#I didn't think it would be that hard to color but I was so wrong

[charmwasjess]

time travel DO write it!!!!! 👀👀👀👀

I'm sorry this is so late, Boli. I went to grab a snippet of Time Travel (Not Writing It) Fic and accidentally, uhh, started writing it again.

Teenaged Dooku and Sifo-Dyas touch the wrong artifact and get plopped into the end of the Clone Wars where they make an escalating series of predictably horrible choices! :D Here's Sifo-Dyas making some now:

“What do you mean mine?” Sifo-Dyas’s voice rose in an alarming way. 

Dooku sensed the movement coming in the Force before he even did it: the odd, loud crash of feathers against air, a bird burst into startled flight. 

–And then Sifo-Dyas was shoving past Master Kenobi, almost knocking him over, and running for it.

“Hey!” Master Skywalker grabbed for the young seer, but Sifo-Dyas dodged and opened his long body into a sprint. A flash of color as the Togruta Padawan took off in pursuit, and Dooku found himself running too, chasing them both and yelling pointless, desperate things.

“Sifo-Dyas! Stop!”

Panic thudded in his chest as he watched him tear off down the corridor into the depths of the huge ship, his dark Padawan braid whipping behind him. If Sifo-Dyas was trying to truly escape, he appeared to be headed in the wrong direction from The Negotiator’s massive hanger bay. 

…why was his whole stupid life running after Sifo-Dyas?

“Don’t chase him, it will just make him run further! I’ll get him!” Dooku yelled to the girl. 

She shot him a very defiant look for a Padawan his junior in age who should, technically, be following his lead. 

“He’ll come to me! He’s my best friend!” 

The Torgruta still didn’t seem precisely convinced, but the words “best friend” seemed to decide something for her. She peeled off the chase; Dooku ran on. He touched the Force to accelerate his speed. Sifo-Dyas might be quicker than him, but he had the endurance. 

At a Y in the corridor, Sifo-Dyas hesitated between options just long enough. Dooku turned his run into a slide, crashing into his legs and bringing him toppling down. They rolled together, scrabbling around on the metal floor to see who would come up on top.

“Sifo-Dyas! Stop!” 

“Let go of me!” 

Dooku straddled him, and Sifo-Dyas drummed blows on his chest and stomach. Retaliating without thinking, Dooku smashed the heel of his palm into his nose. A yelp, a spray of fine blood, and Sifo-Dyas's body, his answering crash against him. They fell to fighting in practiced silence. 

Sifo-Dyas’s teeth closed down on the thin skin of his wrist. Dooku jerked back, more startled than hurt. That was all the opening needed. His knee wedged up into the new space between his body and Dooku’s chest and he kicked himself free.  

Sifo-Dyas leapt up, blood flowing from his nose, stumbled, regained his footing, and threw himself forward again. Not far. Through a swishing doorway. Dooku lunged after him, closing the distance.  

They spilled out onto an observation platform, looking down into a huge bay. Dooku seized him, but Sifo-Dyas didn't struggle this time. He stood was frozen, staring. He sank to his knees. 

Dooku raised his head to see what he had seen. 

Sifo-Dyas hadn’t been running away. He had been running to them. 

“Mine…” he breathed through the blood, his eyes traveling down row after row of identical men in their identical white armor. Black eyes, huge and wide, brimming over with either love or agony. Unbearable love. Unbearable agony. 

Dooku wrapped both arms around him, holding his shaking body hard. He didn’t know if he was trying to restrain him, to offer him comfort, or simply squeeze him until everything made sense again. Until Sifo-Dyas dreamed the galaxy back into proper order.

“Mine,” Sifo-Dyas stammered again, and bent to throw up.

[flover4ever]

first date⋆.˚ ౨ৎ ˚ ˖࣪

a/n: i think abt matt and karen's date in that restaurant all the time. such a perfect scene! i wanted to capture that energy. i've always wanted to write a matt x librarian! oc fic. but times are tough and i can never commit to things lol. here's a snippet of what could have been. also, i am not from new hampshire. but oh my god, how pretty!!!!! im jealous.

warning: matt murdock x librarian! reader

matt didn't think his night could go any better. in front of him, he's got the most beautiful girl of his dreams. she told him that he is wearing a white cardigan and light blue dress, the fabric reaches the ground. she told him that the kids from the library tell her it reminds them of when the sky is clear of clouds, only sunny and blue.

matt takes a sip of his wine. "you got family in new york?"

"no," she shakes her head, taking a sip of her water (when he first asked her out, he wanted to take her to drinks. but marianne has sworn off drinking for life). "moved here three years ago."

matt's eyebrows raised. matt realized just how little he knew about her, despite how marianne was the common thread in nelson & murdock. "where are you from?"

"new hampshire." said y/n, a small smile peaking through her, like the first ray of sunshine. "it's beautiful there, so much color and life."

"god, it's hard to describe it," she said. matt loved how she described things, down to its smallest details. she talks in such a cadence akin to deep flowing rivers to morning birds. she can make her grocery list sound like a love poem. "it's hard to capture that beauty... sense of awe at the life around you, you know?"

matt smiled, so hard his cheeks started to hurt. he was sure he'd grow smile lines by the time he's forty if he keeps this up. maybe it was worth it. for y/n. "yeah," he muttered, almost lost in a trance.

"why'd you come to new york, then?" he's genuinely curious, his head titled to the side. "i mean, you make new hampshire seem like another planet next to new york."

she laughs, a giddy and joyous thing. "new hampshire's home. but new york, it never leaves you know? even with the grim and grit, there's something or someone that just makes you want to stay. when I interned here in hell's kitchen, the only thing that kept me moving was the kids. story times, their little faces, their constant questions. all of it. it gave me purpose."

matt hears her heart race, the kind that spoke to one's sense of passion. it was almost melodic, the rapid yet enchanting rhythm of muscle.

"nobody truly understands that they're the future," she said. "our future. i want to give something to them, something irreplaceable."

"like reading?"

"yeah," she sighs, like talking about the children of hell's kitchen filled her with such fervor, she couldn't contain it. "exactly."

"but working with the best lawyers in new york is a definitely a bonus," she adds, holding up her glass of water, the ice swirling against the glass.

y/n narrates what she's about to do, matt chuckles as he does the same, their glasses clinking.

"what about you?" she rested her head on her hand, her heartbeat starting to race as she met his eyes. though their gaze would never be able to meet, his dark gaze became her favorite shade of brown. it wasn't like hers, like earth's dirt in new hampshire's wilderness-- it was gold, shining like embers.

"me?" matt raised his eyebrows.

"yeah," she says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, her vegan samosas long gone by now. "what made you want to be an attorney?"

"it was my father really," said matt. "he was a boxer. . . caught up with the wrong people. and when i was nine, he died. i tried giving him justice, but no luck. i guess i just don't want any nine year old matt's to feel the same way i did."

"like what?"

"helpless."

her gaze softened. "you're a good man, matt."

"i think you are good, too, marianne," says matt. "better than me."

and he meant it. for years when darning the suit of daredevil, he feels as if there is a twisted part of him taking over his soul. every punch felt one step closer to that. being matt murdock, keeps him grounded-- but that wouldn't be possible without foggy, or karen, or y/n.

she seems like she doesn't have to try. she is effortlessly good and pure. and maybe there is a twisted side to her that she hasn't shown to him. but he's hanging out the hope that this is who she truly is. a person who is kind and good at her core, even if she had to eat through the rotten parts of herself. maybe that's what makes her truly good.

[wandixx]

You'll never find the aswers ch.4

Words in this part: 5547

Story summary: M'gann was having an amazing day. She met with her civilian friends, drank an amazing smoothie, saw a cute dog. For a few hours, she didn't have to think about problems that took more than 20 minutes to solve. For a few hours, she could just be Megan.

And then there was a scream of a woman, mother, who thought too loud and faded too fast and M'gann wasn't enough to save her and it made her whole world come crashing down

And then Danny found her, with a soft smile and patient voice. He kneeled beside her to pick up the pieces.

And shards cut them both in the process.

This part summary: M'gann and Danny hold a funeral ceremony

Trigger warnings: Mention of Character Death (should I still put it in chapter tw with... everything this fic is?), (Made up) Funeral Traditions, Referenced Cultural Appropriation (I think? I'm not sure. He means well, he's trying but he just couldn't learn everything)

Please let me know if I forgot to put something here

first chapter, previous chapter

M'gann's hands were trembling. It didn’t make any sense since she was sitting in a relatively warm room and just trying to force herself to do her homework. But her hands were trembling and her head was empty. She pressed her pen to the paper anyway and wrote her human name in the corner to at least have something. It looked wrong. Her handwriting always looked weird when she was holding her pen so hard.

Mountain was unusually quiet. Most of the time it was just her and Conner here, and neither of them were particularly loud, but usually there was something to be heard. Rooms were soundproofed to give people with super hearing some chance to rest and everyone else some privacy, but M’gann almost always left her door at least cracked. It still was too quiet. Like there was nobody there in a fifty mile radius around her. Her ears were ringing just enough to be counted as a sound. 

Artemis said once that when she couldn’t think of a way to start writing an essay, she would try to find a definition of the key word in the topic. It apparently was a good way to get started.

M’gann stared at the printed sentence for what felt like milenia and still didn’t know what she actually read, let alone identified a crucial part of it. Her brain just felt disconnected a bit. Not quite like she stood next to herself but like she leaned back a little.

She sighed and threw her head to stare at the ceiling for a moment as if it held answers to any of her problems. 

Knock… knock, knock, knock-knock-knock!

Danny was at her door, knocking on the frame. At some point or another, way back when she thought she could actually help and save people and be a hero people expected her to be, back then Danny would come around to her room a lot and along the way they created a knocking system. This pattern meant something important. 

She really didn't feel like she had energy for important. 

Knocking repeated. She got up and opened the door fully. Her telepathy felt harder to use lately, as a side effect of overall impairment of psychic powers Martians typically experience at the times of great distress. In her case it depended on a day. Sometimes she could use her powers like nothing happened. Sometimes, like today, even the easiest tasks felt out of reach.

Danny smiled solemnly at her and slowly held out his hand. There were two colorful spheres in it, a bit smaller than a ping pong ball and imperfect in shape as if they were handmade by someone inexperienced. Her fingers brushed on the uneven surface. Breath caught in her throat, her lungs stilled. She recognized the colors, she recognized the texture, she recognized the scent.

Those were mourning orbs. 

“Everything is ready” he announced earnestly, whispering as if it would be an utter sacrilege to speak any louder. She nodded. She looked back at her room, her eyes darting around anxiously. She was supposed to prepare urns. She didn’t even think about touching it.

“It alright, I've got it” Danny placated seeing her fear and shifted his bag to bring her attention to it. He was so gentle that M’gann wanted to cry a bit. What did she do to deserve it?

He held her hand now, soft and tender. There was an unexpected comfort coming from his familiar calluses rubbing against her still bruised skin.

“Are you ready? We can do it another time if your not”

Her vision blurred a bit but she nodded, exiting her room. They began walking, Danny leading the way to the place he found. She couldn’t bring herself to wonder where it was. Contact helped her stay more firmly in her body but her thoughts were still fuzzy around the edges. Their footsteps weren't making any sound. Danny most likely shared his intangibility with her, to make sneaking around easier. She was familiar with the tingling of her skin it caused.

He was careful but sure in his route. His head was slightly tilted, like always when he was continuously using his enhanced hearing. He was probably making sure they won't bump into anyone, even if they could turn invisible the moment someone showed up. If they wanted to disappear at all, in theory nobody should stop them from just coming outside.

She appreciated it. She didn't want to see anyone else right then.

She rarely thought about how harsh lights in the Mountain were and how intense smelt the lemon detergent they used for floors. Silence around them was heavy, overwhelming, loud in a way that didn't make any sense. Main room was staring when they crossed it, despite being empty.

She wasn't sure why she was able to breathe  a little deeper only when they were by the door. Mountain was her home. She liked it. She felt safe there.

She felt like tearing her skin off until they left.

She had to blink a few times when the sun hit her eyes. She didn’t even realize how much darker it was inside. She didn't like the thought that it was her first time outside since she came back from school on Friday. It was late Sunday. Danny stopped and only continued after making sure she was alright. He let go of intangibility, letting their feet break twigs on the ground and brush along the soft grass.

It was warm outside, sun low enough to begin painting the sky in yellows and oranges and pinks while most of it stayed light blue. M’gann breathed in the scent of earth and leaves and overall life outside that felt too strong for how dry the past few days were.

