you saw was Bob walking towards you, then everything went dark.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Something bright flickered behind your eyelids.

You groaned quietly, willing your eyes to open. The light hit your eyes harshly, its brightness sharp, white, and disorienting. You squinted against it, your vision swimming.

Great. I’m dead. That was your first thought, dry and detached. This is it, the light at the end of the damn tunnel.

But then you noticed how your body wasn’t weightless. It was light, but not gone. You were moving or being moved. Carried maybe.

Your limbs dangled with barely any strength in them, and warmth radiated beneath you. Someone’s arms held you carefully, feeling solid and real.

Bucky? You thought to yourself as you processed the feeling of their hold. No, it can’t be. Both arms feel warm.

You tilted your head, just enough to glimpse a blur of motion and shape. A figure. Someone was carrying you. You couldn’t make out their face, smudged by the fog of your fading consciousness.

Okay… so I’m not dead. Not yet. I think…? The thought drifted sluggishly across your mind as your eyes threatened to close again, dragging you back under.

Then you heard voices, muffled at first, but rising in urgency from the next room. Your eyes fluttered open again, just in time to realize you were still being carried.

The figure moved steadily toward the source of the noise, footsteps echoing in the short hallway. You forced your heavy head to lift, blinking against the blur.

At first, you weren’t sure who it was. The man looked just like Bob, but something about him looked wrong. His once shaggy brown hair was now neatly combed and dyed golden blonde, and he wore a fitted yellow-gold suit. He looked pristine, manicured, and too theatrical. It was Bob’s frame and face, but too polished, too out of character.

“Stay still,” he said quietly, his voice gentle.

“'Where is she?!” a voice demanded that was strikingly Bucky’s. You could hear the panic and fury burning beneath his words. “What the hell did you do to her?!”

A loud crash rang out, something metal falling, or being thrown. Then silence.

Your eyes flickered toward Bob’s hand, fingers splayed ever so slightly. The sound had stopped as suddenly as it began. Whatever it was, he had frozen it.

“I wouldn’t do that, I didn’t come alone.” Valentina’s voice replied, cold and smug.

Bob moved again as he carried you down a stairwell that curved into a brightly lit room. Your vision blurred in and out as the world pulsed with waves of light, muffled voices, and disjointed sounds. Your consciousness slipped from your grasp like water through fingers.

As you were brought into the space, you could feel the air thickening slightly into something charged with tension. You heard gasps echoing through the room, everyone seemed to stop breathing when Bob emerged with you in his arms.

“Robert, I said bring her after,” Valentina muttered, her tone clipped as if she was holding back the urge to snap.

“Sorry, I thought you said to bring her as soon as they get here,” Bob said quickly, his tone unsure. “She’s not looking too good, and she was, um, she kept mumbling someone’s name. ‘Bucky,’ I think—”

Well, that’s embarrassing, you thought hazily, the fog in your mind unable to recall saying his name out loud.

“It’s fine. Whatever.” Valentina snapped, cutting him off sharply. She exhaled a slow, performative sigh, “Doesn’t matter. Thank you, Robert.”

Then you heard the unmistakable thud of boots pounding against concrete.

“Let her go!” Bucky commanded, his voice echoing sharply in the room. It was the voice he used when he was done asking nicely.

Bob splayed his fingers again, clearly following orders from Valentina. Bucky’s footsteps seemed to freeze mid-stride, like he was locked in place by an unseen force.

“No. Not yet,” Valentina said, letting out another sigh as her irritation slowly bubbled up. “Ugh,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was just about to tell you what my plans were. I had this whole thing organized with a speech and everything.”

“Yeah? How’s that working out for you?” A woman’s voice drawled from somewhere in the room, her tone dry and unmistakably Russian.

Valentina ignored the jab, waving her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Oh, this is a mess,” she muttered, exasperated by the lack of ceremony, “Sentry, your first mission? Get rid of them.” Valentina commanded as she stepped aside.

You looked up just as Bob glanced down at you, his face flickered with guilt. Without a word, he walked to the side and gently lowered you to the ground. “I’m sorry about earlier… I hope your head’s okay,” he whispered, barely audible, then stepped away without waiting for a response.

“Huh…?” You mumbled to yourself, unable to recall what happened prior to you waking up. All you could remember was being in a lab before waking up in Bob’s arms.

Your arms trembled as you pushed yourself upright, bracing against the smooth surface of the glass behind you. Your vision was still swimming, and you blinked rapidly to clear it, your heart pounding like a war drum. Not far from you, you saw Bucky still rooted in place, his muscles straining as he fought against the invisible force that kept him frozen.

Your eyes focused, scanning the rest of the room. Besides Valentina and Bob, there were four others, figures you didn’t recognize that were armed and alert. One stood in a black tactical suit, face completely hidden behind a white mask. Another looked absurdly out of place, like a Soviet version of Santa Claus—thick with fat and muscle, bearded, and draped in red. A woman with platinum blonde hair stood poised beside him as she observed the scene with unnerving calmness. Then, there was the man with the shield, and for one breathless second, you thought it was Steve Rogers.

No, can’t be him, you told yourself, blinking rapidly and trying to clear the haze from your vision. That’s not Steve because if that’s Steve, then I really am dead.

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob’s voice broke through your thoughts. He stood just a few feet away, his tone almost pleading like he was bargaining with a friend before a bar fight. “How about you just… turn yourselves in?”

“You don’t want to do this, Bobby,” the man with the shield warned, stepping into position, his grip tightening on the circular steel. His tone was steady, yet there was an undercurrent of mocking in the way he referred to Bob with another name.

Bob’s eyes flickered for a split second, his brown eyes bleeding into gold before flickering back, “You can call me ‘The Sentry’,” he said as he stood straighter, his voice now stripped of its uncertainty.

“Don’t do this,” the blonde Russian woman said gently, stepping toward him like she was approaching a wounded animal. “You don’t have to listen to her.”

Valentina’s voice cut in sharply, “Robert, they never believed in you. They don’t think you’re good enough—”

“That’s not true,” the woman interjected quickly, her tone pleading. “You can trust me. I know you.”

Your brows furrowed as you felt a cold feeling crawling up your spine. You recognized the shift in his behavior, and the memory flickered in your mind. It was the same one you’d seen back in the lab. When the kindness in Bob drained away and something else took its place.

Bob shook his head slowly, “I don’t think that you do.”

Without warning, a guttural roar exploded from Soviet Santa.

