#I will get a handle on drawing old men but until then we are dealing with what I can do

[noirecheris3]

cowl hair + grease paint

(I just think cass would get a kick out of the whole grease paint situation that went on in the batman 2022)

clean version :)

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: West Coast Avengers #30: NONE SO BLIND...

March, 1988

THE COMPOSITE AVENGER!

OH MY GOD THIS GUY IS SO GOOFY LOOKING!

So, the East Coast Avengers are dealing with the Super-Adaptoid over in their book (although disappointingly he doesn’t copy the powers of the current team) and the West Coast Avengers are going to deal with some guy that composites their attributes?

I’m down for that! I think every superhero team should have to deal with someone that’s just the whole team in one dude.

I sure hope this cover isn’t a lie!

This issue also seems like its a fill-in.

Instead of Steve Englehart who has been the writer since West Coast Avengers vol 2 started, we have Al Milgrom as the writer. Al Milgrom has been the artist on the book so its plausible that Steve Englehart needed more time to script the follow-up to the Phantom Rider subplot so Al Milgrom stepped up to write a done-in-one.

So I don’t know if it will be all that relevant but

Last times on West Coast Avengers: the West Coast Avengers just finished up an arc about a Zodiac organization made of astrology obsessed robots. The leader Scorpio stupidly teleported Zodiac and the Avengers to another universe where the constellations were different so the robots stopped working. Then Moon Knight harassed a man who likes to dress as a bull until he, the bull man, died in a plane crash. It was all part of the same arc, trust me.

This time: horrifying babies.

Al Milgrom, please learn to draw babies if you’re going to confront me with two horrifying cherubs on page 2 of a book.

Also: is it laundry day for Wanda and Vision? Why are they wearing their uniforms around the house? I know Vision has a TV sitcom dad sweater. I’ve seen him wear it!

Anyway, nightmare babies aside. Uncle Wonder Man reads Tommy and Billy the story of the Blind Man and the Elephant.

You probably know it. Or are vaguely aware of it.

Some blind wise men feel up an elephant and give their own, narrow interpretations of what kind of beast it is based on what they touch. One touches the tail, and thinks an elephant is ropelike, another touches the tusk and thinks its spear-esque.

And at the end they can’t agree on what an elephant is because they only bothered to touch one thing. The moral being “there are none so blind as those who will not see.”

The story is lost on Billy and Tommy who passed right the fuck out during this minute long story.  And Vision says that the more complicated theme of the story was probably beyond their baby brains anyway.

(How old are they at this point? Comic book time makes that complicated.)

But Simon says that mostly he just wants the two kids to get used to him being around as their uncle.

Aww!

He’s pretty busy with his movie career and superhero work but he wants to be able to visit this part of the family as often as he can.

Simon Wonder Man Williams gets in his Quinjet to fly back from New Jersey to L.A. but finds weird green bug robots smashing into the cockpit despite whatever defensive grid the Quinjet apparently has.

The robots shred his stylish red jacket but he manages to smash them and radio the West Coast Avengers to report the situation.

Wonder Man: “Attention Whackos! This is Wonder Man. Am being attacked by robots of unknown origin. Activating signal beacon. They’re strong li’l suckers, but I should be able to handle ‘em. There’s only a few... uh-oh! ... hundred!”

The transmission cuts off there so back at the West Coast Avengers Compound, the team assembles, gets into another Quinjet and flies off to help their teammate!

Meanwhile, Wonder Man finds himself held captive above a spaceship hovering over the Midwest.

A shadowy figure on a monitor with a tentacle mouth introduces himself as one of the Sligs -- an up and coming new warrior race who want to prove their mettle.

And like many other comic book antagonists, instead of just getting down to what they want to do (cutting a swath of conquest through the galaxy or annihilating the Fantastic Four) the Sligs decided they’re going to beat the shit out of the Avengers first to prove that they’re cooler than the Kree and Skrulls.

Also, and to be fair, they want to conquer Earth so they’ll have to tangle with the Avengers one way or another. Might as well take advantage of a surprise strike to test, analyze, and defeat the team.

But, yeah, mostly they just want to rub the Kree and Skrulls��� faces in it that the Sligs, an alien race from a- oh actually they first appeared in a Fantastic Four issue. So they weren’t invented just for this. That makes them slightly less laughable.

According to Marvel wiki, they appear in this, in Fantastic Four 209, and in Maximum Security: Dangerous Planet. So they’re laughable again.

Anyway.

Things are already not going great for the Sligs as a technician warns the leader that Wonder Man is straining their engines by fighting so hard against the stasis beams.

The leader dismisses it as no concern and is more focused on the rest of the West Coast Avengers arriving to rescue Wonder Man.

Embarrassingly, the Slig ship just blasts the Quinjet into another dimension.

Their ability to do that kind of renders the rest of their plan to best the West Coast Avengers kinda pointless though, right? Like, the Sligs could get rid of the West Coast Avengers like that. Just leave them stranded.

But no.

And granted, that would make a boring issue.

Instead, the Sligs reunite Wonder Man and the West Coast Avengers in this different dimension so they can throw a big, beefy green robot called the Examiner at them.

And by at them I mean at Wonder Man.

The rest of the team is frozen in stasis so the Examiner can test what Wonder Man can do.

And with each fight, the Examiner will adapt and improve.

As Wonder Man realizes, this kind of screws over the rest of the team, if the Examiner adapts to fighting Wonder Man and then goes against his less powerful teammates.

Wonder Man decides the thing to do is to totally wreck the Examiner in their fight so it can’t use Wonder Man tier strength against the rest of the team.

And he does. He totally wrecks the Examiner in one panel.

Unfortunately, the Slig leader tells the technician to reassemble the Examiner and compensate for the damage he received.

So Wonder Man is placed in stasis and Tigra is freed, leaving her to face an upgraded Examiner.

The Examiner warns Tigra that his shielding is now nigh impenetrable. Nice of him to give her the heads up.

But what Tigra realizes is that she’s still faster.

She climbs up the Examiner and then jumps off when he tries to smash her. So instead, he smashes in his own chest plates.

And now that the chassis is breached, Tigra jumps back up and goes ham on his wiring and such.

Tigra: “He may have been ready for Wondy’s strength, but that didn’t prepare him for my savagery! And so scratch -- literally -- one Examiner!”

The Sligs use this new angry cat battle data to make an even better Examiner and then swap out Tigra for Mockingbird to test the new guy.

Mockingbird quickly joins her battle staves to make a battle ten-foot-pole so she can pole vault from the Examiner.

The Examiner says Mockingbird is agile (and wonders if that's just a Earth lady thing, because the Examiner is down to stereotype) but that he’s a lot faster after battling Tigra.

So since Mockingbird can’t outpunch this giant lad and can’t outrace him, she takes a page from Captain America that “a clever, skillful pro can beat any opponent!”

Basically, she lures the Examiner to the edge of the floating land chunk they’re fighting on and trips him so he falls off.

Dropping men off cliffs is becoming her signature move.

Also, I think the Examiner obliterated one of those floating planetoids with his face.

The Slig leader is starting to see that the Avengers live up to the stories told about them. But hell if he’s going to stop now. He has the technician re-assemble the Examiner with strength to challenge Wonder Man, speed to rival Tigra, and ... uh... I guess being smart enough not to get tripped off a cliff.

Hawkeye is sent to face the Examiner next.

And he’s been spending some of his stasis time thinking about how these one-on-one fights have been robbing the Avengers’ of the advantage of teamwork.

With that on his mind, he tosses down a high voltage arrow and loudly declares that he doesn’t need it.

The Examiner: “Beware, Avenger, my power is approaching levels it has never before attained! No amount of strength, speed, skill or savagery can best me now!”

Hawkeye decides to test this with some high impact explosive arrows.

They make the Examiner stumble back a step but he compensates before he can, I dunno, stumble off the floating land chunk like an idiot again.

Hawkeye tries a net arrow next, which the Examiner tears apart like no thing. Then he has to use some putty arrows to slow the guy down so he can put some distance between them.

And at a safe distance, Hawkeye uses some concentrated nitric acid arrows, which he just so happened to have with him (Hawkeye’s quiver is as good as Batman’s utility belt and you can take that to the bat-bank).