“We're almost there. I hope you'll like it“ Danny said with a reassuring smile when she slowed down to take it all in. They stopped walking for a moment.

M’gann tried to return his smile but it felt wrong. Like she was possessing her own body and had to almost manually pull muscles for every gesture, continuously using wrong controls.

“I'm sure I will,” she said. She realized with a strat that it was the first time she spoke that day. Her voice was scratchy and uncomfortable. Judging by the concerned glance Danny sent her way, he caught it too. She cleared her throat like it could change anything. Her hand was lightly squeezed. They went deeper into the forest surrounding Mount Justice. 

They walked a bit more, slower than before. Despite released intangibility that would indicate they didn't need to sneak around, Danny was careful to not break too many branches and M’gann followed suit. Here silence wasn't suffocating but sacred. Gentle wind was rustling leaves above their heads while a few birds sang. It was late enough both in the day and the year for them to appear after doing whatever they did the whole day outside of mornings and evenings full of music. Before… before the accident, she sometimes woke up early to watch the sunrise and listen to them, before heat became unbearable even for Earth born beings. She too wasn't too keen on the heat of summer.

They stopped in the clearing small enough that most of it was still in the shadows of surrounding trees. Only some rays of golden sunlight made it through the leaves, illuminating a miniature, fragile looking bush in the middle. The earth around it was freshly disturbed. 

“We're here” Danny explained, barely louder than the breeze “You said you wanted something human to it and we usually put flowers so I took liberty and planted it here. Maybe it was too much. If it is, just tell me, I don't think it's settled enough to not survive uprooting. Sam helped me pick it, she mentioned something about flower language. I don't know much about it but I can try expla–”

“It's perfect, thank you” she choked out, not really listening. It truly was.

“Oh, okay. Okay, cool”

Sun was peeking in between leaves, marking their faces with golden flecks. Any other time she would say it looked almost magical. She felt alone all of the sudden. Of course Danny was there, silent and solemn but other than that, outside of this little clearing stopped in time, the whole world could stop existing and she wouldn't realize. She wouldn't care.

Mourning orbs somehow made their way to her hand, accompanied by a traditional necklace to carry one of them. Both of them already had some emotional residue in them, like all handmade things tended to. She liked it. Her heart felt warmer sensing utter devotion that sinked in with the time Danny spent working on them. It was too faint for him to catch, sincere as one could get.

Traditional necklace meant to hide one of them was clinically clean, made by some professional.

Danny put his bag on the ground, and took out a set of two urns. M’gann winced internally. They weren’t made by him, obviously. It wasn’t a problem. Process of creating urns was too complicated for even an untrained Martian to replicate, let alone human who had two weeks to learn. It was a sophisticated art, specifically cultivated by White Martians in their workshops. Urns Danny brought weren’t wrong in any outright visible way. They were clearly made by someone who knew their craft, a bit wider than normal but not enough to be incorrect. Clearly, the big rim was a part of the design for some reason.  If she focused enough, she probably could even guess from which artist family they came. The urns were frankly stunning, painted with rusty reds, some oranges and muted yellows and white, the color of death and danger, bright yellow like Priest’s skin to signify how sacred the item and ceremony in general were, barely there smidge of hopeful light blue and saturated red like royalty’s skin to tell anyone who could see it, how important the person mourned was to the people attending a funeral. They held weird green tinge to them and M’gann carefully didn’t consider what most likely caused it, focusing on the a bit too complicated, ornate shapes and perfectly even surfaces. If she had a chance to get a traditional funeral when the time came for her, she’d like to get urns almost like these.

But they were dead. Carefully kept from being polluted by foreign feelings. M’gann knew it was an industry norm, almost no one wanted stranger’s feelings on their gift for the dead. But it rubbed her the wrong way. She wanted feelings on her gifts, even stranger’s would be better than this unnerving emptiness. She couldn’t stand that something so personal was so dead. It didn’t make sense on a level so fundamental she couldn’t quite express it in words in her own head. Her urns should be ingrained with her tears and if not, with anything else, they should hold someone’s passion for the craft or annoyance at weird request or something, anything really.

Many others shared her opinion on the matter, so often in between getting a finished product from a workshop and the funeral itself, there was a set time when family and others that were supposed to attend the main ceremony would meet to fill urns with their feelings.

But obviously Danny couldn’t know that. So his urns were empty, perverted, wrong like a macabre funhouse mirror. off just enough to make people unsettled while being right enough to immediately recognise yourself in a distorted image.

“Do you want me to leave or do it with you?” he asked, bringing her back from her mussing.

Did she want him to leave? Not really. It felt intimidating for some reason. Overwhelming. Lonely. She didn’t want to be by herself while pouring her heart out to the world. She wasn't supposed to be on her own while doing it.

On the other hand, despite his clear, enormous effort, Danny didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. If anything, this slight mishap with urns proved that there was so much he had yet to learn and she didn’t want his lack of knowledge to profane the ceremony. Especially since he didn’t have any connection, any reason to feel anything towards the woman in whose memory they even did it. 

But he seemed earnest in his respectful silence, ready to give the unknown dead person all of the reverence they deserved. And she didn't want to be alone.

“Stay please“ she breathed out, so softly she wasn't sure he heard her. But he nodded, taking out two other orbs from his hoodie pocket.

“These were the trial runs,” he explained hurriedly “I took them just in case. I didn't plan on using them. And I only have two urns. I’ll get another two later, I promise”

“It's alright. You put a lot of effort into it all. Thank you”

Danny stared at her with a look somewhere between offended and absolutely appalled. 

“You can't halfass preparations for the funeral, it's like, the most basic decency!“

There was some sort of weird longing and jealousy(?) that flared up when she said that, strong enough that her impaired brain picked it up. They should talk about that later. It was potentially something she could do to at least partially repay him for all the effort he was putting in helping her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad-”

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong. I’m just a bit touchy about this stuff. It’s not even a ghost thing, just a me thing, really. You had no way of knowing, it’s okay”

They’ll definitely have to talk about it later. Not now though. They had other things to get done at the moment.

“Alright. I’m still sorry”

Danny just sighed and went back to searching his bag.

With gritted teeth M’gann changed back to her true form. After so long in Megan’s body it felt wrong, too stretched out and squeezed in all of the uncomfortable places, but she stayed like that. There were no lies to be told at the funeral.

Some part of her wanted to scream and rub the skin off of herself.

“Should I switch to Phantom?” Danny whispered.

“It depends. Which form do you consider the true you?”

Halfa hadn’t said anything, furrowing his brows, analyzing her question from all the angles by the looks of it. After a long moment his face smoothed over again and looked her in the eyes.

“I’m here as your friend not as a hero. Tell me when you’re ready to start”

She nodded and with an unpracticed gesture she put one of the Mourning Orbs in the necklace. She took a few steps to stand at an appropriate distance from the bush. Under normal circumstances, in its place would be preserved brain and ashes of the body, or if it wasn’t possible, something truly personal to the dead person. They had neither. Even little bit of blood that got on her clothes wasn’t available as it disappeared the moment she switched clothes. It still made her sith when she thought about it. Her ectoplasm was useless two, covering M’gann in a way that even Danny couldn’t reverse.

Boy stood on the opposite side with a grim expression on his face, holding his a bit shapeless orb like it was both a lifeline and the most precious thing he ever encountered.

She wasn’t ready. She was terrified. The memory of the dead body in her arms was just at her fingertips and she wasn’t ready to actually remember. Her breath hitched. Danny nodded with an encouraging twitch of emotions.

Let it all out~ he seemed to say. His voice and that of her home sang in unison and she could only do so much against their joined forces.

First tear ran down her cheek, quickly joined by next and next.

She held the body in her hands, staring as the life slowly left it, each desperate thought getting quieter and quieter, more hopeless as M’gann tried her best to put crushed ribs back together based on telepathic touch alone because she didn’t have an x-ray amd the family was getting broken in front of her and she wasn’t sure if the gut wrenching sobs she heard came from her or from the little boy whose smile she saw in his mother’s dying thoughts. She destroyed this little boy and his family and she couldn’t do anything to fix it and  an apology would be pointless but she was going to do it anyway. She was powerful and yet, she couldn’t save life in front of her and it was so unfair that her shortcomings hurt these innocent people.

She would switch their places if she could because they deserved to be happy and together and she could stand that they weren’t because of her and her knees hit the ground much stronger than she would think was possible in relieved memory. There was blood on her hands and she spent countless nights trying to wash it off, even though most of the bleeding was internal. Three was cheerful little boy waiting for his mom and she would never get to him because she was dying on M’gann’s lap and it was her fault and why wouldn’t world punish the responsible and not the bystander and she was choking, her chest tightly squeezed and it didn’t make sense because she didn’t need to breathe as much but earthly air still felt to thin and a woman on her lap drowned in her own blood and how could M’gann let it happen and, and, and…

And now she was using her friend who was already stretched thin and she kept worrying him and others and she was trying to get better and help people like she was supposed to instead of adding to their workload. But she couldn’t force herself to appear alright enough, not in front of Danny, being naturally more intune with emotions, and it was only a matter of time before they left because she was too much to deal with and was too weak and too useless to justify all their effort. She couldn’t get alright but she had to because she was supposed to be better and she trained more to get where she should already be but her mind and body kept slipping, kept betraying her and she was dead, the woman was dead because M’gann didn’t, couldn’t save her and now she was dead, she was dead.

She was dead, she was dead, she was dead…

Only when she couldn’t cry anymore, and when she got too tired to feel, did she open her eyes. With some surprise she realized she actually fell to her knees, back in the form she had that day. She shivered and quickly turned back to her true form. It wasn’t something that was supposed to happen.

Danny solemnly stood where he did before, fiddling with his hands like he did when he was stopping himself from doing something very intently. All of his feelings were kept tightly in his grasp, undetectable without an almost violent pressing. M’gann knew from experience how straining it was and it had to be undeniably harder for someone as unused as him.

She was almost sure he did that to not overwhelm her even more. She probably wouldn’t be able to tell him how thankful she was for that.

Curiously enough, despite how well he hid at the moment, she could sense the tangled mess of feelings he let out just before. She wasn’t in the right headspace to wonder or read what these emotions were but she knew they were strong. Much more intense than she expected of him. After all, he never even met the woman. He knew her only as a victim of M’gann’s shortcomings, taken from the world too soon. He wasn’t obliged to feel anything, to work on the whole memorial and yet he did, with more respect than she saw during some ceremonies she witnessed back home.

“Now we should burn it,” she said, her voice not raising above the quiet rustling of the leaves above their heads. In her White Martian form she could probably brush on them with her head if she stood straighter.

Burning was a complicated part. It had to be done calmly and slowly, with a confident hand so none of the ashes ended up outside of the small urn. Back on Mars, there were Priests and Priestesses, Flame Tamers who trained for ages to get rid of natural fear of fire and control flames before they caught anything they shouldn’t. Anyone inexperienced would taint the ceremony. Obviously they didn’t have anyone experienced anyway and they were both quite susceptible to the heat alone.

Flame Tamers always had a set of heavily ornate tools, that only ever they were allowed to touch. One of them, probably most important, was a stick with a funnel on the one end. It was still really precise to work with, but from what M’gann understood, it significantly facilitated the task. Danny took out a thin metal stick, from his seemingly bottomless bag. It looked like it belonged to chocolate fountain assorted silverware but she couldn't really judge him on that. She wasn't sure if there was punishment great enough for someone who would pervert such a sacred tool and gave it to anyone.

“Sorry, that's the best thing I could find”

No matter how he got everything else, there was no way he could get it too. It would be both too good and too unsettling. She was already uneasy from the horrible contrast between the calm, warm, beautiful day in the forest near the place she wanted to call home and the ceremony  from her cold, unforgiving past, which was always held in the coldest of the caves, ones with the thinnest air. The most inhabitable ones.

“That’s alright”

Danny winced, looking like he wanted to disagree but didn’t say anything. They both stayed quiet for a long moment, on a lonely, quiet clearing.

“How do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I only have a really vague idea how this part looks. Nobody wants to tell me how it looks. What do we do now?”

Of course nobody told him. She was surprised he learned this much anyway. He shouldn’t. How the ceremony goes was supposed to stay secret from anyone and everyone who didn’t attend it. It was too vulnerable an event to share anything outside.

But now Danny needed to know. Someone had to tell him. 

M’gann explained even though her tongue felt too big and too dry in her mouth. 

She wished she could just put information in his brain. She knew far too well how Danny would react to that.

“Oh, alright, alright. Do you want me to do it or…”

“You. I wasn’t trained.”