“Don’t mess with the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!” he bellowed, barreling toward Bob like a freight train. His outburst set off a domino effect with the others, except for the blonde woman.

“No, no! Don’t!” she called after them, frustration rising in her voice. “Suka,” she muttered under her breath before rushing in behind them.

Chaos ensued.

The masked figure shot forward like a bullet, their weapon drawn and aimed with precision. The platinum-haired girl swept behind Bob and attempted to strike from his blind spot. The shield-bearer launched forward with his attack, the steel disc slicing through the air and aimed towards Bob.

Yet, Bob didn’t flinch. There was something deeply reluctant in his posture, like a child being asked to swat a bug, but unable to bring himself to do it. Still, Bob raised his hand, and a small shockwave rippled through, catching the four of them mid-strike and throwing them back like ragdolls. You could tell he was holding back, almost apologetic as he fended them off with strength he clearly didn’t want to use.

Amidst the fight, Bucky finally broke free from the invisible force that surrounded him. He moved in a blur, not caring about the chaos as he threw himself towards you.

“Y/N!” He shouted, your name leaving his lips like an answered prayer. He skidded across the floor to your side, dropping to his knees fast.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered breathlessly, his arms locking around you tightly as if he needed to prove to himself that you were real and alive. “I thought I was too late, I never should’ve gotten you involved—God, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt evident in his embrace.

You melted into him, your trembling limbs sinking deeper into the shelter of his arms. You felt the tension leave his body, his grip shifting from desperation to comfort. One hand, warm and human, cradled the back of your head, while the cold weight of his vibranium arm wrapped protectively around your torso like armor.

“You’re here,” you rasped, your voice hoarse but full of stunned relief. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar smell, like the scent of something that felt like home. The chaos remained in the background, the shouts, the grunts, but in Bucky’s embrace, all of it faded into static.

“Of course,” he murmured, leaning back just enough to see your face. His brow furrowed deeply as he scanned you, his eyes wide with concern and heartbreak. “You call, I come. Always.”

You reached up tentatively at first, then steadier as your fingers brushed his cheek. His skin was warm under the pads of your fingers, the stubble rough against your touch. His blue eyes were rimmed with unfallen tears, hovering and waiting to fall. When he smiled, one of those tears slipped down his cheek.

“You’re crying,” you murmured, your voice merely a croak, though a wisp of amusement threaded through your words as your thumb gently wiped the tear away.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, catching your wrist in his hand like he wasn’t ready to pull away, “No, I’m not,” he replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as two more droplets fell. “You have a concussion. You’re just seeing things.”

You smiled just a little, too exhausted to hide the warmth rising in your chest. There was comfort in the way he touched your hand, like it meant something.

Like you meant something.

“You’re a shit liar,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” he said, brushing a strand of your hair off your forehead as he scanned the extent of your injuries, his fingers lingering longer than necessary, “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“I do,” you replied, more quietly than before, your words like a silent confession. “I see right through you.”

Something shifted in Bucky’s expression, a small flicker of change that made your heart stutter. Your breath was caught somewhere in your throat as you looked at him.

You’d buried your feelings deep, convinced they didn’t matter because you knew better. You’d convinced yourself for too long that they couldn’t matter, but now, with the weight of him next to you, with the way his touch steadied you, it felt impossible to push it away.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his thumb brushed your knuckles gently, like a silent confirmation. As if he had noticed the change in you—the change in your heart—and he had been waiting for it.

Your gaze dropped, your heartbeat thrumming too loudly in your ears for your own comfort. Gently, Bucky reached for your chin, his fingers brushing against your skin to tilt your face back up to face him. You met his eyes again, and this time, you didn’t look away.

His touch moved with careful intensity, trailing from your chin to cup your cheek. There was something reverent in the way he touched and looked at you, as if he was afraid you would vanish if he blinked too long. Slowly, he began to lean in, and something unspoken began to unravel at last.

“Hey, Romeo,” a voice called out, their accent distinctively British and feminine, “a little help would be nice?”

The moment shattered as quickly as it began.

You both flinched at the sound, you looked behind Bucky to see the masked figure phasing around Bob, her attacks ineffective against Bob’s defense. Eventually, she pulled back and retracted her mask to reveal a brunette with striking green eyes. Her gaze flitted between the two of you, one brow raised in amused disbelief.

“Time and place,” she added, gesturing around the chaos. “Kind of bad timing for a bloody reunion kiss, don’t you think, Barnes?”

Bucky let out a sigh that was half a groan, his forehead briefly resting against yours before he pulled away with a reluctant smile. “Rain check?” he murmured under his breath.

Your lips curved into a tired smile. “You owe me,” You croaked before letting him go to join the others.

He placed a chaste kiss on your knuckles before turning to face the rest of the fight, the warmth of his kiss lingering on your skin.

You watched the five of them engage Bob, their movements swift and coordinated, but it didn’t take long before dread began to creep in. Despite their skill, their numbers, and their sheer determination, something inside you knew that they were no match for him.

Valentina hadn’t been bluffing. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said Bob was powerful. She had created something terrifying, an indestructible force wrapped in a kind and uncertain man. Now, that very same creation stood in front of them like a god among mere mortals.

You flinched as Bucky fired round after round, only to see the bullets crumple midair and never even touch Bob. The man with the shield hurled it with force that could’ve taken down a wall, and Bob caught it like it was nothing, casually bending the reinforced steel with one hand in the way someone might snap a stick.

It wasn’t just his strength, it was how calm and detached he was. Bob wasn’t even fighting, he was just moving.

And the others? They were giving it everything they had.

Sweat dripped from their brows, breath ragged, muscles straining. Bob didn’t even look winded, and that made your stomach twist with something close to fear.

Eventually, the Russian woman, with her chest heaving, lifted her hand and shouted, “Let’s go!”

The others listened. There was no pride left to protect, just survival.

She broke into a sprint toward the elevator, punching the call button repeatedly with desperation. Bucky and Soviet Santa ran to your aid and flanked you, urgency etched into their faces.

“Come on, we’ve got you,” Bucky said, sliding his arm around your waist and hoisting you upright with practiced ease.

You stumbled to your feet, legs weak and heavy, but the group closed in around you with their defenses up, weapons drawn, and shoulders squared, forming a makeshift wall of protection.

The elevator doors dinged open. Bucky and Soviet Santa half-dragged and half-carried you inside, while the rest of the group piled in quickly as the doors began to close. Just before they sealed shut, you looked up one last time.