It seems like the chassis is still quite durable but the acid seeps into the Examiner’s joints and he falls quite to pieces.

Boss Slig immediately commands that the Examiner be buffed and re-assembled. The technician tries to warn the boss that this exercise is starting to draw so much power that its becoming dangerous.

The boss just yells RE-ASSEMBLE! so the technician does.

Iron Man is up next.

Hm. Despite being the second strongest dude on the team, Iron Man now has to deal with an enemy that’s been buffed by fighting over half the team. If Iron Man had gone first, he’d probably have wrecked the Examiner as quickly as Wonder Man did. Now, he has a challenge.

Also, the Examiner can fly. Adapted that from the Wonder Man fight and has had it all along. Could have come in use when he was tripped off the edge of the land but hey, hindsight is something something.

Repulsors and the uni-beam both fail to do much to the Examiner. And the Examiner’s counter-attack spikes Iron Man out of the air.

But Iron Man lands near the arrow that Hawkeye dropped and he suddenly realizes Hawkeye’s strategy.

The Examiner boasts that it has grown too powerful for the arrows to threaten. But Iron Man uses the high voltage arrow to recharge his armor and then uses the power to magnetize the Examiner’s chassis.

Sure, Iron Man couldn’t destroy the Examiner, the guy can’t continue the fight with his limbs magnetized to his torso.

Slig boss: “Astounding! Each of these warriors seems to be holding some ability or weapon back so we are faced with a new challenge each time. Compensate!”

Slig technician: “Am attempting compliance! Tapping into stardrive engines now!”

The Examiner is demagnetized and made immune to that tactic. And Dr Pym is unfrozen to face a the Examiner that is now immune to the strengths of Wonder Man, Tigra, Mockingbird, Hawkeye, and Iron Man. That’s... uh... a hurdle.

Dr Pym does his Dr Pym Particles thing and unshrinks some tools.

But a buzzsaw breaks against the Examiner and just gets Dr Pym WHAP’d in response. A flamethrower also proves useless.

The Examiner draws near and Dr Pym says “I get the picture! I know when I’m beaten. But I warn you, don’t touch me!”

This just makes the Examiner want to touch him more though.

Which Hank was counting on, that sneaky Hank.

With the Examiner presumably savoring an Avenger showing fear at last, Hank is able to tap the robot on its chest.

Dr Pym: “You saw my ability to enlarge shrunken inanimate objects -- well, you just have to ask yourself... ‘how did those objects get shrunken in the first place?’”

And then he smashes the teeny Examiner with a hammer.

Good job, Hank!

I like how fed up the technician is getting. The boss is sunk costing hard at this point.

So the Examiner is buffed and reassembled and put up against Moon Knight.

And Moon Knight is thinking, oh shit, I’m screwed. He’s a badass normal dude with some extra selves he doesn’t want to talk to and such powerful tools as... an axe and also a boomerang.

Against a dude that is now buffed up enough to sweep the West Coast Avengers as a team.

Speaking of selves he doesn’t want to talk to, Steven Grant and Jake Lockley both yell that Marc is screwed if he fights that thing.

But another voice pipes up in his head, Khonshu, GOD OF THE MOON.

Moon Knight: “Khonshu?! You speak to me again. But it may be for the last time, unless you can somehow help me beat this creature!”

Khonshu: “You do not need my help, o Knight of the Moon, you need but look around you!”

Moon Knight: “This dimension... I hadn’t realize... it’s full of moons!”

Khonshu: “Indeed! Untold thousands of them. And we draw our power from the Moon! Now be the Moon Knight -- be the Fist of Khonshu as you never have before!”

AND THEN MOON KNIGHT GOES HAM AND TEARS APART THE EXAMINER WITH HIS BARE HANDS

HOLY SHIT

The Slig boss is stunned and shaken and other words. But the technician is now 1001% done.

Slig technician: “Oh, shut up! The power drain has frozen out our safety back-up circuits! Stardrive overheating -- this thing is gonna blow!”

The West Coast Avengers and their Quinjets are snapped back to Earth because the Slig ship can’t maintain the dimension shift.

Wonder Man: “I warned you guys you couldn’t beat my buddies!”

Slig boss: “Be not so smug, Wonder Man! Even now we are transmitting all our test results back to our home base -- with all that data about your race, we will surely find a way to conquer y--”

And then the Slig ship explodes.

Countless light years away, presumably on the Slig homeworld, they receive the data and the report that the expedition to Earth has been destroyed.

Another Slig technician: “Our computers have correlated and interpreted the data -- This, then, is a projection of what the warrior-race called the Avengers look like!”

YOU HAVE PULLED A FAST ONE ON ME AGAIN, A COVER TO A COMIC BOOK!

Ahem.

So. The Slig computers, assuming that the Avengers are one uniform race and not a bunch of different peeps with different abilities, conflates them all into one COMPOSITE AVENGER.

And the Supreme Slig is so freaked out by the mighty Avenger warrior-race that he orders that all Slig fleets must avoid going anywhere near Earth.

It’s nice when things work out.

I’m not sure how Wonder Man in the last panel knows that this is the picture that the Sligs would get. Yeah, it ties into the story he read at the start of the issue but how does he know that this episode of his life would bookend so satisfyingly?

He is so pleased with himself though.

So!

This was definitely a fill-in. Meant to spin the wheels a bit. And its a fun story! Not substantive by any means. Most of the issue is a bunch of fights. There’s not really much in the way of character beats. But its fun to see the Avengers all out-fight or out-wit a dude that’s growing to counter them!

The Examiner is kind of a boring opponent. Doesn’t really have the spectacle of the Super-Adaptoid looking like a mishmash of his opponents and using their powers against them. But he works for this issue as someone for the Avengers to style on.

I’m annoyed that the West Coast Avengers don’t fight a guy that’s a mashup of their powers and aesthetics. That could have been fun.

But I’m not disappointed with the issue we got. And the way the Composite Avenger was actually used was a cute enough take on an old tale.

Plus, the issue had Moon Knight empowered by THOUSANDS OF MOOOOOONS and going ham. I can’t hate that.

Good job, Al Milgrom.

You wrote a hell of a fun story.

Follow @essential-avengers​ for this post again months or years later, whenever I catch up. Like and reblog if you liked this issue and think other people will like it. Or reblog it to add comments or reactions. I love to hear what people think about these comics.

[seijorhi]

Reminiscent

i’m (semi) back, y’all, and i come bearing a fic!! fhdjhfjdk it’s for oikawa i won’t apologise

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW non-con, drunk/drugged reader, forced infidelity, emotional manipulation, angst, past trauma, coercion, mild(ish?) smut, nsfw

“F-fuck, cutie! Just like – hah– just like that!”

You weren’t the clubbing type.

Not usually, at least – but exams were over and one of your friends was fresh off a bad breakup, one night letting loose wouldn’t hurt.

Walking is… difficult, your steps are sloppy – there’s an arm wrapped around your waist, your own slung over a stranger’s shoulders. Why are you outside? Where are your friends – they… they promised they wouldn’t leave you. 

“She good, dude?”

A soft, pretty laugh rumbles at your side, “Yeah, she’s gonna be just fine.”

And you remember the bar, the overpriced cocktails and the saccharine sweetness of strawberry liquor on your tongue. The dizzying lights and the bass that thumped so loudly you felt it reverberate in your chest. You knew the rules; they’d been drilled into you since you were sixteen years old.

Stick together, don’t accept drinks from strangers, and watch the one in your hand like a hawk - it doesn’t leave your sight.

A tongue between the valley of your breasts, long fingers curling up inside of you. 

“You like that, huh pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?”

They wouldn’t have just abandoned you, right? Maybe you told them to go. Maybe they thought you wanted it; to go home with the handsome stranger.

You never had the guts to ask them, never spoke about that night again. Not to anyone.

Pain. Something thrusting inside of you, splitting you open while he moans and pants atop you. It hurts so much and you want it to stop. 

Please stop. Please. Please. Please.

You’re begging, at least you think you are, but the words come out jumbled and wrong, and he just laughs, hiking up your thigh so he can fuck you deeper.