I still fear fire, she didn’t say.

It will hurt less if it’s you who messes up, she didn’t say.

He heard it anyway and responded with a nod.

He stabbed the mourning orb with a stick (M’gann didn’t wince, M’gann didn’t wince) and fished out a lighter from his hoodie pocket. It was the lighter, night sky blue one, patterned with golden stars. The one he almost never used because it was too precious to him. Gift from someone he couldn’t bring up without tears, let alone mention them by name.

M’gann felt like crying again.

He kneeled, doing his best to stabilize his hand over the urn and let a flame lick an urn until part of it turned warm gray and started crumbling. If Danny used the right materials (and he did, as far as she could tell by texture) it didn’t need to be on fire the whole time. Just this starting nudge.

Smoke smelled like iron on the surface. Just right.

She started whispering prayers around the gulp in her throat, their soft melody rolling easily off her tongue. She should be louder, they were meant to be heard, because how else can gods know to help her traveling to whatever was her place to rest. She should be louder because her song was lost in between chirping birds and quiet wind.

But the prayer was never meant to be sung by one person. There was never supposed to be anything else that could be louder. (She wasn’t sure if she remembered words right).

This woman had her own gods anyway. Martian ones didn’t need to guide her.

She sang a little louder anyway.

She was on a very poetic passage about promise to never forget and always grieve when Danny’s hand trembled. Ash almost got over the rim of the urn, almost got polluted. M’gann flinched and stopped singing.

Up until this point he was doing surprisingly well. Maybe even suspiciously if she didn't know he had no way and no reason to actually train it. But there he was, almost as sure and precise as some Flame Tamers were.

Whoever designed the urns probably suspected that. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they were standard size.

Even from the height of her ‘true’ form she could see tremors running through his body and a way his face was screwed to contain crying. The way he seemed to carefully measure each breath. He caught his wrist with other hand, his grip so strong that his knuckles turned white.

“Sorry about it. Don’t interrupt yourself” he muttered, his voice hoarse from unshed tears.

Some dark part of her mind wanted to listen to him, but the thought lasted no longer than half a second, drowned by guilt. Up until this point M’gann had never really considered how attending a funeral would affect Danny. He just seemed so ready and almost… excited for the lack of a better word. Eager to help like he always did. Never uncomfortable, even a slightest bit, with an idea, other than the first time when she wrote it off as overall stress from consoling her right after the… right after.

But she wasn’t really looking for it either, was she? How many things she missed because of her stupid impaired brain or because she was too self centered on her own pain or because he tucked it fast enough to consider it her mistake. But he was clearly not fine and his orbs were filled to the brim and everything filling them was just tad too personal. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? We can take a break. Or I can finish on my own.”

It wasn’t really supposed to happen but really, there were so many rules they broke. It wouldn’t change anything if they broke one more. Danny’s wellbeing was more important anyway, plus it’s not even that she needed Martian gods to help the woman. He said himself, it was mostly to help her and she wouldn’t feel any better if her friend worked himself to breakdown.

“I’m fine Meg” he muttered, hiding his tears a bit better “Just… It’s a beautiful prayer. I got moved by it” he explained, not lying but not telling the truth. There was another pang of jealousy that slipped his control. She made sure to remember it. They couldn’t talk about it at the moment, but they had to speak about it later “You can finish, I’m fine”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Sing Meg. I want to know how it ends,” he said softly. If his tone was a bit less sincere he would sound demanding. He didn’t. She knew if she really dug her heels in she could stop and Danny wouldn't fault her.

She sang again, this time it didn’t feel like she had to fight wind to be heard. She was singing for the victim and Danny both. Yes, they both had their own gods but Martian ones could lend their hands. Maybe that’s what they both needed to rest.

This time it felt like a soft breeze carried her voice, like chirping birds turned a bit more solemn and they complemented the simple but powerful melody. Words rolled off her tongue with ease. Last bits of her devastation and grief were unsticking from her soul, leaving her body with each line, each sound.

It was cleansing.

She looked up at the sky when she finished, pinks and oranges familiar in a beautiful and terrifying way.

She heard rustling when Danny stood up. She didn’t realize she zoned out long enough for him to finish burning the second orb. It wasn’t important. He smiled at her, small and comforting, craning his neck to look her in the eyes. He rummaged around his bag again and took out intricate containers that usually held the brain and ashes from the rest of the body with some solvent. They too were created by a clear master of the art.

She really needed to ask Danny how he got all of this.

“Where do we…?”

Before he could finish, she gently took both objects out of his hands. It was something she needed to do on her own.

She carefully put them in the same distance from the anemic bush that marked the center of the grave circle. Usually the remains of the dead were placed first thing first during the ceremony, but in cases like this, when there was nothing, the reminder of it was put as almost last. There was no place for lies during the funeral. Even if the lie was just to make it hurt a tiny bit less. 

Then she fixed the placement of the urn, in the circle around the brain. She carefully didn’t think about how it should be half circle, about to be finished when everyone moved on, and not mere two lone urns.

“To finish we need stones that’ll mark the border of the grave,” she explained, looking for anything sufficient. Usually funerals were attended by enough people so there was no problem with making a consistent circle but there were only two of them. Stupid tears filled her eyes. She wished she could do it properly. There was no way they could do all of the steps correctly and she knew from the start. It went better than she could expect.

She still felt an urge to throw a tantrum about everything that was wrong, wrong, WRONG!

Danny fished out two big stones, almost squares, a bit less than foot wide, about four inches tall. She knew that he had enhanced strength but it still looked unnecessarily heavy. Especially when paired with everything else he had to carry.

“Do you try to get a hernia or something? There are other ways to skip training, you know?” she joked, drying her eyes with her wrist.

Danny stayed silent for a moment, as if he was looking for words, with empty eyes and blank face. M’gann didn’t know if it was an angle or new light or something totally else, that made dark bags under his eyes more pronounced. He seemed a bit paler, too.  

“Nah. But you two deserve all the best things I could get for you,” he muttered softly. He raised both stones higher, pointedly closer to her hands. He smiled at her, earnest and solemn.

Was he trying to make her cry again? If he did, he was doing a great job at it.

“Yeah?” she choked out around a sudden gulp in her throat.

“Of course”

They put stones across each other, small, missed twig snapping under the weight. Birds kept singing cheerfully and wind kept blowing as if to spite them, as if to remind them that the world was still moving forward and even things closest to them wouldn’t stop for even a second.

It should be silent. Why wouldn’t it be silent?!

M’gann finally turned back to her green form. Danny quietly opened his arms, a quiet invitation to the hug she could reject if she so wanted. She threw herself into it fast enough to make the boy grunt.

It wasn't an all encompassing type of hug, they were too similar in size for that. But it was warm, soft and unyielding in all the right places. She was safe in it, separated from the outside world in a way no walls could ever manage. Like the most beautiful song, she could hear and feel life in Danny’s body, each deep breath and small twitch of muscles and subconscious moves of his head that made his hair tickle her cheek. She wasn’t exactly tense before but her body uncoiled the longer she was being held. It wasn’t hard to tell that Danny did too. 

Neither of them mentioned hands fisted on the backs of their shirts. Neither of them mentioned how the deep breaths turned just a bit more shallow and hitched. Neither of them mentioned how tender grass cushioned their fall.

M’gann couldn’t tell she felt better, with a tension headache and all of her emotions just too close and raw.

But she felt lighter and that was probably the first step.

******

I love this chapter, it's probably one of my favorites, but god damn was it pain to write. I liked writing it, but I was getting to it like dog to a hedgehog. I just had to be in the right mood to write it, y'know. It's probably kinda why I didn't finish rewriting before I had to start posting and why I run out of backlog hah (and right at the part that I think needs the biggest rewrite and cannot bring myself to it. Though now I have college deadline maybe I'll manage to procrastinate in a productive way)

And I had absolute blast comming up with these traditions, @audhumla-sailor can confirm that

But yeah, I love this chapter, I hope you like it too thanks to or despite a bit more... poetic way of writing

Drink something and check in with yourself if your binge reading

AO3 link

Next part

[krys-loves-otome]

Stolen from Scummy's reblog because I wanted to do it too!

Note that most half-filled squares are ones that are technically true, but it's under specific circumstances and rules, will explain below

So, for now, some Blorbos from me:

-Intense in loves and passions (for Nobunaga, for MC once they get together, for trying to get Mitsuhide to take better care of himself, in his care for others, dude is just passionate for his loved ones!) -His love for Nobu and his interactions with Mitsuhide can get a little fruity, not gonna lie. -Technically orphan since we don't really hear much about his family aside from his poor upbringing and having to be a bum to get by until Nobu came into his life. Agas in discord has also told us about RL Hideyoshi and how much his mom loved Kennyo and I think that's funny to think about sometimes. -Frequently violent but only when it comes to protecting his loved ones. He thinks one of them is in trouble and the man will go feral trying to find a way to help them. Overall speaking, he's not particularly violent, I don't think though.

-----

-Nothing anyone says is gonna make me change my mind about this man being bisexual. Nope, not happening. -Technically a tragic backstory as he frequently does Team Oda's dirty work of spying and torture, but his tragic backstory is not quite to the extent that some other characters go through, like poverty, figure-headness, and killing a loved one.

-Technically frequently violent, but it's mostly in the pranks he pulls. Not ferally violent, in a sense. He's sneaky about his violent tendencies. You don't want to mess with his wife, after all. -Divorced? He's a double agent that always goes back to his ex (Team Oda).

------

-Being an immortal vampire means you must have some complexities and that doesn't excuse you being fruity, monsieur. -Technically an orphan as I don't think we hear much about his birth family as we do Leonardo and Vlad. They're mentioned sometimes but no word on their current status as he tends to focus more on his found family. Until I get confirmed status, he's orphan status to me, thus why the creation of his found one. -Divorced from Vlad, duh.

------

-Listen. Listen. Devon/batteryrose was onto something with shipping Nokto and Slivio. Plus, been thinking of finding ways of shipping my OC and him with Rio. Just something about Nokto and the Bentonite princes does something to my mind, okay?

-Technically an orphan after what happened to his and Licht's mom, plus the whole reason for the Belle procedure is because his dad died. Maybe it doesn't count because he was an adult when his dad died, but, technically speaking, both his parents are dead, so... -Murderer by technicality because of Blood-stained Roses Day (all the princes at the time were said to have participated, so, technically speaking). He also tried to poison some merchants for a business deal, so attempted murderer too, technically?

-----

-Have you seen this demon when his family is in danger (actual, perceived, or otherwise)? He will go absolutely bat-shit feral when his family is in danger! Once you're under his wings, nothing will stop him from going to the absolute limit and beyond for you.

-Technically divorced from the Celestial Realm because of Circumstances™️, not from a specific person.

-Also on a technicality, because of that... whole war with the Celestial Realm, so some angels were more than likely killed, right?

[gaypirate420]

Kaleidoscope // Viktor

S2!Viktor x gender neutral!reader.

Summary: You're staring at his eyes.

Fluff. Spoilers!!!!

Viktor stares at his hand, that purple flowing and metallic skin. He just healed? Cured? an addict from the undercity, his mismatched pupils look up.

At you.

You followed behind when he left Jayce's lab, you were too determined and he didn't fight as hard as he wanted, in other times he would tell you to stay with Jayce, stay safe. He didn't keep you away from the Hexcore without reason, but he couldn't fight, as much as his mind was screaming at him, he just nodded monotonously after a couple of pleas.

Your eyes meet his, you sit down in front of him, whimpering slightly, after the explosion of the Council left you with an injured leg.

His eyes dart back down, he could just reach out and you wouldn't be in pain anymore but he closes his fingers and lowers his hand to his lap. He needs to understand a little more about this new... identity of his before he even attempts to touch you in any sort of way, he doesn't want to risk it. Sky disappeared in front of him like dust in the wind, he can't do that to you.

You smiled softly. His furrowed eyebrows soften.

"How are you feeling?" You asked with a soft whisper. He sighs, his eyes don't leave yours, in one hand he isn't feeling pain, that ache, that little needle-like sensation that infested his leg and back since he had memory. But on the other hand, he doesn't feel much, he isn't scared but also not happy, he isn't completely aware of what is happening but he is not mindless.

You keep looking at him, that smile doesn't falter and that is comforting. You're not scared of him not even after what you just saw.

"I don't know." He answers, there's a small shiver down your back, his speech pattern has changed, it's slow and monotone but there's some sparkles of emotions in it, it's not like he has talked much for you to completely understand yet.