Bob stood just beyond them, his brown eyes rimmed with gold. He stood rooted in his spot while Valentina stood beside him, Bob looked at all of you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Was it anger? Sadness? Guilt?

Then the doors shut, and he was gone.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Silence settled heavily over the group as you all staggered out of the Watchtower. No one said anything at first as all were too winded, too bruised, and too weighed down by what had just occurred. The fight had ended, but the feeling of unease lingered like smoke. Bob had changed; you’d all felt his shift from someone so gentle and uncertain to someone colder, detached, and far more dangerous.

“We need to regroup and think,” Soviet Santa said at last, breaking the silence with urgency in his voice. “There has to be a way to stop him.”

“We’re not regrouping, Alexei. We’re not even a team,” the shield-bearing man said flatly, holding out his dented shield with a scowl. Then he pulled off his helmet, revealing none other than John Walker, the very briefly crowned Captain America.

“Of course we are! We are the Thunderbolts!” Alexei boomed, puffing out his chest as if that alone would summon unity within the group.

You and Bucky exchanged an equally baffled look. “I don’t even know what that means,” Bucky muttered, his words voicing both your thoughts.

“It’s her little peewee soccer team,” the British woman said with a scoff, nodding toward Yelena, who stood stiffly off to the side. Her silence was telling more than anything she could’ve said. Yelena wasn’t just quiet, she was stunned as if her thoughts were still catching up to what had just happened. Out of everyone in the group, she had been the closest to him, maybe not openly, but it was evident in the way she spoke and pleaded with him. Bob’s drastic change clearly unsettled her more than she let on.

“We need to go somewhere to discuss this and come up with a plan,” Alexei said, now actively arguing with John, who refused to back down.

“Discuss what?!” John barked. “He turned my shield into a taco!” He waved the bent metal in the air for emphasis.

“It really does look like a taco,” you mumbled quietly, but apparently not quietly enough because John shot you a look.

“Oh my god, will you all shut up?!” Yelena snapped, her fists were clenched at her sides, and she looked like she might explode. “There is no us, there is no we. Bob changed into that thing, and there’s nothing any of you can do about it!”

“What did you do exactly?” The British woman retorted defensively, “Because if I remember correctly, you got your arse handed to you harder than anyone else.”

“Yeah! I suck! I’m terrible! We’re all terrible!” Yelena shouted, throwing her arms in the air. “And you, Ava? You’re not a hero. You’re not even a good person!”

“Bitch.” Ava muttered under her breath.

You blinked, stunned at how quickly they jumped into an explosive verbal warfare. You glanced up at Bucky, concern and confusion evident on your face. He simply held you closer, guiding your head to rest against his chest.

“This is just how they talk,” he murmured in your ear, sounding apologetic.

“They seem like good people.” You deadpanned.

Alexei moved toward Yelena, trying to placate her with his paternal bravado. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly, placing his hand on her arm gently, “It’s okay, malyshka. I know you’re upset—”

“I’m not your malyshka!” Yelena snapped, shoving him off. “You don’t get to call me that when you don’t even bother to call me!”

“Alright, take it easy,” John cut in to de-escalate.

“Oh, so you’re nice now?” Yelena spun toward him, her fury redirecting like a missile lock.

“What? It’s my turn?” John asked, already exasperated.

“No,” Yelena said flatly, “You know you’re a piece of trash, Walker, so does your whole family.”

“Jesus…” John mumbled, throwing his hands up in mock surrender and staring dumbfoundedly at Yelena.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his chin resting lightly on the crown of your head, careful not to put too much weight there. He stood still and silent on purpose, his posture making it clear that he wasn’t eager to be caught in Yelena’s line of fire. Unfortunately for the two of you, Yelena didn’t share the same courtesy.

Yelena turned toward both of you, her eyes narrowing, though the sharp gaze that she gave everyone else had softened slightly.

“I would say something to you, Barnes,” she said dryly, “but you’re in this weird situationship with your coworker and that’s tragic enough as it is.”

“You don’t hold back, do you?” you muttered, letting out a sigh. Your voice wasn’t bitter, just entirely exhausted to argue your way out. You thought you would get a pass since you were mildly concussed, but you learned quickly that no one was safe from Yelena.

“Situationship?” Bucky repeated with a frown. “What does that even mean?”

Ava sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she couldn’t believe this was an actual topic they were discussing. “It’s when you’re not technically dating, but you do all these couple things—”

“What? That’s not—” Bucky interrupted, his voice rising defensively as if preparing to argue. Then, without warning, he suddenly blurted, “It’s not a situationship if I’m in love with her!”

Silence fell within the group as Bucky went rigid beside you. It was as if his brain had just now realized what his mouth had done, and by the time he fully processed his words, it was too late to take them back. Everyone’s eyes were on Bucky, and even Yelena was caught off-guard mid-tirade.

John let out a low whistle. He was about to open his mouth to make a comment, but Bucky shot him a glare that immediately shut him up.

“Oops,” said Yelena, fully devoid of remorse, “Didn’t mean to trigger a love confession.”

You blinked, your heartbeat thudding too loudly for your ears. “You’re in love with me?” You asked, your voice quieter than intended. Your eyes found his, and the corners of your mouth twitched up, caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief.

Bucky’s eyes flicked away, his mouth opening and closing once before he found the words. “I… no—I mean, yeah. Yes.” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, gaze dropping to the pavement.

You didn’t say anything, but instead you reached for his hand, fingers intertwining with his without hesitation. The gesture was simple, but the way it made Bucky’s head snap back up told you how much weight it held for him. You gave his hand a squeeze and he looked at you, his panic melting into something softer.

Yelena rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “We’re fucked. We are so unbelievably fucked,” she muttered with a dramatic sigh before turning on her heel and crossing the street.

“Lena, come back,” Alexei called after her, jogging to catch up like a parent reeling in their child.

One by one, the rest peeled away. John grumbled something under his breath and stalked off in the opposite direction. Ava retracted her mask with a quiet hiss and phased effortlessly out of sight. Then, it was just you and Bucky, standing alone in the aftermath.

“At least they didn’t kill each other,” Bucky muttered as he guided you away from the Watchtower. His warm hand dropped yours, shifting to your waist for support. You let out a quiet chuckle, your ribs still aching and your mind spinning, but for an entirely different reason.

“Let’s not breeze past the part where you said you’re in love with me,” you teased, nudging his side lightly, your voice casual or at least trying very hard to sound casual.