Why won’t he stop?

When you wake up, bruised and sore and all alone in your bed, it feels like a bad dream. You know it’s not – not with cum still seeping from between your thighs, the scent of the stranger’s cologne clinging to your sheets.

And you scrub your skin raw in the shower, but it isn’t enough to rid you of his touch.

—

It’s nothing like what they show on tv.

There’s no sympathetic detective to pat you on your shoulder while you break down, swearing that they’ll find the man who did this and you’ll get your justice.

You don��t go to the cops because you’ll know what they’ll say. You were drunk, drugged, and even if you could remember what he looked like (his eyes were brown, you think, and there’s a flash of a smirk in your head but the moment you try to focus on it it slips away like smoke) any evidence of rape washed down the drain the moment you stepped into the steaming shower.

At least… that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier than admitting you’re terrified of judgemental eyes. 

Or worse; pitying ones.

So you pretend that nothing happened. You show up to your classes and throw yourself into studying, make the time to get coffee with your friends, you even pick up a part time job – it’s good to keep busy. 

The nightmares are just that; nightmares.

And things are fine, until they’re not.

—

“Baby, you’re here!!”

There’s barely time to drop your bags before she’s pulling you into a warm hug. “Hi mom,” you reply, squeezing her back.

When she draws back to take you in, one hand cupping your cheek, she frowns, “You look tired sweetheart. Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Yeah, just tired from exams and stuff.”

She looks unconvinced, but mercifully doesn’t push the issue. Of course, you don’t tell her that you missed your last two exams because you’d walked past some guy wearing that same cologne and just choked – that instead of finishing off your semester strong, you’d spent the day alternating between throwing up and crying in bed.

She doesn’t need to know that, because of that, you’ll probably fail both classes and have to retake them again next semester on top of an already full course load. It’s fine; you’ll figure it out.

For now, you work on matching her enthusiasm at having you home, grabbing your bags to bring them inside and into your old room.

“Oh, wait–”

Abruptly, you pause, gazing in confusion from the doorway of your bedroom. There’s a duffle bag lying open and empty atop your bed, a tangled jump rope, some weights, an empty bottle, a sweat towel – even what looks like a spare workout tee scattered haphazardly across the sheets.

“… I didn’t take you for a gym junkie, mom.”

She stops behind you, sighing. “It’s not mine it’s– Tooru said he was going to tidy it up, sorry sweetheart.” She sweeps past you to start tidying it up, but not before you catch sight of her wide eyed, deer in headlights expression.

And you can’t help the lone eyebrow that rises, falling back against the doorframe, arms folding across your chest. “Tooru, huh?” you grin, “And who might Tooru be?”

The flustered, almost guilty look she sends you makes you want to laugh – this is easy, comfortable, this you can do – but you restrain yourself. Just. “Tooru is… he’s– well, he’s the man I’m… seeing.”

She admits it like she’s confessing to a crime, eyes all wide and nervous; anticipating your reaction. And you suppose it’s not unwarranted. As far as you’re aware, she’s been alone ever since the day your dad walked out on you both – raising you was always the priority, or maybe the excuse. But you’re not fourteen anymore, you don’t need another father figure or every spare bit of her time and attention, and she doesn’t need your approval for this.

So you smile at her, “Is he nice?”

She lights up, her features – almost a mirror image of your own – softening as she beams, “He’s amazing, honey. I honestly don’t know how this whole thing really happened, or why he’s even interested in someone like me but… I lucked out with him.”

And so it goes, you prying little bits of information about the mysterious Tooru as the afternoon passes.

She tells you that they met a few months back, at the bakery she likes in town – and how she kept running into him; at the grocery store, and then at the park, and then on her way back from yoga that one night.

She tells you that he’s a terrible flirt, all smooth and charming with warm, pretty brown eyes, but he’s a good man beneath it all and she’s never met anyone like him. 

It strikes you, as you watch your mom animatedly talk about him, that you’ve never seen her look like this before. 

Happy. 

She can’t stop smiling, and when you look at her, really look, she’s almost a different person – younger somehow, a bit more care-free. It suits her, and you wonder with a slight pang in your heart how you never noticed how lonely she was before.

And she’s adamant that they’re taking things slowly, that he still has an apartment of his own in town – which to be honest, you really aren’t gonna judge her on either way – but it is kind of funny simply because whether your mom realises it or not, it’s clearly a lie.

The subtle reclaiming of your bedroom aside, there’s traces of Tooru scattered all around the house; the extra toothbrush and aftershave you’d spotted in the bathroom, the men’s  shoes and the jacket by the door, red wine in the cupboard when your mom’s only ever indulged in white.

You haven’t been into her bedroom, but at this point you’d hazard a guess that there’s at least one drawer full of Tooru’s clothes, probably half her closet cleared out for him as well.

“He’s coming for dinner, but I just wanted today to be just us,” she says, reaching across the couch to squeeze your hand. And you’re grateful for it, because you’re happy for her – you are – but you’re not so sure how you would’ve handled meeting the stranger holding your mother’s heart first thing. At least, not after the last few days.

Not when you still feel all… brittle. 

—

Tooru arrives a little after seven, and to say that he’s not entirely what you were expecting is kind of an understatement. 

She’d gushed about how tall and handsome he is – though personally, you think pretty’s the more accurate word, what with his soft, delicate features, perfect cupid’s bow lips and all. What she’d neglected to tell you was that the man in question, stepping through the front door with a faint smile on his face, has to be at least ten years younger than her, mid-thirties at most.

Suddenly, your mom’s initial reluctance to bring him up starts to make sense.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he murmurs, stopping by your mom to drop a fleeting kiss to her cheek before warm brown eyes turn to you. 

Your heart stutters.

“Sweetheart,” your mom begins, slipping an arm around his waist and relaxing into his side, “this is Tooru– Oikawa,” she corrects herself.

He smiles at you, friendly and charming, “It’s great to finally meet you, your mom’s told me so much – all good things, of course!”

You force yourself to smile in return, “Yeah, you too.” 

There’s nothing overtly wrong with Oikawa, age difference aside – your mom’s clearly head over heels in love with the guy and on a surface level he seems nice enough, but you find yourself glad for the fact that he doesn’t make a move to step closer, try to shake your hand or god forbid hug you or something like that.

He’s nothing but a gentleman as your mom steps back into the kitchen to finish off dinner, setting the table without being prompted, pouring a glass of wine for your mom and one for himself before he offers a glass to you. 

“Oh, no I’m alright, thanks.”

You don’t drink so much anymore. He shrugs, like it’s no big deal but your mom pouts at you from the kitchen. “C’mon, sweetie. We’re celebrating tonight! One drink won’t hurt.”

“We’re celebrating?” you ask.

She throws you a wink, gaze softening as she turns to glance at Oikawa, already diligently pouring you a glass, “Of course we are. It’s not every day my girl comes home, and it’s nice having you both here with me.”

Oikawa’s fingers brush against yours for a fleeting second as he passes you the glass, and you have to fight to keep yourself from ripping your hand away. It’s nothing, you just– you’re not good with strangers touching you, and as nice as he is and as much as your mom might be infatuated with him, he is still a stranger.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, a playful twinkle in his eye as he clinks his wine glass against yours. “So you’re at uni, right? What are you studying?”

Uni’s the last thing you want to be thinking about right now, but whether or not Oikawa genuinely cares, he’s obviously trying to make an effort to get to know you. For your mother’s sake, grinning innocuously in the kitchen as she adds the last little touches to dinner, you suck it up, plaster a smile across your face and ignore the twinge of discomfort in your gut.

You can handle one night of small talk.

—

You wake the following morning to the sound of voices carrying down the hall.  

Not your mother’s – both are too deep, and your mom left a few hours ago for work. Figuring that one of them at least is likely Oikawa, you pull on a thin, satin robe over your pajamas, tying the sash in a loose knot before you slip from the room.

Those suspicions are proven correct; you round the corner to find Oikawa sitting up at the kitchen counter, a warm cup of coffee in his hand. There’s another man, a touch shorter, but imposing with dark, spiky hair and olive green eyes standing on the other side, hands braced on the marble top, glaring at Oikawa.