You nod at his words, God you were so patient with him, always have been.

Your eyes don't leave his, the amber eyes he held are nowhere to be found, now a duller color replaces them but there's this drop of cyan, maybe crimson at times that moves around the two irises.

"Is there something wrong?" He asks, you shake your head.

"Nothing wrong, Vitya. I'm just looking at your eyes." You speak softly, scooting a little closer towards him.

Vitya.

His lips twitch ever so slightly, yes he is your Vitya, at least he thinks he is and you don't seem to look at him any differently, there's still that deep affection in your eyes, of course there is worry in your gaze, but the devoted love remains.

"What's with them?" He speaks again.

"They're different..." You whispered as you leaned your face closer. He doesn't move, he remembers the feeling, after years of being with you his heart still went wild when you approached, but now it's dull, but it's there. He knows it is, it's just a little distant, just in the tip of his fingers.

"Like- copper...but...there's this- bleeding of color.." You whispered as your eyes fixated on his, you were so close. Your breath against his face, lips near that beauty mark you loved to kiss.

"Like a kaleidoscope." You whispered, you didn't pull away, you missed having him so close. Viktor nods at your words, he hasn't seen himself fully yet.

You two stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Your hand hesitantly reaches up and cups his face, muscle memory is a hell of a thing, he immediately nuzzles his face against your hand. It's familiar yet he feels like this is the first time touching you.

He feels you. Not just your gentle hand or soft skin, you. It's a different kind of touch, like he's touching your soul, your very being.

You contain your excitement. He is still there. You smiled softly. His eyes flutter as he feels a faint sensation of your lips against his beauty mark.

He stays silent. It was dull, like a ghost touched him yet like every star in the sky placed a kiss upon his face.

"Will you do that again, please?" He whispers, meeting your eyes once more.

A/N: (Divider) Hiiii, hope you like this, I wasn't sure about writing something so fast, but I needed to get rid of the feeling. I loved Act 1, it was worth staying up til 5 am, Viktor has bewitched my soul completely, I don't have a lot of opinions, just questions, I'm going to wait until the whole season is over to talk about it and the characters. Enjoy the fic! Send requests please.

[navybrat817]

Sweet as a Berry

Pairing: Farmer!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: You go to the local market to buy berries and meet the man of your dreams.

Word Count: Over 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, meet-cute, flirting, tension, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Welcome to my Bountiful Harvest AU ( or Farmer Fall as discussed with @thezombieprostitute and @witchywithwhiskey ) and our intro to farmer!Bucky. Thanks to @yenzys-lucky-charm and @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me babble about this man. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Your weekly trip to the farmers market was one you looked forward to. A place for merchants to come together to offer an abundance of products, there was always something to browse or discover. Today you only had one thing on your list: berries for your pies. Frozen fruit did the job, but you preferred to bake your pies with fresh fruit. Buying from the market was also a way to support local farmers. Maybe one day you'd even bag a handsome farmer for yourself. It was a silly fantasy, of course, but your mind liked to wander some days.

Not that there was anything wrong with city men, but they couldn't compare to a man working on a farm. There was just something about a guy who knew how to work with nature and provide, wasn't intimidated by hard work or afraid to get his hands dirty, and had a strong body and character due to his work ethic. You liked to think you’d make a good wife and take care of him the way he’d take care of you. You also liked to imagine a handsome man walking inside after a long day and stripping down and wanting dessert before a hearty meal. And by dessert, you meant you.

For now, you were only a farmer’s wife in your dreams and journal.

The gravel crunched under your tires as you turned down the road, the market coming into focus. You made good time and managed to snag a decent parking space. A little bit of walking wouldn’t hurt. Plus the day was nice enough that you wore one of your sundresses, the soft breeze pleasant against your skin once you got out of your car.

Lively chatter greeted you as you got closer to the stalls and booths and expertly weaved your way through the bustling crowd. The various produce and flowers created a kaleidoscope of colors, brightened more by the brilliant rays coming from the sun. The earthy fragrance that blended with the sweet and ripe aromas was one you only encountered here. There was nothing else quite like it.

Quick movement in front of you made you come to a stop, your heart jumping. Had you not been paying attention you would've collided with a little boy. “Mama, there's Dada! He’s getting honey!” He shouted as he ran past and threw his arms around a man’s legs.

“Walk, please, and watch where you're going!” His mother said after him, a both fond and exasperated look on her face as she gave you a tired smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“No apologies,” you smiled. He hadn't done anything wrong. “I wish I had that energy.”

“Same. I’d bottle and sell it,” she said over her shoulder.

Watching as the woman went to her son and husband, both of them looking at her like the sun rose today because of her, you felt a twinge of sadness. Your trips to the market were solo, always had been. You longed to have a partner to go with, someone to put his arm around you or hold your hand as you picked out items together. Even better if the two of you could make a family down the line.

With a wistful smile, you shook yourself from those thoughts. There was no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Just because you didn't have that in the present didn't mean it wouldn't happen in the future. You had to have faith that the right one would come along at the right time.

For now, you would find some berries and be on your way.

Walking a bit further, you spotted a booth you hadn't seen in your previous visits. The sign that read “Barnes’s Berries” complete with hand painted fruit pieces piqued your curiosity as you stopped in front of it. As the customers in front of you paid for their bundles and blocked the view of the person assisting them, you took a minute to admire the range of berries reflecting a spectrum from blues to reds. Your mouth watered from the sight. There were so many things you could do with these. Pies, jams, cakes-

A deep, husky voice asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You made some sort of sound as you turned around, your heart pounding in your chest. The man in front of you was tall with thick thighs that deliciously filled out his jeans. The rolled up plaid shirt exposed part of his arms. The left was covered in tattoos and the ink couldn't hide the muscles or veins. If anything, it accentuated his strength. His chest and shoulders seemed to go on for miles, too. The chestnut hair that fell below his chin and stubble on his face gave the already handsome man a rugged look.

Sapphire eyes crinkled when you made eye contact and he smiled so softly that you couldn't help but smile in return. A man of his size and stature working a berry stand when he looked like he could easily chop wood or build his own home was otherworldly. He didn't just step out of your fantasy. He took your thoughts and made them better than you could've imagined.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He asked again a bit hesitantly when you didn’t answer his question. “If you're still looking, please, take your time.”

“You’re real, right?” You asked, your face heating up as the words left your mouth. A giggle followed because you couldn’t believe you just said that. “What I meant to say is, yeah. Just looking for now,” you added to save face, smoothing out your dress for no reason.

Amusement filled his eyes, the soft smile still tugging at his lips. “I sure hope I’m real and not just a figment of your imagination.”

You wished you could reach out and touch him to “prove” he was real, but didn’t want to weird him out. “Not a figment of my imagination,” you said, but that wasn’t totally true. You very much imagined a man like him when you were alone at night. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” It wasn't like you knew every single vendor, but you would've remembered him.

He sure as hell had a face worth remembering.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced, offering you his hand. His grip was gentler than you expected, but there was no mistaking the roughness in his touch. The man worked with his hands and it showed. “This is actually my first week here.”

You said your name, proud that you remembered it with the way he was staring so intently at you. He stood a bit close, too. Close enough that you could smell his woodsy cologne. Subtle, yet enticing. “I hope everyone has been welcoming.”

“Most have been very friendly, which has made my job easy,” he said. You could imagine with his looks and friendly demeanor despite his size that he’d have a lot of repeat customers. “A couple of my friends recently started selling here, too, so it’s good to have some familiar faces close by.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they're glad you're close by, too,” you smiled. You wondered who his friends were. “Did you have to travel far to get here?”

“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he smiled back, your heart racing when he ran a hand through his hair. “Not too far since my farm is only a few miles away, which also makes things easier. Makes me wonder why I didn't do this sooner.”

You nearly swooned. Your dream man was becoming dreamier by the second. “You have a farm not too far from here?”

It would’ve been easy to assume he did since he had a stand here, but not everyone who worked the market had their own land. It was also easy to assume he wasn't married since you didn't see a ring on his left hand or any sort of tan line or indentation to indicate that he removed a ring. A man like that though probably had a partner. It wasn't worth getting your hopes up.

“Yeah. I have a few acres. Beautiful place. but if I’m being honest it gets a bit lonely since it’s just me out there with no one to share it with.” He scratched the back of his neck with a small chuckle and avoided your gaze. “I don't know why I said that. That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Your stomach did a funny flip. Not just because he pretty much let it slip that he wasn't with anyone when you assumed moments ago that he was, but from the urge to comfort him taking over. You wished you could wrap him in a hug.

“Well, I don't have a farm, but I understand feeling lonely some days,” you admitted. Being vulnerable with a complete stranger wasn't how you expected your day to go, but you wanted him to know he wasn't alone in that feeling. “And it’s not embarrassing,” you assured him. If anything, it was endearing.

He slowly met your gaze. “I appreciate that.” He rubbed the back of his neck again as your heart began to race. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I find it hard to believe that someone as sweet and beautiful as you gets lonely.”

The compliment left you momentarily dazed before a shy smile graced your face. You could've said the same thing about him. Maybe the instant connection you felt wasn’t so one-sided. “Well, I do. Even coming here, I’m usually by my lonesome” you said, the words not at all bitter. Just honest. “And do you call all potential customers sweet and beautiful?”

“No, I don’t.” He continued to gaze at you before he cleared his throat. “But you said potential customer. If I made you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t.” It was gentlemanly that he wanted to make sure that his comment didn’t put you off. “There’s a stand a little further down that I sometimes stop at, though your berries are extremely tempting.”

Bucky’s brows pinched before he snapped his fingers. “Jed, right? He’s actually not here this week. Had an accident recently. Broke his leg.”

You gasped. “Oh, my god. That’s awful.” Jed was a kind, older farmer who had been there for as long as you could remember. A hard worker who didn’t deserve any kind of pain. “I hope he heals quickly.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “So, do I,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m no Jed, but is there anything I can do to get your business today?”

The hopeful look in his blue eyes had you smiling slightly. “Well, I-”

“Wait. Let me try to guess what you’re specifically looking for before you tell me.” He waited until you nodded. “Clearly berries, but not for anything like a fruit salad or an everyday snack,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and you tried not to giggle when he grinned triumphantly. “Pies. You want berries to make pies. Blueberries, right? Maybe blackberries, too. And if I had to pick a third, raspberries.”

Your mouth fell open. Was he a mind reader? “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. I have this triple berry pie recipe that I love and I make the crust from scratch and…” You bit your lip to keep from rambling. He didn’t need to hear all that. “Sorry. I just like to bake.”

“No apologies.” His light touch to your arm surprised you as he met your gaze. “You sound very passionate about it and I like that.”

You found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away. It took everything within you to not blurt out how gorgeous he was. And on top of that, he was kind? Maybe he wasn’t real. “I am passionate about it. And not just pies. Other treats, too,” you said, nodding to the strawberries. “Those would be perfect for mini shortcakes or scones.”

He studied you with an appreciative smirk. The sundress was a good choice. “I have no doubt your treats are delicious and you are making me very hungry,” he said, your heart thudding. The smirk disappeared as quickly as it appeared when he gestured to his stand. “And I think they’ll be tastier with my berries.”

You blinked, stuck on the fact that he called your treats delicious. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he called you delicious and he hadn’t tasted anything of yours, though you’d find a way to bake something and deliver it to him personally if he asked. “You sound very confident, Bucky.”

He puffed his chest out. “I take a lot of pride in all my crops. Tell you what,” he said, stepping away from you to grab a sample cup. “Why don’t you try some and see how you like them? If they aren't the best berries you’ve ever tasted, I’ll shut my stand down and let you on your way.”

“You’ll really shut your stand down? That’s a big wager,” you smiled, his fingers touching yours as he handed the cup over. It heated you up all over again. “The look of them alone is amazing,” you said, the vibrant berries beckoning for you to have a bite.

“Taste amazing, too, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Bucky shot you a dazzling smile as you tried the blueberry first since that was the berry you were most interested in purchasing today. You didn’t care if it was mortifying, you outright moaned at the flavor when you bit down on the small and plump piece of fruit. Not overly sweet or acidic as the juice coated your tongue. It was the perfect balance. So much that you licked your lips and craved another.

Your eyes honed in on the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest before your gaze flickered to his face. His eyes were darker and you realized after a moment that he was staring at your mouth. A look like that could’ve made you choke on your breath, but it somehow gave you a burst of confidence. Testing the waters, you tried the blackberry next and made a show of licking your lips again at the sweet and succulent taste. The groan he let out shot a burst of heat between your legs.