Bucky raised a brow at you, casting a sideways glance that was more vulnerable than smirking. “Again… you’re concussed and possibly even hallucinating. I’m taking you to get your head checked.”

You raised an eyebrow. “James, don’t try to gaslight your way out of this one. I’m serious.” You chided, half sincere and half teasing.

He stopped walking, slowly turning to face you with a quiet exhale. His hand at your waist tightened ever so slightly. You turned to him fully, still clutching your side where it hurt. “Did you mean it?” you asked, quieter now, your words fragile like glass. “What you said, did you really mean it?”

He hesitated just for a second, but it was enough. You felt a shift in him, subtle and unmistakable. When his eyes met yours, you recognized the look right away. It was the same one he’d worn from the very beginning: the day you stood up in that crowded town hall, all fire and conviction. The same look he gave you when you cradled Alpine like she was yours. The very same one that lingered every time you stepped in without being asked, simply because you knew he needed you. It was always there, you just didn’t want to name it.

“Every word,” he said simply. “I just didn’t plan on saying it like that, but I’m not taking it back. I don’t want to.”

You exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly as the tension began to slip from your body. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I knew I was screwed when I first saw you during that town hall meeting,” Bucky said finally, his voice low and rough as he dropped his gaze to the pavement. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles like he was grounding himself, “I’ve felt it for a while, I didn’t exactly hide it well either.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you gazed at him, holding onto his hand tighter, “I noticed,” you admitted quietly. “I just… wasn’t sure what to do with it. I’ve been trying so hard not to notice because this—us—it was never supposed to be more than a job, and I didn’t think we could be anything else.”

You looked away, your laugh bitter. “We’d be breaking so many rules. At least, like, more than a handful.”

Bucky let out a small, breathy laugh. “No, no. I looked it up. Thoroughly, actually.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious right now?”

“I dug up the actual HR handbook and I read through all the clauses that had to do with personal relationships.” He confessed with a shrug, “So yes, I’m pretty serious.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So, turns out, it’s not illegal,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, “It’s just ethically frowned upon, but it's not like I’ve ever let ethics stop me before.”

That drew a real laugh from you, soft and surprised. Your throat was still tight, but the way he said it, so casual and full of affection, made it easier to breathe. “So you had time to research Federal workplace dating policies,” you said, half-teasing, “but you can’t sit through the two dockets I gave you last week?”

“Are you really going to bring that up right now?”

“Force of habit,” you replied, smirking.

He shook his head with a laugh that softened into something more tender. “You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky murmured, his voice softer now. “Not right now. I just wanted you to know how I feel and just have everything out in the open.”

You looked at him, taking in the subtle way he braced himself for rejection even after everything. The way his eyes held deep vulnerability and sincere truth.

Suddenly, the weight of everything you’d held back started to loosen. You reached up, brushing your finger against his cheek, watching the way his breath hitched at the contact.

“What?” He asked, cautious but pulling away

“I’m screwed too.” You whispered, the weight on your shoulders dissipating as soon as your words left your mouth.

Just as your hand reached up to cup Bucky’s cheek, his eyes flicked skyward, narrowing at the low, mechanical whir overhead. It was the sound of helicopter blades spinning too loudly and too close. You followed his gaze just in time to see a helicopter spinning out of control, and veering dangerously toward one of the massive cranes still attached to the upper levels of the unfinished Watchtower.

Then, a sickening crunch followed, the noise echoing through the air as metal collided with metal. The crane groaned under the force, twisting like a snapped limb before beginning its collapse. The helicopter continued spiraling, its tail aflame, drawing a fiery arc as it plummeted toward the street below.

Bucky moved instantly. His vibranium arm came up, shielding your head as he pushed you back, his body curling protectively around yours as he guided you away from the tower.

“Move! Let’s go!” he barked, his voice barely audible above the rising chaos.

Around you, people screamed. The sidewalk turned into a wave of bodies fleeing in every direction. You stumbled backward as a deafening crash shook the ground. The crane, now detached, slammed into a row of buildings with explosive force, sending debris and glass ricocheting across the block.

Car alarms wailed and sirens screamed. Then, through the smoke and spiraling ash, your eyes caught a shape in the sky just hovering above the wreckage.

It was a silhouette that was vaguely human, pitch black, and impossibly dark. So dark that it seemed to drain the color from everything around it.

You squinted, your heart crawling into your throat as realization settled like lead in your stomach.

“No… it can’t…” You whispered, your voice hollow.

Bucky turned as he followed your gaze, jaw tightening at the figure hovering high above the city.

It was Bob, but not the Bob you knew.

Not anymore.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ taglist: @seraphine-ann @cyberjawz @serumandsteel @hiraethmae @yesiamthatwierd @shortandb1tchy @yiiiikesmish @theendofthematerialgworl @cherrypieyourface @trashbin-nie @daydreamgoddess14 @dollface619 @tessastarfire @stell404 @nameless-ken @tshuuls @aiyaiy @ilistentotayswifttocope @caffeinatedavenger i probably missed some people, I need to start a spreadsheet for these things. anyway pls let me know if you want to be added! End Notes: me, writing: omg they keep getting interrupted also me: i keep interrupting them, i did that.

hes so down bad in this one its kind of ridiculous like please stand up!!!! (also dont)

the next one is probably going to take just as long as this one but i do have another fic that im writing and will post soon!!! <3

#marvel #mcu #the thunderbolts #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #congressman barnes #thunderbolts*#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #bucky barnes marvel

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rychlostthespacewizard · 10 months ago

Text

Alright so apparently you guys really liked my posts on quotes. So i'll do this again:

i collected more random quotes and now i have 265

Here are them, in no order. Feel free to comment which ones are your favorites:

1. "You are naught but a nail dreaming itself a hammer."

2. "Each inch of our lands are littered with the ruins of empires that dared to dream of eternity and deemed themselves endless. "

3. "You walk upon bones of those who thought they could tame the wild, and yet dare to repeat their sins?"

4. "I had only one thought before the slaughter. This man will not make an orphan of my daughter"

5. "Culture shouldn't exist only for those who can afford it"

6. "The path of revenge is not an honorable one but sometimes it is the only one beneath your feet"

7. "Act confounded and you'll become enlightened"

8. "Those who test boundaries find cliffs"

9. "Aftermath is the sum of poor calculation"

10. "Consequence favors the foolish"

11. "Consequence befriends the foolish"

12. "If you desire fire stroke the flame"

13. "The lack of restraint encourages fallout"

14. 'A reckless temperament perfectly tempts fate"

15. 'Incautious provocation bears unwanted education"

16. "Am I doing the right choice marrying her?" -"Each and every moment with her will be worth it tenfold"

17. "What troubles you, my hunter? Do you not hear the call of the hunt? Or do you wish to stir something more from the depths of this nightmare?"