They both look up at the sound of your hesitant approach, the stranger abruptly straightening up, while Oikawa merely grins.

“Ah, you’re up,” he observes cheerfully, taking a sip of his coffee.

Your eyes flicker between him and the stranger – clearly comfortable enough in your home and with Oikawa, despite the faint, lingering irritation still visible on his face – and as your cheeks warm, you find yourself wishing you’d put actual clothes on before coming out to investigate.

“I- I heard voices…” you trail off, awkwardly folding your arms over your chest. “Is mom–”

“At work,” he supplies. “Do you want some breakfast? Coffee, maybe?”

You risk another glance at the other man, watching you now with an unreadable expression, dark eyebrows furrowed. You swallow uncomfortably, shifting slightly as you shake your head. “No, I-I’m okay.”

And in an instant, a flash, something like recognition passes through those olive eyes. 

 Oikawa chuckles smoothly, finally tearing his eyes away from you to address his friend, “Iwa, stop being so rude. You’re scaring the poor thing.”

The stranger, Iwa, just scoffs. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know?”

If he’s bothered by the scathing insult, Oikawa doesn’t show it, merely shrugging before turning his attention back to you with a smirk. “Ignore him, he’s just pissy this morning.”

You’d have to be a complete idiot not to sense the uncomfortable tension between the two of them – and now you. This is your home, but it feels like you’re intruding, like you’ve stumbled into a conversation you have no business hearing, but even if you wanted to leave your feet are rooted to the ground. 

“Besides,” Oikawa continues, “he was just leaving anyway, weren’t you, Iwa?” It’s almost a purr, the way he speaks, but even the silken words can’t entirely mask the razor sharpness that lies beneath. 

Goosebumps prickle along your arms.

Staring at you, Iwa opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but seemingly thinks better of it, snapping it shut with an audible click. He huffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He spares you another glance on his way out, standing frozen by the hall. For a split second he slows, his scowl softening just a fraction–

“Iwa.”

It sounds like a warning, but he only rolls his eyes and huffs again. You think he’s going to walk out without another word to either of you, but he pauses once more, lingering by the entryway.

“You look a lot like your mother, anyone ever tell you that?”

He’s out the door before you can even think to reply, letting it slam shut in his wake. And you flinch at the harsh sound, something uneasy settling into the pit of your stomach–

“Hey,” Oikawa’s there by your side, his fingers entwining with yours. You hadn’t even heard him move. “Come sit, don’t worry about Iwa. He’ll get over it.”

His voice is soothing, you don’t pay attention to the words themselves, the implications there. You forget for a moment that you’re still in your pj’s, that you really don’t know him that well either, and mindlessly follow when he leads you to the couch and sits you down, taking the seat next to you.

And while your head’s still spinning, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing in the pit of your gut, Oikawa seems entirely unbothered by the turn of events, sighing contentedly as he stretches his long legs out, one arm sliding along the back of the couch behind you.

“Do your… friends usually just drop by like that?”

You don’t know where the words come from, or why that’s the first question on your mind, but when you glance over at him, Oikawa’s just watching you, an odd little half smirk playing on his lips. “Sometimes.”

His answer does little to soothe your unease. It’s really not a big deal, you know it’s not. Officially or not, this is his home too – you’re the one out of place. And if he wants to have people over when your mom’s not around, that’s fine, he can do whatever the hell he wants, but… 

You came home for peace. To hide away for a few days and pretend that everything’s just fine and you’re not one breakdown away from shattering entirely. You wanted your mom and the comfort of your old bedroom and safety and it’s fine – great, even – that she’s found somebody who makes her happy, but this– him and the weirdness with his friend and everything is just too much, and–

You don’t realise that your leg’s bouncing until Oikawa’s hand comes to rest on your bare thigh. It’s enough to make your stomach flip, an icy chill trickling down your spine as his thumb slowly strokes across the soft, plush skin. “Relax, cutie,” he coos, chuckling softly when you visibly flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

“P-please don’t call me that,” you choke out, fighting against the wave of nausea rising up your throat. And it’s just like last time, his cologne, notes of vanilla and cedar and spice, swirling thick and heady around you. That phantom touch, the warmth of hands gripping too tight, unwanted kisses hot and eager against your skin. 

“No?” he asks, cruel amusement dripping from his tone. “Why not? I think it suits you, cutie.”

You want him to stop, to push him away, slap him – do anything really, but you’re frozen in place, shaking as the memories you’ve fought so hard to shove down come bubbling back to the surface. You can’t think straight, not with his hand sliding between your thighs, the warmth of his body pressing too closely against yours.

“Iwa was right, you know,” Oikawa murmurs, smoldering brown eyes drinking you in as you childishly shake your head, willing him away. His other hand catches your cheek, drawing your face back to him as tears well in your eyes, stubbornly clinging to your lashes. “She does look so much like you, the same eyes even.” 

He whispers it like a secret, nuzzling his nose against yours like a lover would as he sighs sweetly, “It’s the only reason I could stand it.”

And then he’s kissing you, the tenderness of his lips belied by iron fingers digging into your jaw when you whimper and try to wrench yourself free. 

It’s not like the nightmares that startle you awake in the middle of the night, gasping for air; hazy, broken recollections that fade the moment you try to reach for them. No, every touch, every moment of his assault passes in stark clarity.

The feel of Oikawa’s mouth as it trails greedily down your neck, his hand sliding under the cotton of your sleep shorts, even his pleased little hum when he realises you’re not wearing panties. “Such a good girl for me. Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

This time there’s no drugs in your system keeping you pliant and helpless, but that doesn’t make a difference. Not when his words echo in your head, playing again and again until every awful, sickening piece falls into place.

Long, nimble fingers stroke at your folds, and you can’t help the shivery gasp that leaves you when the tip of his middle finger sweeps over your clit. 

“Please– please don’t do this,” you sniffle.

Oikawa presses another fleeting kiss to your shoulder, “Shh, none of that. Let me help you, baby.”

“N-no, I don’t, I don’t– Stop!”

Knocking away the hands that try to push him back, he hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides them down your legs, your pitifully weak struggles only making things easier for him. It’s only when Oikawa reaches for his own zipper that panic truly strikes home.

You can’t just lie here and let this happen again. You won’t.

And like a switch flipped, you start to trash like a wild thing beneath him, the scream you’ve kept buried inside of you for months ripping itself free from your throat–

Only for the fingers that had been toying with your pussy to be shoved down your throat, cutting you off with a choked gurgle. As you gag, fruitlessly try to tug yourself free, Oikawa leans in nice and close – except this time there’s no gentleness to his expression, nothing but viciousness as he grins and bares his teeth. 

“You wanna yell, pretty girl? Want the neighbours to come running, let them see me fuck you?” He grinds his hips against you, his breath shivery as he pants at the friction of his half hard cock against your side. Nausea twists at your gut, acrid and bitter – you want to be sick, to cry and beg with him to stop but with his fingers still stuffed in your mouth, his thumb digging into the soft underside of your jaw all you can manage is an unintelligible whine. He hums, kissing away the single hot tear that spills down your cheek, “You think if you cry loudly enough, mommy’ll come home and save you?”

And it’s like time stands still as he laughs, cruel eyes glinting when he presses down on your tongue, warm saliva pooling around his digits. “Such a little whore, trying to seduce her poor, innocent boyfriend the very moment her back’s turned. Tell me, cutie,” he coos, “who do you think she’d believe?”

Your breath hitches, another sob catching in your throat – even if you wanted to answer, you can’t and he knows it. “She’s in love with me, you know. It’s almost a little pathetic how easy it was to manipulate her into bed – so lonely… desperate for love, for somebody – anybody – to pay attention to her, take care of her,” he sneers, distaste curling at his lips. “Wouldn’t it just break her fragile little heart to know she’s fallen for the man who raped her baby girl?”

Another garbled cry slips past his fingers and you can only watch in frozen horror as his other hand drifts back to his zipper. “You want to protect her, don’t you?”

His grip relents just enough for you to jerk a shaky nod.