God, he looked like he was ready to eat you whole.

“Delicious,” you said in a sultry voice you didn't recognize.

“You, um…” He brought a hand up and brushed his thumb along the corner of your mouth. You quivered when he showed you the drop of juice that you missed. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the drop away. It was a look that melted your insides when he said in a gruff tone, “You're right. Delicious.”

“Excuse me?” A woman spoke, making you jump back a bit from Bucky and pulling you both out of the moment. She might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. “I’d like to buy these.”

Your heart continued to race when you saw disappointment flash in his eyes. “Go ahead,” you smiled. He was there to do a job after all, not chat and flirt with you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky turned his head toward the customer. “Of course, ma’am,” he smiled, still glancing back at you momentarily as if was afraid you’d walk away if he didn’t keep an eye on you.

Biting your lip, you held in a giggle as you tossed the sample cup into the small wastebasket. You swore you felt him gazing at you as you gathered up the bundles. Maybe you didn’t need to bend so far over to get the last bundle, but was it wrong that you wanted him to look? It wasn’t every day that you had a kind, handsome farmer flirting with you. It would have you walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Turning toward the table to pay, you gasped when you nearly collided with Bucky. He managed to grab your arms to keep you from falling and you somehow didn’t drop a single bundle as he stared into your eyes. “You know, I think you’re even sweeter than my berries,” he spoke in a low voice, swiftly taking everything from your hands and lining them in a box before your brain could process what he said. “This everything then?”

“Yeah.” You blinked and got your money out to pay. “Thanks. And keep the change.”

He shook his head when he saw the amount you gave him. “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I insist,” you smiled. He took a lot of pride in his work and any extra change could go toward that.

“I’ll keep it on two conditions,” he said, nodding to the box. “One, you let me be a gentleman and help you carry that to your car, that way you’re not stuck carrying it around.”

You nodded, butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, if you insist on being a gentleman.” He was nice enough that he wanted to step away from his stand and carry something for you. He really kept getting better and better. “And the second condition?” You asked with a coy smile. Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d ask for your number.

He reached behind him and presented you with another sample cup. “One more for the road? Please?”

You stamped down your disappointment that he didn’t ask for your number, which was more than okay. “How can I say no to that?” You popped the berries into your mouth without hesitation. They tasted ever sweeter than the first sample you had and you watched his eyes go to your neck as you swallowed. “Thanks. You really do have a gift,” you added to distract you from his heated gaze.

He looked humbled by the compliment. “I really do appreciate that,” he said, glancing over your shoulder to nod at someone. “Steve! You mind watching the stand until I get back? I’m gonna help her carry these to her car.”

You turned just in time to see a gorgeous blonde just as large as Bucky jog over from the stand across the way. “That’s nice of you, jerk. Real gentlemanly,” he smiled, giving you a small nod. “Ma’am.”

“Punk,” Bucky mumbled, but the affection was evident.

Another giggle worked its way out. Where did these men suddenly come from? Was there something in the water you didn’t know about? “You don’t need to call me ma’am, but thank you. And you’re right.” Your eyes went back to Bucky. “He is a gentleman.”

“And this is my cue to get you away from my friend before he says otherwise,” Bucky teased, steering you away with one hand while he balanced your fruit in the other.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him here either.”

“That was one of the friends I was talking about earlier. Has a farm, too, but his real passion is art,” he explained, his arm brushing against yours as he walked close. “He actually helped make my sign since I’m hopeless with that stuff.”

“That’s really nice,” you said, falling into a comfortable silence with him as you both maneuvered your way through the crowd. Once you got to the parking area, you pointed out your vehicle. “I’m just over there.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered over to you as you got your keys out. “I’m really glad you stopped at my stand today.”

Your heart fluttered when you caught the sun shining along his hair. “I’m glad I did, too,” you said softly, unlocking the car so he could set everything inside. Thank God it was clean. That would’ve been embarrassing. “But I should let you get back to work.”

He shifted on his feet, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. “Yeah, I should go.” He stepped forward and took a breath. “But I don’t think I can go back before I ask you to go on a date with me.”

You blinked. This wasn’t a drill. Bucky was asking you out. His tone was so gentle, his gaze so compelling. He was mesmerizing. He could’ve asked you to do anything and you likely would’ve done so without question.

“You want to take me out on a date?” You questioned, your mind screaming that your response was the wrong answer. This wasn’t a fantasy. It was really happening.

With an unsure chuckle, Bucky brushed a hand through his hair. “Too forward?” He smiled a little. “I’m sorry. I just thought that we…”

Your heart reacted to his uncertainty. It took a lot for anyone to put themselves out there and you wanted him to know it was worth the risk. “Not too forward at all, Bucky,” you smiled and placed your hand on his left arm, happy when he smiled back. “I'd love to go out with you.”

He took your hand in his when you went to pull your hand back. “I’m really glad you said yes,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” you sighed at his warm touch. It was the beginning of something special. You could tell. “So, when would you like to go on that date?”

And that is our intro! Now here is where it gets interesting: This story will go down two paths, one light and one dark. Be on the lookout for the continuation and choose your path (or choose both 😏). Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[crookedteethed]

⋆ ★ you and rafe having a argument midfuck...

18+ smut (pinv), squirting, cursing, angst, spit kink, high-key toxic relationship, (accused) cheating, Toxic!Manipulative! Rafe, mentions of ocs

a/n: putting this fic out until I'm done writing part two of how I slept with your father. Also thanks for all the love and support 💕

You'd been lying on your side; your leg rested on the curve of Rafe's shoulder. Your hand, the one that wasn't periodically stimulating your clit, had been clenched in a fist with your head resting on top of it. 

Your body moved with each hard thrust of Rafe's thick cock, and though the pleasure of Rafe's length never failed to make you feel good, you stayed there emotionless, staring bitterly into the cerulean color of Rafe's eyes.  

You couldn't help but wonder how you had arrived at this point, where physical pleasure no longer carried any emotional weight. The once-intense connection between you and Rafe had momentarily faded, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its wake.

Rafe had been staring at your glistening slit and your little hole, outstretched and turning red from the never-ending penetration of his cock. 

He figured something was wrong with you because you hadn't moaned, not even when he let a glob of his spit plop down onto your pussy and fucked it inside of you; you usually liked when he did stuff like that. 

And though Rafe could have asked if there was something he'd done wrong (which he was sure he did), he didn't risk it; after all, you'd let him fuck you to sleep, so you couldn't be that mad at him. 

"Switch." he told you, moving your leg from his shoulder and resting both your legs on his sides, where he slotted his body between you and started fucking you in missionary. 

"Do you think Courtney fucks good?" You asked.

Rafe stilled inside you momentarily, taking a moment to match a face to the name "Courtney".

He slowly begins moving inside your warmth, the sound of bodies connecting going "plap...plap...plap".

"Who's Courtney?"

You leaned up to where you rested on your elbows, now your nose, and eyes leveled with Rafe's. 

"Y'know, that red-head chick who bartends at the country club." You said. 

Rafe had told you 'no,' that he didn't know any red-headed girl named Courtney who bartended at the country club, but deep down, he knew exactly who you'd been talking about. Everyone at the country club knew of Courtney--particularly the guys, having given her the nickname "cherry" for her loud red hair and double d size tits. 

"The girl you always give good tips to and always joke with, that's Courtney, that should jog your memory." You said.

Rafe had a feeling you wouldn't let this go, so just as he adjusted himself on his knees, and pulled both of your calfs on his shoulders, He pretends to realize, saying "Ah, that's Courtney."

"Yeah, her." you say.

The both of you stayed silent for a moment, Rafe's cock still plunging deep inside of you. There had been a moment when you'd felt the tip of his cock kiss your g-spot, causing you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and clinch hard around his length.

"Fuckk." he drags, kissing your temples, and squeezing your left breast.

"So, do you think she fucks good?" You ask again.

"Who?" Rafe plays dumb.

"Courtney, who else?"

"How should I know?" Rafe grumbled, agitation wrangling over his face, and as a consequence, his grip on your hips tightened, and he started fucking into you faster, and just for the sake of your comfort, you retracted your legs back to your sides.

You looked down to where you and Rafe connected; it had been a gaudy mess of spit, sweat, and arousal--the result of trying to get yourselves off for hours. 

As Rafe pounded into you, you found it suddenly hard to keep your composer. It was challenging to hold yourself up on your elbows and even more difficult to form a coherent sentence that didn't involve long pauses, quiet moans, and panted 'fucks.' 

But you had to confront Rafe about Courtney. Now would be the only good time, and he couldn't walk away or turn this into a big screaming match. 

He had the serenity of your pussy to keep him calm and rooted. 

So you pushed through the immense feeling of pleasure. 

"Why'd you ask me about Courtney?" 

Rafe may have been cruising on uncharted territory, but he just had to know what you have heard about him recently. 

"Well, you know how every fucking kook goes to the country club?" You asked, and Rafe hadn't said anything. "And you know how all of our friends are kooks and you know how people talk?" Rafe kept fucking into you. 

"I heard while I was away in Venice for my father's birthday, you were seen with Courtney." 

"No shit." Rafe said. "She's the bartender at the Country club, and I go to the bar a lot, y/n." 

And as if it was possible, Rafe brought your ass and pussy closer to him, his cock nudging that spongey spot inside of you repeatedly. 

And though you wanted to drag this moment for as long as possible, you also wanted that knot in your belly to finally snap. 

"Outside of the bar at the Country Club, Ray--Can you rub my clit?" 

Your breath hitched at the rough flesh of Rafe's thumb, circling your little bud. 

"At one of your parties, to be exact." You panted. "Everyone said the whole night you looked like you wanted to fuck her, so that's why I asked; I wanted to know if you think she would fuck better than me; if so, you can fuck her and not me.” you scold.

As time went on, it felt like the amount of pressure Rafe applied to your clit increased, and the feeling of his cock slotting in and out of your cunt seemed to be never-ending, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Shit." He cursed; you assumed he was close to his peak as well. "And who the hell is everyone?" He said over the sound of flesh slapping into flesh. 

"My friends." You mewled. 

"Those jealous bitches? Trina--isn't she one of your friends? She was practically on my dick all night, but because your friends said I was talking to another girl that's not you, I'm the bad guy? Fuck that." he spat, his thrust getting deeper and deeper--more sloppier. 

"Rafe, I'm--I'm." you moaned. 

"Shut up, I'm talking now. I'm getting sick of your shit, Y/n. Just because of your insecurities, I can't live my life. How am I going to be in a relationship with someone that constantly accuses me of cheating?" 

Just then, as Rafe's hips hitched from him spilling inside of you (unbeknownst to you), you came undone. You'd been a squirter, so you squeezed your eyes tight as your cunt gushed uncontrollably around Rafe's cock. 

Some of your arousal soaked Rafe's pelvis, the sheets of your shared bed, and even some splashed onto your stomach. 

Rafe had gotten to you. 

As he got up and put his disregarded clothes back on, you sat on your knees on the edge of the bed, watching him. 

"I'm sorry, Rafe. Don't be mad at me. I should have thought things through." you cried. 

"You're always saying that shit." He spat, putting his shoes on. 

You brought your palms to your teary eyes as Rafe hovered over you. 

"I expect my bedsheets to be replaced by the time I get back." He said. 

"Where are you going?" you asked him.

"Don't you have a tracker on my car or some shit? You'll find out." He scoffed, and with that being said, he left. 

Truth be told, you hadn't put a tracker on Rafe's car—nor his phone, which he was grateful for because if he had a tracker on him, he wouldn't be picking up Courtney from her shift at the country club, where they would fuck in his car for about an hour, pick up something to eat, probably fuck again, and then he'd drop her off on the south side of the outer banks.

And to be even more truthful, Rafe would feel like him fucking Courtney wouldn't entirely be his fault; after all, he'd gotten the idea from you. 

[hoseoksluna]

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader 

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors. 

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow. 

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing. 

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed. 

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along. 

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you. 

Multiple times. 

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date. 

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl. 

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind. 

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong. 

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream. 

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him. 

You didn’t do what the others did. 

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside. 

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code. 

And so did you. 

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists. 

He did it because he unreservedly loved you. 

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music. 

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him. 

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing. 

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours. 

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight. 

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe. 

A different star. A special one. 

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck. 

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants. 

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song. 

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that? 

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust. 

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing? 

This can easily be his very last night alive. 

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up. 

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass. 

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad. 

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once. 

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better. 

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit. 

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction. 

The fucker is grinning. 

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger. 

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer. 