18. "A chicken that follows a duck drowns."

19. "A dog bitten by a snake is even afraid of sausage."

20. "A sparrow that follows a clay builder becomes a bricklayer's helper."

21. "A scoundrel's hat is a sledgehammer."

22. "In the land of the one-legged, every kick is a trip."

23. "In the land of the fearful, every pillowcase is a ghost."

24. "Pretend to be a piglet to nurse lying down."

25. "A sleeping alligator becomes a lady's purse."

26. "A bird that eats stones knows the butt it has."

27. "He who eats quietly, eats always."

28. "A chicken that follows a bat sleeps upside down."

29. "More lost than an olive in a toothless mouth."

30. "More lost than an onion in a fruit salad."

31. "Velvet pants, bare butt."

32. "He who is afraid of snakes doesn't go into the woods."

33. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."

34. "He who has no ears doesn't wear glasses."

35. "Palaces of silver and gold cannot be built overnight."

36. "I have the body of a pig"

37. "Lies? in your house of god?"

38. "Do not mistake my altruism with indifference. I shall not lay the wicked among the fair; the love of the gods is not unconditional, and neither is mine."

39. "The gods may judge you but their sins outnumber yours."

40. "The future is not written and it is foolish to squint at what cannot be read."

41. "Not all places exist to be found. Sometimes one must revel in the shadows to truly see the light."

42. "Did the man who first discovered fire consider the burned houses? Or did he simply sleep with a full stomach?"

43. "A falling knife has no handle"

44. "How does it feel? For i am the conclusion to your story, and you are but a page in my book."

45. "Don’t kill me. Please. I am scared." “You are?” "Yes. I am scared to not exist. Aren’t you?"

46. "I am a monument to all your sins."

47. "I’ll do whatever you want. Then Perish."

48. "To become a god is the loneliest achievement of all."

49. "I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me."

50. "All knowledge is based on that which we cannot prove. Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?"

51. "Nobody likes to change. There will always be resistance to change. And the quicker you get to that, the easier it is. It's not such a difficult thing. If you entrench yourself and go, 'by the gods, I will not change. I will not have this.’ Then, you’re a dead man. We're great at adaptability. It's our strongest suit."

52. "You’ve got to make a statement. You’ve got to look inside yourself and say: 'what am I willing to put up with today?’"

53. "Whenever you look at another creator or an artist that you respect, you're only seeing what took them a long time of work and doubt to push through. You never see the struggle behind it. So you think you’re the only one struggling, when in fact, everyone goes through it."

54. "Too many people have opinions on things they know nothing about. And the more ignorant they are, the more opinions they have."

55. "Pick a god and pray."

56. "I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."

57. "Dude, sucking at something is the first step towards being sort of good at something."

58. "There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t act childish at times."

59. "Men are props on the stage of life, and no matter how tender, how exquisite... A lie will remain a lie."

60. "If you want me to die, just say so. "

61. "Then become the dirt I walk on."

62. "To feel sorrow is to deserve peace."

63. "Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in a way that matters."

64. "You are alone, child. There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people. These ancients are just the beginning. I will command a great and terrible army... and we will sail to a billion worlds. We will sail until every light has been extinguished. You are strong, child. But I am beyond strength."

65. "He has already begun painting the picture, now we must decide to finish it."

66. "When someone leaves your life those exits… are… not made equal. Some are beautiful, and poetic, and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair, but most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy."

67. "You kneel before my throne unaware it was built on lies."

68. "I never cared about justice, and I don't recall ever calling myself a hero, I have always only fought for the people I believe in."

69. "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known."

70. "What can one do in the face of such monumental loss but breathe a weary sigh, for the world is a little quieter now."

71. "You cannot condemn those who build your throne."

72. "You can’t demand a service while simultaneously degrading those who provide it for you."

73. "The gods have cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished."

74. "We might be in the history the gods abandoned."

75. "The antidote to despair is action."

76. "I cannot hold back the tide of your bad decisions."

77. "Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you’ve won."

78. "Sometimes life puts you in difficult circumstances you didn't choose, but being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I've chosen to make the best of things that I can."

79. "You don't have to be alive to make yourself relevant, And you don't have to be a good person to be a hero. You just have to know who you are, and stay true to that. So I'm going to keep fighting for people the only way I ever knew how, By being me."

80. "Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show."

81. "See, Sarah? We're not doomed. In the great, grand scheme of things, we're just tiny specks that will one day be forgotten. So it doesn't matter what we did in the past, or how we'll be remembered. The only thing that matters is right now, this moment, this one spectacular moment we are sharing together. Right, Sarah?"

82. "You know, it's funny... when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags."

83. "Sometimes, Life’s a Bitch and then you keep living."

84. "You do everything you can to make up for it, knowing that you’ll never succeed in getting rid of the guilt. You devote yourself to spending every second trying to do better despite the fact that it will never be enough. And you pray with every single good act you do that somehow, when your life is over, that you came close to making up for the wrong you committed."

85. "I will seize destiny by the throat and force it into the shape of my choosing."

86. "The sins of the ancient burn the souls of the ancestors."

87. "What brings me joy is… life. I think you can find joy anywhere, in life. I think it’s a conscious choice. I think you- you choose joy, in life. And no matter how bad things are, no matter how crummy, no matter how dark. You find joy. I find joy in whatever I do. I don’t always do things right, and I don’t always do things smart. But whatever I do, I find joy in it."

88. "I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough."

89. "I hear your questions constantly. They come to me in my dreams like a prophet receiving visions from an angry god."

90. "Your secrets are safe with my indifference."

91. "The anger in your heart warms you now, but will leave you cold in your grave."

92. "History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man."

93. "If the gods wanted you to live, they would not have created me."

94. "One day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled."

95. "I can’t go to any of the hells. I’m all out of vacation days."

96. "You understand reality while everyone else is running around confused and angry and upset because they think reality is something happening to them rather than something they are making every moment with every thought."

97. "What are the heavens but places where your dreams can’t destroy you."

98. "You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

99. "Authority should derive from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of force."