“Pretty girl, so good for me.” Another kiss pressed to your cheek as the quiet hiss of his zipper fills the air around you. “It’ll be our little secret, hmm? She doesn’t need to know just yet, let her be happy a little while longer…”

Sliding down his briefs just far enough for his cock to spring free, he strokes it for a moment with slow, leisurely movements, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches your eyes widen. 

And when he pulls you forward, guides your mouth towards it, pre-cum beading at the tip, withdrawing his fingers so you can quickly gasp for air, you just… let him.

The fight’s gone, as quickly as it had come. 

You let his fingers curl through your hair, use it as an anchor when your lips part to force his cock between them. And he moans, low and shivery as your tongue slides along the underside of his shaft and you try not to gag around the sudden intrusion. 

You think that there’s no room left inside of you for shame, but as his other hand creeps back between your legs, teasing at your cunt, you burn with it, clinging to the pyre of your own humiliation and disgust.

And still, you kneel on the couch, letting him fuck your mouth, letting those long, pretty fingers curl up inside of you – moaning around his cock when they stroke that perfect little spot.

“I wanted to – shit – take this slow,” he tells you as his hips jerk upwards, shuddering in breathless delight when his cock hits the back of your throat and it convulses around him. “I wanted to make you want me.”

Wet, messy, gags sound with every unwitting thrust – you’ve no choice but to swallow him down, let him fuck your throat like you’re nothing more than a toy for his pleasure. There’s saliva coating your chin, dripping down the length of his dick, pooling around his balls. You can barely breathe, a task made even harder when Oikawa decides to add his thumb into the mix, teasing your clit while he fucks you apart on his fingers.

It feels so fucking good, and you’ve never hated yourself more.

Your throat burns, hot tears stinging in the corners of your eyes, and yet he’s intent on driving you to the brink of your sanity with every calculated flick of his wrist. Something tightens in your belly, a spring coiled too tight, ready to snap, and you can’t help it when your hips chase his fingers, the needy, shameful little whimpers that leave your lips (still wrapped around his thick, twitching cock) as you search for the pleasure to temper the discomfort.

“You don’t have a clue what you do to me, do you? I could barely sleep last night–” 

You choke back a moan, your pussy clenching around his digits, sucking them deeper as white spots pepper your vision and you shudder out a moan.

“So pretty when you cum for me,” he pants, but you don’t care – can’t, not when you’re riding his fingers, tongue lolling out as he gives you a moment’s reprieve to bask in the rippling afterglow of your orgasm before everything comes crashing back down around you. 

Oikawa lets you fall back against the cushions, breathless, trembling and dazed. You’re not stupid enough to believe that’s the end of it, not when his cock’s still hard, throbbing against his toned stomach when he gives it a slow, cursory pump.

“Lie back, cutie,” he whispers, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he pushes himself up off the couch to shed the rest of his clothes.

And as you shuffle obediently downwards, heart hammering in your chest, you find you can’t tear your eyes away from him either.

Tall and handsome, she’d said, but the words truly don’t do him justice. A body corded with lean, powerful muscle, golden, sun-kissed skin, a light smattering of dark hair trailing from his navel down past the well defined V of his hips… 

“See something you like?” he teases, smirking when you squeak and childishly jerk your face away, cheeks burning. “It’s okay to look, you know. I don’t mind the attention.”

It feels too soft, too intimate for what this is. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s not supposed to be attractive, or to make you enjoy your own assault, and you– you’re supposed to fight it, fight him instead of just lying there and taking it… 

But when he climbs back onto the couch, easing your still trembling thighs apart to settle himself between them, his touch is nothing short of reverent, dark eyes wide and adoring as you squirm uneasily beneath him. 

With one hand braced on the cushion beside you, his cock resting just above your aching sex, he leans forward, easing your top up past your tits. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

And it’s enough to make a fresh bout of humiliated tears spring to your eyes. Your hands curl into useless fists at your side as he settles back onto his knees and takes his cock in hand, hissing in pleasure when he glides the flushed, leaking head along your slick folds.

“Fuck, cutie. I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he laughs, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches hot, fat tears slip down your cheeks. With an agonisingly slow pace, Oikawa lines himself up with your cunt and presses in – even with how wet you are, one orgasm already wrung from you, the stretch burns and you can’t stop the choked gasp that leaves you.

His eyes flutter shut, head thrown back back as inch by inch his cock sinks into your pussy until finally he bottoms out with a satisfied groan. “Perfect for me, so fucking good,” he pants, and you barely have time to drag in a breath before his hips are drawing back, another desperate, strangled mewl escaping you.

Bruising fingers dig into your waist, Oikawa cursing as your plush little cunt flutters maddeningly around him– before he eagerly slams his cock forward, stuffing you full once more.

And as you sob and whimper between every wet, obscene squelch of his dick fucking into your soaked pussy, that all too familiar, shameful heat begins to pool in your core.

“Gonna cum for me again, cutie?”

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

[sixstepsaway]

Had a thought: it's actually really interesting that Izzy's plan to separate Stede and Ed almost worked! If Calico Jack hadn't spilled the beans and the English hadn't shown up at exactly the wrong time, Ed would have ended up back at Izzy's side. It suggests that Ed has been experience a lot of indecision and uncertain overall, imo. I get the sense that maybe once Ed sank into his depression and lost interest in piracy, he would occasionally become interest in novel things, trying to find something that would bring new meaning into his life. And perhaps Izzy had handled these kinds of situations before. It's telling that Ed's attempt to duel Stede is so half-hearted. He wants to explore these things, but he isn't ready yet to leave his old life. So Izzy's a kind of inertia. Every time he gets invested in something weird and goes off the rails too far, Izzy tizzies. Maybe even gets rid of what/whoever it is. (I'm imagining Izzy yeeting Ed's new tank of tropical fishies off the boat.) And maybe Ed really wanted to keep those fish, but does he want them enough to deal with Izzy crying about it? Probably not, especially with his depression. He just isn't as decisive and leaderly as he once was. Not enough to pirate, properly, not enough to escape piracy either. So I wonder if the attempt to kill Stede wasn't much of a break of pattern. Izzy has said, "I am going to destroy/murder this because you can't and we need to move on with our pirate lives," and Ed has responded with, "Okay... :/" And maybe by failing shut this behavior down, he's reinforced Izzy's idea that this is part of his job description. Like Izzy is acting more and more out of line because Ed has repeatedly fail to draw lines. "Ed isn't complaining about the fish and he hasn't talked about travelling to the other side of the world to restart his collection of rare species so I guess this was the right call."

I'm unironically imagining Ed with Captain Picard's sci-fi fishtank in his cabin with no explanation of how or why he got it and I'm losing my mind thank you for that

But yeah, I agree. I think the place that Izzy's plan fumbled was actually Jack's response to Stede, not Ed's place in any of it. Ed followed Izzy's plan flawlessly without knowing, but when Jack was trying to rile Stede up, he actually couldn't? He spent the whole of 1x08 trying to get Stede to break character as Nice, but Stede was placid and nice the entire time, even showing kindness towards him ("How about we take you somewhere you want to go and cheer you up?") despite hating the guy's guts and thinking his crew was likely justified in trying to drown him.

Jack calls him 'the big gal' and Stede just smiles it off. Jack is 50% responsible for destroying his belongings and Stede smiles that off too. Jack talks over him at breakfast, ignores everything he tries to say to chime in, and Stede just keeps smiling and trying to be a part of it. Jack gets him alone so he can try a new tack and he flips a coin when he says he and Ed had fucked in the past and asks if Stede is doing that now: Stede will be homophobic or Stede will be jealous, but either way, Stede will react! But Stede doesn't react. Stede, in fact, says that Ed's business is his business, isn't creeped out or disgusted by the idea that Ed fucks men, and says he isn't jealous at all, so it's fine (although I think his little strop after was because he was jealous, and until that point he simply wasn't enjoying what Jack was bringing to the day, and after that he felt threatened and jealous).

Jack keeps on prodding Stede, likely trying to get Stede to lash out and throw Ed off the ship, and he even kills Karl, which I truly think was deliberate, in an attempt to rile Stede, but Stede doesn't rise to the bait. Stede meets him with politeness and a placid attitude, and the only time he actually gets a reaction is Stede tells him to get off his ship, and even that is said nicely and politely, just with the firm hand of a captain who will absolutely have his crew throw you off his ship if you resist.