He needs you and he tells you. 

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts. 

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.” 

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully. 

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders. 

He knows why you did that. 

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious. 

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you. 

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?” 

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face. 

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast. 

Too fast for his liking. 

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek. 

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness. 

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made. 

One he will pay for. 

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch. 

One hit for your dignity. 

A second one for your tears. 

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed. 

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?” 

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill. 

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest. 

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face. 

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right. 

But his body doesn’t listen. 

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears. 

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God. 

But nothing happens.

Radio silence. 

White noise. 

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable. 

He begins to pray with his own voice. 

Because there’s nothing else to do. 

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her. 

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible. 

The ringing lessens. 

And then his lips move. 

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it. 

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body. 

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home. 

To solitude. 

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give. 

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him. 

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car. 

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you. 

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head. 

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held. 

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet. 

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that. 

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is. 

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.” 

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now. 

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission. 

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either. 

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him. 

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.” 

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life. 

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you. 

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound. 

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it. 

“What happened? Tell me.” 

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body. 

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you. 

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car. 

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash. 

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene. 

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you. 

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. 

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture. 

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole. 

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly. 

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him. 

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes. 

Letting himself be taken care of by you. 

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode. 

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe. 

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful. 

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely. 

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite. 

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it. 

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food. 

You can handle it. 

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh. 

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you. 

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all. 

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble. 

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.” 

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers. 

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner. 

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you. 

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst. 

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down. 

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange. 

It’s an expression of his servitude to you. 

Of his lessening and your heightening. 

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self. 

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere. 

He is at home. 

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt. 

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling. 

And he lets you know. 

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue. 

And he stops—just to beg for those words. 

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.” 

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden. 

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable. 

You help him remember. 

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.” 

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God. 

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you. 

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do. 

He invites you in. 

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm. 

And it just makes him hungrier. 

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy. 

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come. 

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore. 

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations. 

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face. 

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens. 

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.” 

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it. 

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all. 

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.” 

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen. 

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland. 

He thinks it would be an honor. 

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship. 

Everything is new. 

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.” 

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him. 

Not all the way, though. 

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for. 

You do take him all the way. 

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home. 

Heady, oriental and feminine. 

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock. 

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus. 

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something. 

He hasn’t put a condom on. 

“Wait.” 

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well. 

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes. 

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?” 

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him. 

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes. 

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material. 

Gently. 

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you. 

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger. 

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him. 

Peasant with his queen. 

You ride him like it. 

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation. 

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing. 

One more thing and he’s done. 

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.” 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.” 

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth. 

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are. 

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way. 

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.” 

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back. 

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple. 

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. 

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss. 

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you. 

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love. 

And you give it to him. 

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly. 

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize. 

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you. 

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.” 

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity. 

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you. 

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.” 

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.” 

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips. 

Gentle. 

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.” 

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it. 

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat. 

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted. 

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream. 

And you’re there when he wakes up. 

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[urlovebot]

cw: perv!sunghoon. sunghoon does your laundry so: panty sniffing.. and licking, possessiveness, exhibitionism, praise, overstim, hands free orgasm again (?), dry humping but solo (???), sunghoon creams his pants twice lmfaoooo what a loser.

a/n: nastiest thing i've ever written so if it isn't for you, i get it 😭

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sunghoon knows its wrong. he knows its gross, a little fucked up but he can't help it. especially not when you ask him to wash your laundry with his to save on some money.

he couldnt help but dig through your pile, searching desperately for it and- oh! he's found it.

a worn pair of your panties. they're different than he imagined. he's spent hours thinking about it before. he thought they'd be plain, no lace, no pattern. multiple pairs but not alot of difference in color. mainly ones that match your skin tone. you wear alot of light clothing and he sees nothing when his eyes scan your body, spending more time on your ass than anything else. he knows that you dont wear low rise anything so they must be high cut? maybe hipsters? he's sure its nothing out of vanilla for you.

so why would you own a pair of white, bikini shaped, lace trim panties? this soils the picture he had of you in his head. all of his research- all of this knowledge he had of you.

he inspects the garment in his hand. this can't be yours right? sunghoon brings the thin, thin piece of clothing to his nose. it's definitely yours. he can smell the faint scent of your body wash on them.

now he's upset; nearly distraught. why would you own a pair of panties like this? who would you need to impress-

were you fucking other men? were you- sunghoons stomach drops- were you letting them taint you? a different, even more devastating thought springs forward and sunghoon is nauseous. are you not a virgin?

the sadness fades and is replaced by wild, unadulterated anger. his fist closes around the flimsy cloth. god hes upset, frustrated nearly to tears but never at you. never at you. you could never do wrong, his perfect angel. his pretty princess would never do wrong. he knows this, but he's got to take action. do something to solve this issue, make you clean again.

sunghoon brings the panties up to his nose and lets out a whimper at the scent, its tangy but theres a hint of sweetness. fuck, he's hard now. he palms the outline of his cock through his sweats; you smell so good. he knew it, knew that you'd smell good. he tracks what you eat, when you eat it, how you eat it. he makes sure to prepare good, balanced meals for you. he buys you all of your multi-vitamins, tracks the amount of water you drink to make sure you're never dehydrated. he knew you'd smell good, he made it that way.

he feels his cock leak into his underwear. he knows its wrong, knows its fucked up and dirty, but he does it anyway. his tongue pokes out to lick the center of your panties- oh. oh. his eyes roll to the back of his head. it tastes- no, no. you taste good. he feels precum dribble out of his cock and now he feels his underwear get a little damp.

he presses his palm harder against his crotch and takes another, more confident lick at the spot where your pretty pussy would've laid and now he's whining and humping into his hand like a fucking dog. he stumbles at the sensation and catches himself on a washer and he's reminded that this is a public laundromat on campus. a more secluded one, but public nonetheless. the thought of someone catching him makes his head spin.

everyone knew you were roommates. you were so, so popular amongst your peers. so sweet and kind, a smile that lights up a room, an infectious, contagious giggle. and sunghoon, who was so, so handsome but as much as he was handsome, he was shy. didn't talk much to anyone. except for you. he'd stroll with you as you bounced next to him, talking about your day as you both walked back to your dorm.

what better way to claim you than for someone to walk in and see him fucking himself and holding your panties up to his face. the thought turns him on so much that he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a strangled moan.

god he needs it. he needs to fuck you in front of the whole campus. all of those men that violated your princess parts- he needs them to watch as he stuffs his girthy length into your pussy. he wants them to watch as he stretches you out. he's sure you'd struggle against him as what he had in girth he also had in length, but he knows you'd like it. he knows you'd love being filled up by him. by him.

he's so fucking mad. how could they? he slams the fist holding your panties on the washer as he continues to fuck and grind into his hand.

fuck those men that defiled you. fuck them for touching you that way, putting their filthy hands on your precious body. he'd fix that. cleanse you. cum all over your pretty frame, cover you in it. your face, your tits, cum on and in your tight little cunt. he prays you'd let him fuck your ass too so he could fill that up as well- shit.

he feels it coming. he feels the onslaught of pleasure start to pour into his body. he wants to hold off- wants to hold his cum until he can spill it inside of you but he cant. he's gonna cream his pants like hes a teenager again.

he laps at your panties again and he cant wait to taste your pussy. he can't wait until he can eat you out for hours, have you cum on his tongue over and over and- oh-

his eyes squeeze shut again and he bites his lip to try and conceal his moans. he can't tell if its working though, his ears are ringing and the only thing he can think of is roughly humping his hand to get off.

he whines and whines and whines as he feels himself let go, ropes of cum seeping through his underwear. its spurt after spurt and now his hand is wet and its starting to stain his sweats but he cant stop. his cock has a mind of its own, twitching and jumping and fuck- he's so sensitive.

he stops cumming, stops shooting his load into his underwear. he whimpers and removes his hand from his pants but his hips are still stuttering against nothing.

god he wants to feel it. he wants to know how it'll feel when he slides his cock into your warm, tight, wet cunt. he wants to feel his balls slap against your ass from how hard he's fucking you. he wants to feel your pussy gush around him, cover his cock and balls in your juices. he hopes he can make you squirt so you can drench him in you and- no. no no no-

sunghoons knees knock together as he feels himself cum in his pants again and he might actually pass out this time. its dry, nothings coming out but he feels euphoric. his hips fuck into the air and its so fucking gross, he feels so gross and so dirty but its only for you. only for his pretty princess.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Tim Encounters a Fae at a Gala

Which may be a problem, yes, but the much more alarming part? The Fae looks like Damian.

"This is pretty boring, don't you think?"

The voice comes from behind, and Tim recognizes it instantly, but at the same time, he doesn't. He's never heard Damian talk like this, easy and a little amused, with no usual stiffness to his speech. Yet this couldn't be anyone else - being a vigilante means you can never drop your guard even in your civilian identity, and who other than Damian could have sneaked up on him?

He turns around.

It is Damian, and at the same time, it's not. The boy looks just like the demon child, the same face, same height and skin tone, the same way he puts his hair. But something is wrong. The way he holds himself, his relaxed and almost lazy posture, the absence of a usual scowl on his face, the way he feels comfortable here, in a crowd of people.

And his eyes, when he looks at Tim. Icy blue, almost translucent, like the color of icebergs and glaciers.

The not-Damian tilts his head a little and smiles just slightly. Tim blinks, realizing that there was a question, and he just stares at the boy instead of answering.

"Yeah, sure," he clears his throat and breaks the eye contact, looking away from not-Damian's eyes, his thoughts a frantic mess. Is this another clone? Or some kind of a shapeshifter? In any case, they approached Tim first, he can't lose his chance at gaining some information. So Tim smiles back, "Is it your first time? At the gala, I mean."

Now, when he looks at the boy again, the stricking resemblance doesn't hit him so hard. Instead, Tim notices something else - the boy is... eerily beautiful. He's never noticed Damian looking this nice - because that would be kind of creepy if he did, - but this not-Damian is... He can't really put it into words.

He's just beautiful.

Almost unnaturally so.

"You could say that," not-Damian answers, looking over the crowd around them, "I'm not used to so many people around, but I've seen my fair share of social gatherings."

Tim blinks. That statement compiled with his absolute lack of any kind of nervousness makes little sense.

Alright, he needs to get at least some information from the mystery twin. He is a detective, for god's sake.

"Are you here with someone?" That can be a useful question. Tim sure as hell knows that Bruce could not invite some Damian lookalike without prior warning, which means the boy had to come as someone's plus one. Or he sneaked in with no invitation, that's also a possibility.

"My godfather should be here somewhere," not-Damian nods, scanning the crowd before nodding his chin in the direction of a small cluster of people. Tim follows his gaze and finds a white-haired man in a matching white and silver suit in the middle of telling some kind of story.

"Vladimir Masters?" He questions with a noticeable amount of disbelief. The man never said a word about having a godson. Ever. And Tim did a thorough background check on the owner of DalvCo.

"Got it in one," not-Damian grins. Is it just Tim, or do his teeth really look sharper than they are supposed to?

Come to think of it, his ears are also not as round as they should be.

Unnatural beauty, sharp teeth and pointy ears, questions answered in a vague and unclear way. And Tim hadn't noticed him blink even once.

He has a guess. He doesn't like it, it's a very, very bad guess, but Tim is a Bat, a Robin, and a Detective. He knows when he needs to trust his gut even if his gut is telling him absolute nonsense.

He just needs to make sure.

Tim swallows the anxious feeling in the back of his throat and turns back to not-Damian, smiling:

"I think I didn't catch your name?" He does his best at sounding confused and not alarmed. The boy's grin widens just a bit, but Tim feels a cold shiver run down his back, and his mind is all but screaming for him to run away for this is not human, and whatever it is, it is dangerous.

"Would you give me yours in exchange?" The boy's voice is soft and easy, not a hint of mischief. Just a casual question. Maybe a little teasing.

Tim's blood runs cold as he tries to remember everything he has ever read and heard about the fair folk. Never give them your name, but there has to be a way to answer this question, right?

"You may call me Damian," he finally answers. Maybe this is a risk, calling himself his brother's name, but Tim feels like this is somehow a right thing to do since the boy - the creature - looks like him.

Not-Damian's eyebrows shoot up, and there's a hint of surprise in his eyes when he starts quietly laughing. The heavy pressure of the air around him disappears at the sound of the crystalline laughter, like it was never there. Tim feels like he had just disarmed a bomb or passed a test with his own life at stake. Maybe he actually did.