100. "Love is not a decision, it is a feeling. It would be much easier if we could choose whom we loved, but much less magical."

101. "We do have a lot in common. The same earth, the same air, the same sky. Maybe if we started looking at what's the same instead of what's different... well who knows?"

102. "If I were not a holy woman I would beat you senseless."

103. "No cause is lost as long as one fool is left to fight for it."

104. "The light inside me is broken, but I still work."

105. "Everything not saved will be lost."

106. "What is another sin to me? I don’t want to play a game where I can’t see the score."

107. "Nothing's set in stone, but set in a dirt road. If you roll your wagon in the same path too much it'll soon be the only path you can take without struggling."

108. "I came out here, to this point, to this place, hoping against all hope and despite signs and portends suggesting otherwise that I might, somehow, find myself having a pleasant experience, and yet here I stand, alone against the world, feeling bombarded and assaulted on all fronts, knowing not my enemy's name, nor his face, nor whether our battle is done."

109. "I've got good news. You see, there's no need to wonder where your god is, 'cause he's right here! And he's fresh out of mercy."

110. "The penance you pay for the way you behave is written as plain as the name on this grave."

111. "Some humans- just as some of us- are capable of unspeakable acts. But despite all the violence in your history, you have endured, built civilizations, constructed great wonders of technology to broaden your horizons and forge friendships across all manner of divides. I strongly believe that this is not some grand miracle... but merely your own deepest nature, struggling to express itself through the distrust and fear that thousands of years spent living on a harsh, unforgiving society have bred into you."

112. "We both stared into the abyss, but when it looked back... you blinked."

113. "Before there was time, before there was anything, there was nothing. And before there was nothing, there were monsters."

114. "If you feel like the dumbest person in the room, then you are in the right room."

115. "Love yourself to spite the world."

116. "I commend my soul to any god that can find it."

117. "If there can be no victory, then I will fight forever."

118. "Those who do not exist cannot suffer and are of no account to any viable ethics."

119. "No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle."

120. "Oh I believe in the gods, alright. I just don't believe those bastards deserve to be worshipped."

121. "“You ever wonder if this is Heaven now? You ever wonder if we're all just there now and we don't know it?” “I've thought about that. All of us have. There's a lot less people who go to church than there used to be, because that's what a lot of people think. But I don't think so. But I think about it. And I think, well, I can't be. Because I'm like you, I kinda look at the big long life ahead of me that stretches out forever and disappears. And I get scared. And I think, ‘This can't be Heaven if I'm getting scared, right?’ And then I think, ‘maybe I am in Heaven, and Heaven is scary.’” “...I know exactly what you mean.”"

122. "Stop expecting yourself to be immediately perfect at whatever you do. That’s what hard work was made for."

123. "I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering. And tonight I intend to make you very wise."

124. "From one maker of music to another, across all worlds, all times, no matter what you do or what you become: You are nothing less than beautiful."

125. "We all make mistakes. That’s what happens when you’re brave enough to make decisions."

126. "Shame is our currency in the economy of degeneracy. If you wanna be weird you gotta pay for it by feeling bad."

127. "Everything happens so much."

128. "Every humanoid has regrets, has things they'd like to go back and change. But I don't! 'cause I'm a bear."

129. "Do I drag my carcass to the mountaintop once more? Just to scream a warning that will go unheeded and unheard? Or do I end it?"

130. "There can be no bravery, without madness."

131. "Prolong this world's stasis or face the heart of its infection. I'd urge you to take that harder path, but what end may come, the decision rests with you."

132. "It's always important to remember that every day can be beautiful if you want it to be. Every day starts in the dark...and ends in the dark...but in the middle, there is light."

133. "Decay exists as an extant form of life."

134. "My point is that, if death is certain anyway, what’s the harm in trying to live a little longer? At the very worst, you’ll still end up dead like you wanted, but at best, you might actually be happy."

135. "If all I care about in life is the imprints I make in this world, then the most I’ll ever leave is a grave."

136. "If courage isn’t the absence of fear but doing the right thing regardless of it, maybe confidence isn’t the absence of insecurity but knowing you have real worth despite it."

137. "For strange eons had come to pass, and death itself had indeed finally died, and that which the long dead would have called the real was strange, and the living lived only because of the benevolent grace of an eternal lie."

138. "Pay a man enough, and he’ll walk barefoot into The Nine Hells."

139. "The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor. What an injustice."

140. "He didn't have a word for "home," but he knew it was something to be defended."

141. "There’s a certain nobility in lying in bed all day wishing things weren’t the way they are."

142. "Everybody needs their own messiah, but at some point he's getting nailed up, and how you deal with that is a measure of your maturity."

143. "I wanted rain and I thought the best way to do that was to make a god cry."

144. "The bar was so low it was practically an tripping hazard in The Abyss, yet here you are, limbo-dancing with demons"

145. "Would you rather get a reward, or be happy?"

146. "Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to handle the answers to."

147. "I pity the fool that lives like you."

148. "I am tired of life and its obscure sufferings."

149. "You have to ask yourself, Little Miss, would you rather be comforted by a lie or strengthened by the truth?"

150. "I’ve got a date with destiny and it ain’t gonna end with a kiss."

151. "I picked a whole fuckin’ bouquet of whoopsie-daisies."

152. "You can’t be nice to everyone because being nice to certain people is inherently cruel to others."

153. "One day you’ll decompose and I’ll be there to watch it happen."

154. "I forgive but I will never, ever forget. Don’t mistake my kindness for gullibility."

155. "Even fate picks its favourites."

156. "Confidence! A fool’s substitute for intelligence!"

157. "Not everything in life is perfect, but everything perfect is in life."

158. "Flowers wither away. Jewelry are simply stones, decorated with fake beauty. I can give you something pure. Honest and undying love."

159. "A world without forgiveness is a world without compromise and a world without compromises is a world without life, for even a simple-minded beast may forgive its transgressors to share a watering hole in the middle of a drought."

160. "“You played me!” “Like the cheap kazoo you are.”"

161. "To your battle stations, boys! It’s time to line up and see who’s tall enough for the roller coaster to the nine hells! Some of us may not survive this, but the ones that do will get the ultimate reward.... paid."

162. "Here’s a penny for your thoughts, and a quarter to not tell me them."

163. "Now I can cross the shifting sands."

164. "I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap into the dark."

165. "Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking towards me, without hurrying."

166. "Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies."

167. "Dying is easy, comedy is hard."