Jack then swaps tactics again and just has Ed leave with him, which works because Ed was already feeling insecure because Stede didn't like how he was presenting himself.

It's only once they're in the dinghy that Jack finally snaps in his frustrations because he really hates Stede and hates that he couldn't get under his skin. It's that that causes Ed to go, "Wait hold on what?" and realize it was all a trap.

And that is because Izzy didn't know Stede would be like that, because when Stede hates Izzy he calls him Iggy and is a complete bitch to him (and I love him for it honestly, it makes me laugh every time). Izzy assumed Stede would be like that to Jack too!

It suggests that Ed has been experience a lot of indecision and uncertain overall, imo. I get the sense that maybe once Ed sank into his depression and lost interest in piracy, he would occasionally become interest in novel things, trying to find something that would bring new meaning into his life.

Total agreement yeah. Half of Izzy's tension and anxiety and stress comes from the fact he's been Ed's SSRIs, adderall and bullet journal for god knows how many years, trying desperately to keep him afloat and let him indulge what he needs to indulge to not go so depressed he ends up offing himself, but also balancing that against not letting him go off the rails so hard he puts everyone in danger.

So I wonder if the attempt to kill Stede wasn't much of a break of pattern. Izzy has said, "I am going to destroy/murder this because you can't and we need to move on with our pirate lives," and Ed has responded with, "Okay... :/" And maybe by failing shut this behavior down, he's reinforced Izzy's idea that this is part of his job description. Like Izzy is acting more and more out of line because Ed has repeatedly fail to draw lines.

Yes!!! You even see it towards the end of 1x08: Izzy draws his sword to challenge Stede. Ed says, "Izzy, we're not doing this!" Izzy says, "You're not doing this. I'm doing this." and Ed...does nothing more. He doesn't step between them and say, "I said no." He doesn't say that he doesn't want Stede killed. He just stands there and stresses and angsts and gets upset, but he lets it happen!

He even lets Izzy stab Stede!!!!

He's definitely been inadvertently (or, possibly, knowing Izzy wants what's best for him, less inadvertently) reinforcing Izzy dealing with all of his problems.

[starshipsofstarlord]

2k followers blurb. Can I request a Theo Raeken x fem reader smut. They're dating and he takes her on a date and it ends in smut??

Old Town Road

theo raeken x reader / masterlist / 2k masterlist

summary; based on the request /warnings; fluff, smut, public sex, oral sex (male receiving)

“Full moon tonight.” As you spoke, you bit your lip, revelling your head back into the car seat head rest, as you felt it’s pull on your body. Theo’s amorous contact with your skin was not helping with controlling yourself, you had to squeeze your hands expressively into fists to blatantly refuse the prospect of your claws emerging from where your nails were rooted.

“It seems to be taking quite the toll on you, are you sure you don’t want me to turn around now and take us back home?”

“You only say that because you don’t want to go on a double date with Ethan and Jackson!” You retorted, lifting your thigh as to attempt and rid your skin from his touch, but his hand only travelled higher up, and beneath the end of your skirt.

Theo had quite the composition within your relationship, he had practically been accepted into the pack, however, it did not mean that he enjoyed doing mundane things with the other members. He happened to get along with Jackson and Ethan quite well, but despite that, it did not mean he wanted to spend additional time with them, such as a double date.

Date night had always been reserved between you and him, it was a private sector of his life that he did not want to exploit to any one else’s eyes. During it, he reckoned in similarities with a docile puppy, always seeking approval from you, it wasn’t particularly a sight that he wanted other people to witness.

He knew the fact well; he was whipped. Malia had sneered remarks at him when he had been resurrected from the depths of hell, concerning how his eyes pled with you for forgiveness, and after a while, he had managed to succeed in earning your forgiveness, after time of making amends with your friends that he had done wrong, and helping wherever aid in wolffish muscle had been needed.

“Well...” you knew well enough what that meant, as per usual when your boyfriend was concerned, you were right. An eye roll exhibited from you, as you scoffed all to knowingly, crossing your arms as you tapped your foot, sliding his hand from your thigh, slowly turning to him with a look of empowerment.

“That’s not good enough Raeken; I’ll tell you what, if you can get through this one date, we don’t have to have an encore, and I’ll let you pick desert.” It was a fair exchange, being inclusive of euphemisms and options that were certain to intrigue the chimera.

“I don’t even like deser- oh.” He promptly nodded, licking his lips as he imagined you sprawled beneath him, profusely apologising for dragging him out on a double date, before he gagged you with his cock, sliding the length into your mouth until it hit the back of your throat.

“I’m assuming we have a deal, since you’re still heading in the direction of the diner and it is now about five minutes away.” A smug expression formed upon your face, and slyly, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Theo smirked. He would wipe that cockiness off of you, replacing it with an apparition of sinful submission.

The truck pulled up, Theo parked the vehicle in a secluded spot, beside to a Porsche, that was far too recognisable, it was practically a statement piece when it came to the werewolf kanima mix. Exiting the midnight blue pickup, the two of you walked, you in front, as a particular antsy, get moody man trailed after you.

The diner was no unmet environment to the pair of you, in fact, for a first date when he had first arrived into your life during senior year, you had told him about this place, and thus, the pair of you had ventured there, to Stiles’ dismay.

Ethan stood, waving the two of you over to the table that they had opted to save, the pair of you slid in the booth across from them. The two males could practically smell the reluctance that was rolling off from Theo’s pores, it was pungent, gravitating a tension to fill the room.

To draw attention away from it, you plucked a menu into your hands, scanning the list of available options. Your tongue swiped over your top lip as you speculated what you were keen to digest, and then your eyes landed on the most appealing substance they had to offer. As you stared up at the boys, you noticed they were on their phones.

Boys. And they called themselves men, yeah, they still all acted like they were still in high school, and you could vouch for your behaviour back then. “So what are you guys ordering?”

“Get in the car.” Your boyfriend growled, having suffered through an hour of the pack members’ company, watching as you laughed with your old friends, and denied him of the one thing that you were aware he wanted all too well. He had been patient, but he could no longer wait, he needed you, and that was sufficed enough.

Ethan and Jackson had already driven away, leaving the car park half empty. “Technically, to put it in correct terms, it’s a truck.” You corrected him, earning an earnest growl out of your partner, whom caught your hand before you could reach for the door handle.

“The back.” He lowly spoke, watching with eager eyes as you pulled the door he had hinted at open, climbing into the backseat, him following closely behind, shutting the side of the vehicle, as he quickly began unbuckling his trousers. In turn, you tossed your shirt over your head, licking your lips as you moved closer.

“Poor Theodore, having to wait for what he wants. Not fair, is it?” Mocking him, you pouted at him, though you quickly stopped as he reached his left hand behind your head, grasping a handful of your hair in his fist, the action coercing your eyes into flashing its animalistic ambience.

“Put your mouth to better use baby girl, otherwise we’ll sit here in this parking lot all night.” It was a foreseen threat, he was far too aware of coursework for your online college that you had to finish, and you had no time to waste sitting around in the back of a truck.

You steadily blinked as you considered your options, lulling in the idea that if you did this one deed for him, you’d be off the leash for an hour to get as much work done as possible, that would be until he dragged you to bed, ravaging your body until you couldn’t comprehend sentences to type in due constables for your course.

He finished undoing his pants, reaching his hand into the depths of his boxers, and extracting his length, and you could feel yourself give in, as your mouth watered. You hummed as he dipped your head down with his grip, moving you closer to his growing cock.

Opening your mouth, you allowed him to enter, pushing down along his length, hollowing your cheeks, as he moved you down, moaning around the taste of his intimate skin. “Come on, put more effort into it.” He growled, and you could feel his claws itching the back of your scalp, egging you on further.

Theo thrust his head back against the seat, as you bobbed your head, wriggling your hand beneath your chest that was flush against the seat, to cup his balls, stroking them softly to aid to succumb him to pleasure. Your tongue swirled around his tip as your head came back up, pleasuring him serving as a great distraction to the work and pack business that bothered your life.