"Clever," the boy grins again and nods politely, bowing his head down like they are at a medieval ball and not a gala, "My name is Danny. It is nice to meet my brother's brother."

| <-prev | next-> |

[perfectlyoongi]

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who likes to spoil you at every opportunity he gets, never letting you pay for anything — and, if you end up paying, he will buy you something with the same value, there is no other option. Yoongi just wants you to feel important, loved, and oh, how hard it is for him to express his feelings, but oh!, how everything is more natural with you. “let me show you that i think of you every time i see something, no matter the value. you are priceless to me.”

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who has a paper note you wrote him on the cover of his cell phone. it was when you spent the first night with Yoongi, not wanting to wake him up when you had to go to work, declaiming and remembering your feelings on a small piece of white paper that was forever kept close to Yoongi. “your memory of a night with me will always be stuck with me. your words are too melodious to be forgotten.”

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who bought a pillow and a toothbrush just for you, for when you decided to spend the night with him. Yoongi just wanted you to be comfortable, to make sure you felt good with him and around him, every detail had to be perfectly composed for you — everything had to be perfectly perfect for you. “anything you need, please let me know. i want you to feel at home with me.”

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who can't get rid of the pink color that paints his cheeks every time he kisses you. it didn't matter if it was the first or the umpteenth time, Yoongi would always blush, still filled with the feeling of love, completely surrendered to the fact that you were with him, that he was yours. “don’t laugh, please. i know i've laid in your arms for endless nights, but i can't help but feel fragile when i kiss you.”

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who lays his head in your lap whenever a day proves more challenging. in the affection of your love, Yoongi found peace; all the tranquillity he drastically seeks to emerge in the form of caresses and humming of peaceful melodies. “today wasn’t the best day. everything went wrong. but knowing that you were here for me and you can love me makes these days less painful.”

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who has the first photo he took with you as the background on his phone, no matter how many more there were after that. that photograph seemed magical, always bringing a wide smile to Yoongi every time he looked at it, at the two of you, at you. “i don’t care if those are better! it was on the day of this photo that i realised i loved you. i will never change it.”

BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who said the first I love you of the relationship, completely caught unnoticed by his own words. but he did not regret it and, when the first confession stagnated, a second confession came, more prepared, more elaborate, but much more heartfelt. “yes, i love you. that terrifying word that scares me so much only sounds natural when it's for you. i have no problem saying it, because i simply love you.”

[lxvvie]

Simon Riley is only a good 5.4 inches when flaccid that when you finally consummated your relationship with him, you couldn't help yourself but let out a big sigh of relief, that your assumption that this larger-than-life man will probably have a third limb between his legs was thrown out to the wind.

But of course you were wrong. So very wrong because what this motherfucker doesn't tell you is that he's a grower, a mutant. One second he's average and the next you are praying to all saints that would grant you mercy to spare you as you gag around the weapon he calls his cock (a whopping 7-incher! spoiler: he'll grow another inch and some cm because he is such a horndog for you).

can u tell my brain is rotting 🪰

Yes, I can, nonnie. Yes, I can.

The first time you saw him, you were so amazed that you cockblocked yourself.

I maintain that Simon is hairy, and most of it is concentrated below the belt, so when you finally see him in all his glory, it's like, "Oh, wow."

Hair everywhere. On his thighs and between his legs. On his ass. Hair the color of sand. And balls. Hairy balls. Heavy hairy nuts. Hefty, furry bollocks that you can't help but hold in the palm of your hand and try to bounce to Simon's... confusion? Amusement? Fuck if he knows. And then you went "D'aww ❤️" when you saw him flaccid and he doesn't know if he should be turned on that you find his dick adorable or... turned on that you find his dick adorable.

But then he gets hard. And what used to be Little Lt. Riley is now resting on your stomach and holy fucking shit, he's a grower.

Simon senses your trepidation. "Luv?"

"You didn't tell me you had a third leg!" And Simon wants to crack a joke and almost does until you begin to play with his cock. You lift it up by the head, let it drop, it goes plop, rinse, and repeat. He didn't think he was that big but thanks for the compliment. He thinks.

But you're still so surprised by Big Dick Riley that sexytimes doesn't even happen anymore because you're too busy playing with and studying Simon's third leg.

And Simon's ass is so crazy in love and lust that he lets you lmao.

[chrisbesitos]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀dangerous. 𔘓

꩜ warnings: angst, arguing, cursing, mommy issues.

꩜ synopsis: dealer!chris goes to see ballerina!reader at her concert. After her mother criticizes her dance, chris protects her, but they end up arguing because ballerina!reader calls him a friend.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰͡⠀🩰 𝅄 💸⠀͡꒱

You were so excited, excited and nervous, but you were happy tonight. Your ballet company was presenting tonight The Nutcracker and you were Clara, after working so hard for months, you get the role of the protagonist. You jump around like a little kid in your room, giggling and almost crying. Chris was happy for you, he gave you a couple of kisses in your face and you two celebrate in the best way.

And finally, the night of the spectacle. You look like a princess on the stage, actually, you look like a queen — this in Chris' words —. Look like you were flying, you look majestic and incredible. You run out of you backstage to meet Chris, they came to see you dancing tonight. Your eyes met Chris' eyes, he was with a big and proud smile on his lips, carrying a bouquet on his hands, you never imagined the dealer you met at a party would be waiting for you with flowers and a proud look.

"Hey, thank you for coming." You say, biting your lower lip trying to hold your big smile, but it is impossible when the boy in front of you is looking at you like a little boy stare at his first crush on kindergarten. "Is it for me?" You point at the bouquet, a bouquet of red roses.

"Yeah, yeah. Is for you." He says, giving you the bouquet. You grab it, holding it next to your nose and inhaling the scent. Chris approaches you, grabbing your chin with a grin on his lips, you stare at his pretty blue eyes and give him a peck on his lips. "You looked so pretty, babydoll." He whispers.

"Thank you, baby. For the flowers and for coming tonight." You murmur against his lips, his nose rubbing your nose and his fingertips massaging your waist covered with the white collant. Your eyes catch someone familiar behind Chris, suddenly your stomach drops and your joy seems to disappear. Your heart started to beat faster and Chris noticed your abrupt change of behavior.

"Doll? What's wrong?" Chris asks, changing his hand from your waist to your face. Even behind the makeup, he could see the color drop from your face.

"Mom?" You ask, getting out from Chris' arms and stepping until the woman with red lips and a disgusted look. Chris stares at the lady, she looks like you, at least the eyes and the shape of the nose. "What are you doing here?"

"You really think I wouldn't come to see you tonight? I mean, I just found out you were going to be Clara, because your teacher told me." She says. Your face burning in embarrassment, you didn't want your mother to come, but you didn't expect your teacher to tell her. "Oh, Y/N. Years of training and practicing, but you still look like an amateur." She grabs your chin, lifts your head and stares at your glassy eyes.

"You don't fuckin' know what your saying." Chris says, embracing your shoulders and pulling you away from your mother. She looks at Chris with a disgusted look, like he's a plague. You don't say anything, just lower your head and stare at the floor, feeling embarrassed and upset by the whole situation. You hate how your mother never sees your effort. "You should be proud of your daughter instead of treating her like shit." He defends you. Chris tries to hold your hand, but you push your hand away from his, he frowns his eyebrows looking at you.

"Who's this boy ?" Your mother asks, Chris stares at you, waiting for you to say something, but you look so, so defenceless.

"He's a friend, mom." You whisper, avoiding looking at your mother. Chris' touch on your shoulders looks freeze, his fingertips stopped rubbing your skin, he stares at you in disbelief. But you didn't look at him, nor your mom, you just keep your head down.

All you want is to disappear.

"You should choose your friends better, Y/N." And with this she walks away, leaving you and Chris behind. Suddenly you feel the urge to cry, scream and throw up. All together.

You didn't say anything, neither look at Chris. He didn't say anything either, he just pulled your elbow to walk in the direction of the exit. You squeeze the bouquet plastic in your hands, tears pricking in your waterline, but you hold, not wanting to cry in front of Chris. In the parking lot, Chris didn't open the door for you, like he always does. This breaks your heart a little, you probably have fucked up everything. Not even music was playing on the way home, just the sound of Chris' huffs.

The car stopped, Chris sighs and waits with his hands on the handwheel. Your eyebrows frowned in confusion, he drove to your home, not the restaurant he reserved for dinner. It was the first time you would've a date at a fancy restaurant, but he drives you back home. Your stomach churn, he's mad at you and you don't blame him.

"I thought we were going to have dinner at this restaurant." You whisper, avoiding looking at Chris. Your voice cracking, trying to not cry like a cry baby. You hear Chris' laugh sarcastically.

"Dates are for couples, I'm just a friend." He says, turning his head to look at you, but you are staring at the flowers. He grabs your chin and turns your head to look at him, to face his eyes with your glassy eyes. "Right? You say I'm a friend."

"No, baby. I just said that because my mother–" You say, grabbing his hand with your fingers, but he pushes your hand and cuts you.

"What? She wouldn't approve that you are with me?" He says angry, you shake your head, but he wasn't wrong. You didn't want to tell your mother you are with him, because she always wants to control your life. You didn't mean to, but the fear you feel is always consuming your body and your mind. "You're ashamed of me, don't you, Y/N?"

"Y/N?" Your voice fails.

"Why would I call you doll? You're not my girlfriend."

This makes your blood boil, because even though he's mad, he never asked you to be his girlfriend. He never said he wanted to label your relationship, so he has no right to act like this with you.

"You wanna know something? You're right, I'm not your girlfriend and you never wanted me to be!" You scream, the angry speaking louder than the sadness. Chris frowns his eyebrows at your behavior, because you never act like this with him, every time you feel angry or upset at him, you just cried, but never screamed. "You just want to fuck with me, don't you? Because if you really want me, you would've asked me. So, yes, you are my friend."

"You're really gonna act like a brat with me right now?" Chris says.

"Fuck, I hate you, Chris." You jump out of the car, slamming the door. You walk towards the front door, but you stop and walk back to the car, knocking Chris' window. He opens, still staring at you with angry eyes. "I don't want your fucking flowers." You throw the bouquet on his face, this breaks your heart, because you didn't want to do this with him, but you did it either way.

He didn't say anything, he didn't even react. Chris just nods, closing the window and driving to his place, leaving you behind. You watch he go away, but the second the car disappears from your view, sobs erupt from your throat. You sit on the stairs, hiding your face on your knees. Even though you and Chris weren't a couple, you feel like this was a break up and this hurts.

Hurts like hell.

꩜ chérie's notes: part 2 ? ngl i love to write angst.

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @strnlxlqve @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2 @zayluvss

taglist. | masterlist. | part 2.

[my-castles-crumbling]

tomorrow - @rosekillermicrofic - word count: 579 - NSFW

Barty was going insane. Like, clinically losing his mind.

He had been doing fine. Wonderfully, actually. Until, almost twenty-four hours ago, Pandora had stopped dead, looked him in the eye, and said simply, "You and Evan will kiss tomorrow."

And when Pandora said shit like that, she was never wrong.

So now he was going crazy. Questioning his every move and thought and emotion. Did he want to kiss Evan? Did he like Evan? Did Evan like him?

Maybe he was overthinking. Maybe it would be some stupid dare or a spell gone wrong.

But as the hours ticked away and no random truth-or-dare games seemed to be staring, Barty's ruminating mind started adjusting to the thought: either he would kiss Evan or Evan would kiss him.

He looked over at his best friend, who was currently studying at a nearby table, contemplating. Admiring his admittedly nice-looking lips. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to kiss him. Nice, even. He thought about it some more. The way it would feel, for Evan's tongue piercing to run over his own lips, the firm metal bar pressing into his skin. The way Evan's hands might grab his arms or waist.

He shivered. No. It was odd to think of his friend this way. He had to get the idea out of his mind.

But Pandora's words didn't leave him and he began to look at Evan again.

He wondered idly, letting his imagination take over, if Evan might press him against a wall. Suck on his neck and bite him with sharp incisors. Then, of course, he would have to return the favor, flipping them around and sucking into Evan's admittedly-delectable looking collarbone. Only because he started it.

But of course, this was all stupid. Right?

He wished it would just happen already. It would probably just be a stupid peck and he was overthinking things. But now he couldn't stop staring at the little curve of Evan's lips, the perfect color of them, wondering what they looked when they were ravaged and kiss-bitten. He was so caught up in the idea that he didn't notice that Evan had noticed him.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped. "Er..."

"Why are you staring?"