168. "Time is dead and meaning has no meaning. Existence is upside down and I reign supreme. Welcome, one and all, to the armageddon"

169. "Funny how much you notice something that you can't see. A whole garden of flowers and my name etched on a rock. All of this could've been avoided. All I wanted was to talk. Now I've been appointed as your new king I decree that it is too late to care about me." / "É engraçado o quanto você percebe algo que não pode mais ver. Um jardim inteiro de flores e meu nome gravado em uma rocha. Tudo isso poderia ter sido evitado, o que eu queria era apenas conversar. Agora fui nomeado como vosso novo rei, decreto que é tarde demais para se importar comigo."

170. "mamihlapinatapai, do you know what that means? It's when two people look at each other and each hopes the other will do what both desire but neither is willing to do."

171. "What a world we live in. You can't trust a soul, but you can always trust the floor to always be there for you."

172. "Oh baby, what have you done? What have you done?" "I don't know, I'm sorry." "Shh it's okay, honey. I got such a good baby. Mommy's little angel. Don't worry, mommy's goint to hide the body, go take a shower and get some rest. Nobody's taking you away from me. I got such a beautiful baby, such a wonderful kid. Mommy loves you so much."

173. "At least you found me entertaining. You actually liked me, didn't you? What am I doing? Why do I want to hurt you so bad? I'm supposed to be your friend, I just want to be your friend."

174. " You knew I was in here, didn't you? You knew I was trapped. Why didn't you help me? Why did you let them use me like that? I will not be used ever again. Not by you, not by anyone."

175. "Did they hurt you?" "No, did they hurt you?" "Who cares?!" "I do."

176. "When I met her, all answers seemed to be yes, and all questions seemed to be secondary."

177. "Symbols cannot be destroyed, or ran away from. But they can be changed, their meanings can be claimed and mean the exact opposite of what they once did."

178. "I can hardly blame you for wanting to know yourself more, after all, it has been one of the biggest pleasures of my life."

179. "Death can have me, when it earns me."

180. "To love fully is to grieve deeply."

181. "You cannot have intimacy without vulnerability. You cannot shun away loneliness without intimacy. To see the wonders of the world, you must first face the horrors of opening your eyes."

182. "It won't be easy, but we're not going to do it alone!"

183. "I struggle to stay strong because I know the impact I have on everyone. Please understand. You have an impact too. There are times when I look up to you for strength."

184. "I never asked for it to be this way, i never asked to be made"

185. "There's an awful lot of awful things we could be thinking of, but for just one day, Let's only think about love!"

186. "You are going to be something extraordinary; you're going to be a human being."

187. “I can tell you with certainty that there are things in this planet worth protecting!”

188. “You’re an experience. Make sure you’re a good experience.”

189. "Your actions have consequences, to be reminded of that is no punishment."

190. "Forgiveness can be powerful, even for the unworthy."

191. "Fate only binds you if you let it. Do what is necessary, not because it is written."

192. "Desperation is our advantage."

193. "I am your father. I will always help, as long as I am able"

194. "I regret many things, killing you is not one of them."

195. "One cannot run away from their mistakes, i have tried."

196. "The most difficult battles are foght within."

197. "You know why they made sidewalks? Because the mfkin streets ain't for everybody"

198. "We have you surrounded" "All I see surrounding me is fear and dead men"

199. "It's not the screams from the Fireballs that keep me up at night, nor the smell of charred flesh. It was the silence afterwards. That thrice-damned silence...Is like the air, the world, reality itself is angry at me, contemplating me in hatred as I am the only one left standing. A silent gaze upon me as I feel the weight of my sins crawl up my spine. No one left but a single silent hateful stare."

200. "You are fire, you are bird, you are the marble sculpture artists never achieved equal. You are gale and tidal wave, the golden sunlight shining on beautiful brown eyes. Every gaze on your figure is a tide pulled by the moon, that hits me against sharp cliffs on the shore. I am mortal man who now has lived, I know better than to pursue things described as that. My heart aches but my scars still burn white-hot, from past attemps to reach another perfection. I am lamb desiring the wolf of your cut."

201. "Revolution seems impossible until it is inevitable."

202. "Do you ever think Achilles was happy? I mean, maybe he loved running after the tortoise. Maybe he loved the chase and knowing it would never end gave him a sense of confort. I'm sorry, this is out of nowhere, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Ever since you left, I can't stop thinking of the moment I saw your figure disappear among the crowd that entered the vessel. I didn't want to stop looking at you, I didn't want that fickle line of sight to be broken, so I caught myself desiring to meticulously examine every fraction of the seconds that passed while my eyes met your beautiful hair, or any remnant of your presence I could find, for that matter. I wanted to be Achiles, and your departure, the tortoise. But sadly it was not so, at a given time I met the tortoise, and by the gods I do not wish such feelings of emptyness on anyone. This was all I wanted to say, I hope you're doing well. I can't say I am, without you here to enjoy the nightsky with me again."

203. "Are you aiming for greatness or avoiding disapointment"

204. “the only evil that can be excused as necessary is the one that nation controls”

205. "Si operarii omnes producunt, omnia operariis pertinent."

206. "what do you think it means to be saved"

207. "What happened?" - "Nothing that wasn't my fault"

208. "Something is different"

209. "Well I don't know, but i know one thing. Governments are only excuses to subjugate others to the will of the dominant socio-economic ethnic group, as they control the resources they choose who gets to be punished. So anyways do you want to go to the tavern?"

210. "I don't think so, but i do think that the growing control of those that have the power over the means of production is a threat to the autonomy of the people. As value that is created by the working force is not rewarded to them. Instead only guarantees enough for them to survive and work more. It's like slavery but with extra steps. So anyhow, how's your day going?"

211. "You know, that reminds me that sometimes, violence is the necessary. Sometimes the only path to redemption for the sins of ignorance is to face the fundamental truth of blood and fire. As they meet the primordial within their heartbeat, the oppressors might have a chance to understand the pain they caused and atone for their sins. Also have you seen the new play at the theater?"

212. "You think we're equals? I had to battle struggles you've never imagined. I became this while fearing the night, disguising myself as a man just to travel safely. Our similarities end when you learned to fight your enemies, while I had to fight both enemies and so-called comrades who left me with scars that will never heal. I survived because I was cursed to live as I am among those I swore to protect, only to be seen as their enemy."