“Shit.” The chimera swore, bucking his tough hips up to descend his cock further into your mouth. “Gonna cum baby girl, open your mouth.” He pulled you off, just above his tip as he stroked his hardness, his cum shooting up into your mouth, and you shut your mouth to catch as much as you could, the rest landing on your chin.

Some spilt back down his cock, as you ducked your head once more, using your tongue to mop up his mess. You licked his spilt cum, swallowing it as it raced toward your tonsils. “I love you T.” You leant up, kissing him, and he huffed as he tasted himself upon your lips.

“Love you too darling, how about we go home?” He asked, pressing another kiss on your lips, as he lazily grabbed his cock, and tucked himself back into his clothes. “I can show you what I really want to do to you.”

“I don’t mind the sound of that.” You admitted, stroking his jawline, before you crawled over the centre console, and climbed into the passenger seat.

[shootingstarwritings]

Keepin’ it in the Family

Manfred—Freddy for short—was a young man that spent his life in the shadow of his uncle’s side of the family. Meek, shy, unassuming, and more of an indoors type. “I’m more of a type B kind of fellow,” he would answer whenever someone asked him what kind of person he was. Meanwhile, Daniel Crawford and his son, Alex, were the exact opposite. Tall, strong, and always willing to get down and sweaty in an activity. They often dominated every family gathering and gleefully hogged the spotlight shined on them.

“Did you know Alex got a football scholarship… Daniel bought a second house… oh my gawd, li’l Danny got so buff last year, can’t believe he used to be my younger bro…!” On and on Freddy would hear until he got sick of it.

“Why dontcha join a team or somethin’, squirt?” his cousin Alex teased him while roughly messing up his hair. Although Freddy couldn’t deny his cousin was annoying and far too energetic, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. There was always an authenticity behind his invites to play football with his friends. He was brutish but kind. That was all.

Freddy’s uncle Daniel was a different story.

On a certain day during a family gathering, Daniel concerned Freddy in a hallway. “Perhaps if you applied yourself more," he once told Freddy, the disdain clear in his voice, "you'd get as far as my boy does in life." The rest of the family was just a few rooms away, but their cheerful voices were worlds away. “But until you do that, I want you to stop spending any time with Alex. Honestly don’t know why he wastes his precious youth on someone like you.”

Freddy didn't respond but nodded while glaring defiantly at the floor. He jumped back as his uncle grabbed him by the throat and forcefully tilted his head upwards. Freddy let out a sharp hiss of pain but prevented himself from screaming.

With a low voice, his uncle Daniel said, “Look at me while I’m speaking, you little shit. Don’t want your mediocrity holding my golden son back. Stay away from him or else.” He punctuated his last words by shoving Freddy to the wall. “Can’t believe you and your father are related to us. Well, guess we know who got the better genes in the family.”

Freddy glared at him as he walked away. It was painful, but he could endure. As long as he lived, he would not let this abuse break him. The day would come when he would prove him wrong.

However, it all came to a head about a week ago, when Freddy announced his plans for a graduation party. Most of the replies in the texts he sent out for his family were some variation of, “Oh, I’m sorry Freddy, but your uncle Danny is planning to celebrate his promotion at work that day. Perhaps you can reschedule.” As always, Freddy remained overshadowed.

“Bastards,” Freddy’s father, a rotund and balding man by the name of Benny, exclaimed as he saw the texts. “Can’t even spare a day for you. It’s always those two pricks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Freddy muttered, glaring down at the texts on his phone. How often had his family ignored him in favor of those two? How often did his uncle mistreat him to guarantee that his ‘golden child’ Alex would remain as successful as he was? The questions kept echoing in his mind until, finally, he decided to cut this cycle.

“If you want,” his father tried again, “we can spend that weekend just the two of us, son. We can travel and celebrate our way."

“It’s all right, dad. I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” said Freddy as he marched off to his room. He would have to draw up the runes and memorize the incantations before long. By being efficient, he would have the spell all set by dawn’s early light.

However, his father stopped him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder—a rarity. “Hold on son," Benny said in a tender voice. "I understand what you're going through, believe me, I know. I was never the golden child of the family either. Danny made sure of that." There was disdain in Benny's voice that Freddy had never heard from before, but he had little time to dwell on it as his father continued. "But, to me, you'll always be the golden child, Freddy. I just want you to know that." Then, Benny pulled his son in for a hug.

Freddy eagerly returned in, shoving his thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind for the moment. Now, he just wanted to spend time with his father. Dusk came and went, and the two bid each other good night as they settled into their rooms on different floors. With nothing to interrupt Freddy, he set off to work.

It began when he found a book of occult rituals and spells in his father's study. Never had Benny spoken about this to Freddy, and Freddy lacked the courage to confront his father about it. Instead, he took photos of the various pages of spells and tried them out for himself—another reason why he did not want his father to know that he knew. By doing this magic in secret, Freddy could indulge in his fantasies that were now just a spell away. Coaches, classmates, and neighbors all fell to his charms and rituals; fulfilling deviant actions according to his whims.

My father can never know, Freddy thought bitterly to himself as he drew the sigils on his rug with chalk, he’ll never know so he’ll always be proud of me, his pure and hard-working son.

Tonight would be the first time Freddy would attempt the possession spell as well as the first time he broke a rule he had set for himself when he first began to use magic: never involve a family member. Now, he read through the procedure on his phone and prepared to sink into an even deeper level of deviancy. A bit of the text at the bottom of the page was faded, but the instructions were all written out. It’s most likely flavor text, Freddy thought.

This spell would allow the invoker to project his soul towards an unassuming target. From then on, a battle of wills would begin, and the dominant soul would take over the body. The invoker is not guaranteed to be successful. Caution must be exercised, and a strong will is heavily recommended.

It was a frightening thought, but Freddy did not allow that to slow him down. His hands trembled with excitement and his heart raced with pure adrenaline as he pictured his uncle’s sexy yet punchable face.

In the heat of the moment, Freddy cast the spell alongside the rising sun. Once those accursed words left his lips, a sharp and painful sensation spread throughout his body. It was as if his soul was being stretched and twisted, like a rubber band. However, he just gritted his teeth and endured it as he always did. The suffering of a spell or his uncle’s harassment was all the same—nothing he couldn’t handle. However, when the pain continued to grow in magnitude, Freddy was afraid this spell was going to rip his soul in half.

Then came the release—the catharsis. The spell catapulted Freddy’s soul at a speed rivaling that of a bullet train’s. Freddy screamed both in terror and sheer jubilation as his soul traveled through the dawn-dyed sky. Everything, even the sun, was a blurry mess until he arrived at his uncle’s expensive house, where he finally stopped. He was back in control.

Slowly, Freddy glided through the halls of a home that alienated him for most of his life. While searching for his uncle’s room, he stumbled upon his cousin Alex sleeping on top of the covers, clad in just a pair of boxer briefs. Though Freddy intended to keep moving, he remained still and watched his cousin’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

“You deserve a better father,” Freddy whispered, caressing his cousin’s cheek with his ghostly hand. His voice and touch were nothing more than a chilly breeze on Alex’s bare skin. When Freddy noticed the goosebumps that spread down his cousin’s arms, he drew back and excused himself from the room. His target still needed to be punished.

A few hallways later, Freddy found himself floating above his uncle. Daniel, just like his son, slept above his covers and nearly in the nude to deal with the brutal summer heat. Even so, beads of sweat still glistened in his half-naked, furry body. His breathing was just as peaceful and gentle as Alex's as it passed through his heart-shaped lips. "If only you were as kind as you look while sleeping," Freddy said as he glared down at Daniel. Hatred and lust pushed him forward, and he gleefully enacted his plan.

Having spent quite a long time manipulating the wills of men, Freddy knew that the best way to overwhelm them was to do so post-coitus. “You’ll be my ticket to happiness,” he whispered to his uncle, “you piece of shit asshole.” He began by running his tongue down his uncle’s bare chest, giving the nipple a lick.

The effect was immediate. Daniel’s eyes shot open as he shivered at the paranormal touch. He looked around, perplexed. “What the fuck?” he said.