How was he to explain? Oh, Dora said we would kiss and now I'm a bit worked up picturing it even though we're both supposed to just be best friends?

He swallowed. But Evan was looking at him strangely. And as he did so, his tongue, with that fucking piercing, poked out of his mouth, licking over his bottom lip.

Barty snapped.

Jumping up, he nearly flung himself on Evan's lap, connecting their lips together in a frenzy, doing his damndest to make the things he'd been picturing become a reality.

Evan, to his utter joy, responded in kind. Gripped his hips and bit his lower lip hard, soothing over throbbing skin and swallowing Barty's moans.

After several minutes, or maybe perhaps hours, Evan pulled back with wide eyes. "Pandora was right," he mumbled, pushing Barty off his lap and dragging him toward the dorms.

It was only later that Pandora, eyes wide and a grin on her face, said happily. "Oh, I didn't actually mean anything by that. I just wanted to see if you would both get your heads out of your arses if I said it."

[mushies-stories]

Showering with TF141 for the first time headcanons

TF141Xreader

Warnings: little suggestive, 18+

John Price

Showering with John the first time made you feel like you had been doing it wrong your whole life. 

He has separate shampoo, conditioner and body wash. None of it smells too strong but over is a more masculine scent. He even suggested that maybe you bring some of your own shower supplies over to keep at his place.

He let you take up most of the warm water, the selfless and generous man he is. ^v^

Pampers you. John washes your hair and body without question. 

Thinks grooming each other is not only romantic but also is a strong form of bonding and closeness. He craves your attention and presence and showering together is perfect for that.

He uses a loofah to scrub your body, standing a little closer while he washes your back. His hands are firm but gentle as they caress your body and lather it in soapy suds. 

You lean with your head and back to his chest while his hands massage over your breasts and stomach. Teasing you just a little, fingers grazing along your nipples a little too much as he presses you closer against him. 

When his hand dips between your thighs and he runs his fingers between your folds you can’t contain the little moan you let out. He smiles into the crook of your neck and does it again and chuckles when your back arches, pressing your ass against him.

“Feel good love?” he teases. his hand abandoned your heat to rinse the rest of the soap off your body. With little sighs of protest from you. 

When he washes your hair, his hands are too gentle and so delicate that you could hardly believe they could ever be used for violence. He takes care not to snag any tangles and works them out with his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut when he starts to massage your scalp.

He makes sure not to get the soap in your eyes.

Is more than delighted when you take to washing him as well. Smiles and hands over the loofah. 

Maybe it's just me.. But… I imagine John standing in front of you with your back against the cold shower wall, his arms caging you in while you trail the loofah along his skin. 

It actually takes everything in him not to get to hard and fuck you. He had time for that later. Once you finally moved in he couldn't see a reason why he couldn't shower with you every chance he could get. 

Lets you use his bathrobe and laughs at how big it was on you. Make a mental note to buy you one of your own in your favorite color, but fluffier. 

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

At first Simon wasn’t sure if showering together would be that good of an idea. He already took up a lot of space. When you finally convinced him and managed to actually fit you both in he was a little surprised. 

You fit but he didn't get as much of the water, otherwise he would take it all.

To your horror Simon uses a 2in1 shampoo and conditioner BUT he does have separate body wash. 

Nothing too extreme or strong for scent. Body Wash is like  irish spring or something but even lighter.

He was going to just take care of himself real fast then focus on you but you stopped him, hand on his arm and reaching for the bodywash yourself. You ask him with those sweet eyes of yours if you can help. He nods silently and lets you do as you please. 

The only thing he has is a sad looking rag so you opt to just use your hands, rubbing the soap over his chest and shoulders, making him turn around so you can reach his back. 

(if you are brave and so desire, you may try and cop a feel, go ahead. Just be ready to get your wrist snatched as he whips back around with a glare.)

But overall he enjoys the attention, it's soothing and relaxing and he's groaning when you wash his hair. Your fingers raking across his scalp helps his mind slow down a little.  

Insists on repaying the favor, being as nice and gentle as you were, caressing your body in his large hands. He had an easier time washing your body than you did his, making sure to reach every little crevasse of your body.

He's tried really hard to be gentle with your hair. He doesn't want to pull on any tangles and ultimately fails. But he kisses your head every time he snagged his fingers in your hair.

“Sorry lovie… not meanin’ta tug so much.” he mumbles an apology. 

Simon decided he didn’t really mind showering together, you actually made it a much more enjoyable process, not just something for necessity. 

After the shower he gives you one of his white shirts that covers just below your ass to lounge in, just to see your still damp body through the thin fabric. 

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Johnny was the one who dragged you into the shower with him with one clear goal. To make you smell like him before you go out with your friends, he had to get up early and decided to stay home.

Only problem.. Mans uses 3in1… granted its extra scented and you won't be able to mistake it was meant for men. But still, your cringe at the thought of using it. Even though you complain the whole time he’s lathering your body up and chuckles at you. 

He doesn't even have a rag, just a true dude really, roughing it in the shower. Just uses his rough calloused hands that sends chills down your spine instead.

Is handsy, can't stop himself from groping your breasts and lingering a little too long between your thighs. Even nipping and kissing your shoulder once he washed your body off. 

You have to bat his hands away to make sure you're not late, knowing you still have to get ready. 

“M’sorry dove, just so pretty and naked for me.” he groans into your ear, holding your back to his chest, hands cupping your breasts. “Sure ya gotta go? Can't just stay’er with me?” he pleads with you. 

You firmly, while giggling from his kisses on your neck, tell him you can't.

When he washes your hair he puts a little too much in and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rely on Johnny to help you to the water. Teases you when you cling to him in your blinded state.

Honestly he wanted to ask you to wash him too but he knew you were running late so he did it himself quickly so you could get ready. 

Overall you don't mind his playfulness or his touchiness, with more time you would even indulge in it, but with better shower supplies. 

Drapes the towel over your shoulders and wraps you in his arms to keep you warm from the cold air.

good thing you at least had your makeup and outfit with.

You promise to buy a few new things for him, so you feel better about showering at his place. Then you'll make sure to give him the same treatment, with much more time. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle, like John, has separate products. The scent of his body wash is stronger but with a... spicy?? under-tone to it.

Showering with him is a little slow, and lazy. He normally likes to shower right when he gets up and this time you just happen to join him, wanting to spend as much time with him before he leaves for the day. Not like he was complaining.

Keeps you close so you both can enjoy as much of the warm water as possible. Holds you to his chest most of the time  

Goes to wash himself before you stop him and take the body wash from him with a small smile. His heart flutters when you softly ask if you could help, which he responds to with a tired smile and a nod.

He lets himself relax, enjoying your hands lathering his body in suds. You were gentle and a little hesitant at first but soon gained full confidence when he handed you the shampoo and asked you to wash his hair too. 

You do so happily. You scratch and massage his scalp, making him groan with delight as the relaxing sensation. 

Before you even think of washing yourself, he's doing the exact same thing and stealing the bodywash, telling you it was his turn.

He’s respectful, only gripping onto your hips a little and cupping your breasts for only a moment. He has work and can't give you the attention you deserve. 

But that doesn't stop him too much, still not able to resist grabbing your ass and pulling you in for a lazy kiss.

When he washes your hair, he practically has you falling back asleep while you lean against him. He decided he could just eat on his way to base, making sure you were clean and happy was currently his top priority now.

Takes a moment to hold you under the showerhead, relishing in the warm water and you against him before reluctantly turning the water off.

He only has towels, but they're big and cover most of your body.

While he dresses, you crawl back in bed. Naked and clean. Kyle smirks and tells you that you better be right there, just like that when he gets home tonight. And you happily obliged. 

“Just like that, got it? Want ya naked and ready yeah.” He instructs with a glint in his eye.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

howdyyy, what do u think of plat yan! dick grayson (or platonic yan father bruce wayne up to u) with a batsis who is very disinterested with him primarily bc when she was younger she idolised him a lot but now not so much. there are comics where grayson has cheated on his partners before so imagine batsis coming to realise as she aged and matured that her doting brother is a bit of a playboy…. a lot like a playboy actually—

You know, this is actually extremely realistic. There's nothing like the rose color glasses falling off and realizing just how messed up your family truly is.

I'd like to think that there was plenty of jokes and mentions about Dick being a playboy but Batsis would just be absolutely clueless. You probably just thought it was a reference to his charming appearance or the way he gets hit on at least once whenever he goes out. Not really that he was an notorious heart breaker.

Like i don't think the other batkids had serious talks about it in front of you because of your (then) age or maybe it was a request by Dick so he could keep on his perfect mask with you?

Ironically, he wouldn't want any man to treat his little sister (or any of them) the way he does to other women but he has a problem. I will say though, it makes absolute sense that Dick or even the others would have issues keeping relationships or even have sex addictions. I mean it's a real issue that many people are struggling with right now. But can you imagine your father constantly bringing home women and cheating your entire childhood? Like Bruce introduces some of these women to them, they get attached to this potential mother then it's ripped away to be discarded for the new catch. I think that definitely warped Dick's view of women and romance stems from that. *intense mommy issues* But also i mentioned before that it's hard for him to maintain relationships while taking on the fatherly role in the family. His obsession with making sure all of his siblings are cared for and protected(mixed with being nightwing), makes it all the more difficult. Maybe that leads him to just hooking up with and being sloppy in his relationships. Maybe its just a means of stress relief and that causes him to almost dehumanize/objectify the women he "romances".

I'm not saying this is justifiable, cheating is disgusting and his behaviors are something that needs to be corrected regardless of mommy issues but for headcanon sake we are entertaining the concept

I'm not sure how you'd exactly find out about it. Maybe one of the kids let it slip and didn't bother to do damage control because you're old enough now? Maybe you spoke to one of his exes that is still friendly with the batfam? Or maybe your brain started to develop and you realized he wasn't hanging out with that new super model as just friends all night...it was something more and his girlfriend definitely didn't know about it.

Regardless, I think when you finally found out about everything, your world crushed. I don't think you'd hate him but you just feel yucky about the whole thing. Now when you look at him something in your stomach just sinks. You might even wonder if you can trust him. I mean if he's got that much of a problem to be dishonest with his lovers, then why would it be so left field to suggest he lied to you too when he said he loves you or that you were his favorite? The transition from you idolizing him to being standoff-ish would be extremely noticeable to him. I mean it's hard to ignore when you were his mini me. Even as you got older you followed him around and never skipped an opportunity to be near.

He wouldn't think that it was because of the playboy thing, maybe just you needing some space as a teen. Everyone has gone through that phase before but when he notices your shift is only directed towards him, he's a little upset about it. He doesn't understand what he did wrong? One day you guys are eating ice cream together while having a sleepover in his room to you treating him like a disease.

Eventually your big brother corners you and makes you to confess whats bothering you. He apologizes if something he said rubbed you the wrong way but you couldn't keep treating him this way.

"uhm..i dunno, dick? I found out how you've been treating you partners and i think it's kinda gross. I guess i just don't really wanna be around someone who treats women like that right now..."

I think Dick's reaction would be complete shock....who tf told you?! He has no defense but he tries to muster up one before realizing this is just making him look worse when EVERYBODY knows how much of a whore he is lol. He'd back off of you and maybe even mutter an apology before walking away to go collect himself.

He's furious as well...whoever told you will be getting an earful because they just ruined something precious to him. (yeah they did. totally not his OWN actions) If it was one of his brothers, he will be throwing hands.

Dick does very much care about others perception of him, i've said this before. He knew he had a problem and his other siblings have spoken to him about it and it affected him but never enough to change. It's just a far deeper issue than wanting a quick fuck in the expense of his partners...But seeing his baby sister look at him with just so much disgust and disappointment was enough to cause him to spiral. He's not proud of his actions and knows he's hurt and discarded of many, many women for his own satisfaction. It's deplorable. I can imagine him taking maybe a few days to himself, he's just in his head while being overtaken by heavy guilt.

I'm not sure if Dick would actually change for you though? I think he is even debating it. Yeah he's a yandere for his batsis but is his obsession with you enough to kick the other one to the curb? That's up to you. A hopeful person would say, yes he would. Anything for his babybat! He's going to do whatever it takes to prove himself again, anything to make you proud. This habit isn't worth it if hes loosing you.

My opinion? No, he won't change after his guilt wears off. He'll just pretend like he's reborn. Dick would try for like a week and then go right back to doing his habits. He's a manipulative piece of work and yeah, lying to you is bad but he wants his cake and to eat it too. He's not willing to give up anything that gives him a euphoric boost. Shh...what you don't know, won't kill you.