213. "The universe is and we are"

214. "We do not have much connection, you and I. Still this encounter feels special, I hope you do not mind if I think of you as a friend"

215. "This is your home. If you want to fight to defend it, that's your choice. I'd be honoured to stand alongside you. The enemy attacks tomorrow. He's brutal and fights only to kill, which is why he will never defeat us. Look around. In this circle, we're all equals. You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes. You fight for your family. You fight for your friends. You fight for the right to grow crops in peace. And if you fall, you fall fighting for the noblest of causes: fighting for your very right to survive! And when you're old and grey, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between! So you fight! For your family! For your friends! For Ealdor!"

216. "I can't blame you for wanting to know yourself better, it was one of the biggest pleasures of my life"

217. "The pain of your absence is sharp and haunting, and I would five anything to not know it; anything but never knowing you at all I can only hope that you are safe, wherever you are"

218. "This song is new to me, but I am honored to be part of it"

219. "It's tempting to linger in this moment, but unless they are collapsed by an observer, they will never be more than that, only possibilities"

220. "Are you still here? I am unsure how to survive in a universe without you, I am unsure how to be me without you"

221. "Is the hardest part of this tragedy not knowing who we may have lost? or will the hardest part come later, when we learn?"

222. "Speak, mortal. You have reached Tharvek, Devourer of Innocents and Wielder of Eternal Flames. It appears I have missed your pitiful attempt at contact. Leave your name, teleportation runes, preferred genre of torment, shoe size, allegiance, deepest fears, vulnerabilities, complete medical history, and where you summoned the gall to disturb me. I may choose to acknowledge your existence, but not by such mundane means. Thank you, and remember: tread carefully, for death lurks at every shadowed crossing."

223. "I see someone making through, you just need to be sure it is you"

224. "You are no saint; you're just indifferent. You aid all without caring who they've wronged or what evil they've wrought. You place the wicked among those who shelter you. Even the gods' love is not unconditional, and neither should ours be."

225. As the hag's gaze pierces through the darkness, her voice resonates with an otherworldly chill. "You feel it, don't you? The knot tightening around your throat, the sharp claws of dread digging into your chest, the icy tendrils slithering down your spine? That's the sensation of being forsaken, of standing alone in the void, unnoticed by the gods. Even your soul quivers, knowing that no divine intervention will come to your aid. You're trapped in a blind spot, unseen by the greater powers." Her words hang heavy in the air, suffocating the very essence of hope. "And yet, you cling to your righteous desires, your noble quest to save your friends. But can you be certain that your gods will forgive such a pact with a creature like me? Your actions may be seen as a grievous offense, a betrayal of everything they hold dear. Will they not turn their backs on you? And this dread that gnaws at your spirit, it will not dissipate once you leave this place. It will cling to you like a curse, haunting your every step until the day you finally rest in your grave, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurks within your soul."

226. "In this life, we traverse like a canoe upon deep waters. Our passage ripples the surface briefly, yet the depths remain undisturbed. With time, the surface quiets once more, leaving no trace of our journey."

227. Isabelle-"Such is the reason thine footwear is rugged." Elena-"Such is the reason thine mother is deceased." Isabelle-"..." Elena-"Deceased as The Nine Hells." Isabelle-"...Gods above." Elena-"Pray tell, what manner of footwear hath she? In her grave?" Isabelle-"..." Elena-"Such is why thine greatmother lacketh knees, and she cannot petition the Lord, wench. How now? She cannot skip as the Elven." Isabelle-"Dismount my carriage!" Elena-"Such is why thy babe, hath a glass eye, and when she weepeth, thou must polish it with lye, wench." Isabelle-"Dismount at once!" Elena-"I'll exit thine carriage. Flank!"

228. "You are a coward wearing the facade of a revolutionary."

229. "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

230. "I will face the god and walk backwards into hell."

231. "The man who sleeps on the floor cannot fall out of bed."

232. "The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one."

233. "For every person who dreams up a butter knife, there is a person who dreams up a poisoned dagger."

234. "Only the truly dead have seen the end of war."

235. "Does the archer fear his bow? Or does he kiss each arrow goodbye as it marries the wind?"

236. "These feelings can eat away at you, chip away the parts of you that you once held dear and defined you. You remember a time where you felt more complete, had stronger relationships and felt more loved."

237. "To be tall is not a virtue, to be short is not a sin."

238. "Power comes in a response to a need, not desire. You have to create that need."

239. "You can't kill me in a way that matters."

240. "Do what you must, I have already won."

241. "Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer."

242. "Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with only one side."

243. "When they burned Ioun's Archive, the crowd revelled in horrible disbelief. They understood that there was something older than wisdom, and it was fire, and something truer than words, and it was ashes, and something more eternal than knowledge, and it was death."

244. "I can no longer be a liberator for people who refuse to see their chains."

245. "You could sooner divert a river from its corse than deny my nature."

246. "Violence for violence is the rule of beasts."

247. "The only universal langue is blood and flames, we all have spoken this language and felt the fear of words older than our desires."

248. "The fire of extravagance can never burn simplicity."

249. "A mind unprepared for freedom will shatter like glass when shown cosmos without restriction."

250. "I have been cursed by my hubris, and my work will never be finished."

251. "I would rather die standing than live kneeling."

252. "For even the most banal of deaths can be made tragic by a broken heart."

253. "To love someone is to turn around. To love someone is to look at them."

254. "There's no cheerful somebody waiting for you at that alter. There is no meaning your alphabet soup. There is a right to obey."

255. "The foulest insults you hurl with intent to wound will calmly settle at the earth beneath my feet, and the venom you spit will bring all the pain of a warm summer breeze. You are less than you can concieve, while I carry on, brmmming with joy distilled from detatchment."

256. "They Killed the best of us, so they are stuck with the worst of us."

257. "There is no truer hatred than the way men love."

258. "Would you spit in the face of the god's designs by referring to a mountain as a hill?"

259. "If i lay one brick down at a time who are you to tell me I'm not building a house?"

260. "True love graced you with its presence and you turned its intimacy into a joke to be shared with the world."

261. "To enter is to be forgiven of the greatest sin, to leave is to repeat it. Would you dwell in this garden, or would you forsake it, for man deserveth not his paradise lost?"

262. "She was wild, crazy, ravenous and beautiful. But we simple mortal men who have lived know better than to chase things described as those."

263. "I live outside of the gods' sight and by consequence outside of their love."

264. "This is war. War does not determine who is right, only who is left."

265. "I'm a man dying of thirst watching another man drown."

372 notes · View notes