Freddy snickered at his uncle’s confusion. He pushed his uncle back onto the bed, one hand twirling and playing with his nipples while another teased the bulge hidden by the briefs. “W-Woah, oh shit!” said Daniel, trying to kick his invisible assaulter away to no avail. When the sensation didn’t stop, Daniel attempted to rise only for Freddy to roughly shove him back onto the bed again.

“I’m not done with you!” Freddy roared to his uncle’s terror. The rush of power was intoxicating, and Freddy greedily drank in every pathetic whimper and moan from his uncle. He pulled his underwear off, revealing his uncle’s large hard-on, and threw it to the side. “God, you’re thick,” Freddy moaned as he took his uncle’s cock in his hand. “C’mon, cum for me, old man,” he said as his lips played with the pecs. He continued to mercilessly play with his uncle, humping his body to elicit more of his moans.

“N-No—aahh, mmm! Pl-Please stoooAAAAHH—stop!” said Daniel as he felt his core tighten. Freddy noticed it too and quickly released his uncle from his sexual grasp. “AH! Oh fuck, I’m—ngh!” said Daniel as his abused dick begged for release.

“Not yet, that's gonna be my climax, uncle," Freddy said. To reward his uncle was far more than what the bastard deserved. Instead, Freddy would steal his climax, his body, and his dignity. “You’re mine!” he said, caution be damned as he dove into his uncle’s body.

“F-Fred—OOF!” The sheer force of Freddy’s dive caused his uncle to bounce on the mattress. “Oh FUCK!” Daniel cried out as he felt impossibly full. Two souls occupied the same space, and much like the shifting plates of the ever-changing earth, stress was born of this conflict. Daniel gritted his teeth, even more sweat coating his convulsing body as he attempted to hold onto his consciousness. However, Freddy’s essence continued to spread.

The possession spell operated on a similar concept as ink falling upon a cup of pure water. Slowly, the water would darken as it took on the shade of the ink until it was almost completely indistinguishable from the original ink that tinted—or tainted—it.

Just as the ink colored the water, so too did Freddy’s soul spill and tint his uncle’s very essence—mind, body, and spirit. Daniel, of course, continued to push his nephew’s soul out of him. He kicked at his bed and gripped his sheets so tightly his veins were visible in his arms. Until the very last second, he tried to will his body back under his control. However, he eventually collapsed onto his bed, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and blacked out. His body convulsed for a few more minutes as it took on the last remains of Freddy's essence, before finally quieting down.

Freddy opened his new eyes and immediately put his attention back on his uncle's dick. "Oh god, uncle, you're so sensitive!" he said as he continued stroking himself. “I-I’m CUMMING!” he bellowed as he shot load after load in his new form, seeing white as he fell back onto the sweat-covered sheets. “Oh my god, Danny-boy, I can’t wait to wreck you today.” Freddy would seize the day, and by nightfall, he would make his uncle a shame upon his family.

A few hallways away, Alex had his own visitor.

“S-Stop, uncle!” Alex screamed as the much larger soul of Benny finished entering his younger body. “Y-You can’t—AH! AAAHHH!” He whimpered and moaned just as his father did before collapsing into a mess of convulsing limbs.

Alex blacked out, and his uncle Benny awoke. “God, that felt good,” he said, stretching his new, muscular body. It was pleasurably sore after the workout he gave his unwilling nephew. “Ya got a good lookin’ bod, kid,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his hands down his new form. “But it’s my turn to be the golden child, if only for a day,” he finished, excited to have his hole filled in a day filled with debauchery.

Unbeknownst to father and son, there was more to the spell lost as the ink faded from the page. It read as follows:

Just as the water becomes nearly inseparable from the ink, the souls also become unable to be torn apart. There is no hope for the water to become pure and no hope for the ink to be whole. They are bound together for eternity, as are the souls tainted by the invoker. The invoker’s body will perish upon the spell’s completion, and the invoker will remain in their new body until the possession spell is used again, thus killing the old target.

[the-cult-of-russo]

gotta know how u think billy would be as a dad with his kids :D

I had so many requests for Dad!Billy headcanons 😭

I hope you're ready for this chaotic ramble.

Please remember this is my Billy I'm writing

-

You know those parents who take like a million pictures of their kid and show them to everyone? The kind that talks about their kid nonstop to anyone who'll listen? Their family, friends, the poor random old lady at the store that just wants to buy some damn milk.

That's Billy.

He's such an unbelievably proud parent, his pride for his kids knows no bounds. It doesn't even need to be some kind of milestone worth celebrating, everything his kid does makes him proud. You better believe when his baby has an explosive crap and ruins their clothes, he's boasting about it the next day to Frank and the guys at Anvil.

-

He's incredibly protective. Murder is a possibility if his kids in danger. He wants nothing more than to keep his kids safe. If they're being bullied, it takes all of his willpower to stop himself from kicking the kids ass for doing that to his kid. He's not above picking a fight with the bullies dad though if they don't get their little shit head in check and also making it known to the principle that this shit won't fly with him.

~

"Mr Russo, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your son broke a kids nose," the principle mutters with a glare.

Billy tilts his head, regarding the teacher with those unsettling eyes that has the old man squirming in his seat.

"You’re damn right he did," Billy replies seriously, a proud tone to his voice. His dark eyes cut to his left where his son is, practically his double. As Billy smirks, unable to help himself, his son wears the same one although he's lowering his head to hide his amusement.

"We don't tolerate that behaviour here, Mr Russo," the principle huffs. Billy's eyes harden then as his eyes narrow, sitting forward in his chair just the right amount to be imposing. The second the man leans back he knows it worked.

"You know what I don't tolerate? My kid bein' bullied. You assholes won't do shit to stop it, so I say let the little fucker get a taste of his own medicine. Serves him right for messin' with a Russo," he smirks wickedly.

~

He teaches them self defence, wanting them to be able to look after themselves if it ever came down to it. Naturally, for their 16th birthday, they're gifted with a big ass knife.

-

Billy as a dad is so stupidly soft.

We all remember the scene from the show, right? Where he's in the hospital with his mom and he says;

"Maybe you did me a solid, you know? I mean, the way I see it, you want weak kids, give 'em everything. But if you... if you want 'em strong... treat 'em hard."

When he has a kid of his own he realises just what utter garbage this is. The idea of all the shit he's been through making him into the tough son of a bitch he is today is born from trauma that he still hasn't dealt with. The way his brain tries to rationalise what he went though. To make it make sense instead of it being so goddamn senseless.

But if he's honest, more than he'd like to admit, he finds himself wondering just what his life would have been like if he grew up in a loving home. What it would be like to feel wanted and cared for. To rise to the top being helped and cheered on by others instead of clawing his way there with bloodied and dirty fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on him as he's beat down at every turn.

He never wants his kids to feel that way. Not even a fraction of how unloved and unwanted he felt. He does everything in his power to make sure they know just how much he cares about them. There's literally nothing he wouldn't do for his kids. They could turn up at home one day and confess to a murder and Billy wouldn't hesitate to ask where the body is so he can handle it for them.

-

Billy is ridiculously sentimental when it comes to his kids. Drawings go up on the fridge and when a new one takes its place, the old one goes into a box of many others that he can't seem to ever throw away. He has multiple pictures of his kids at his office, even some framed cute drawings they did for him. He's kept all the mementos from the pregnancy, birth and onwards. They're his little treasures.

-

Billy is super supportive of everything his kids do. He makes sure they get a good education but he never pushes them to do something they don't want to do. Despite the large college fund he's got for them, if they choose not to go to college, he doesn't pressure them. Instead, whatever hopes and dreams they have, he does everything in his power to support and help them. Whether that's moral and emotional support, money or even breaking a few jaws of people standing in their way.

-

Let's look a little bit at how he is throughout some of the ages of his kid.

Billy with a baby is a sight to behold. No one has ever seen Lieutenant William Russo so goddamn soft. Once he's got hold of his baby, you've got no chance of getting them back off him. You'd have to fight him. He adores holding his little one close, soaking them in. He's constantly holding them no matter what he's doing and baby carriers and wraps are a godsend to him. You'd heard about them from a friend and told Billy and you better believe by the time the baby's born that he's an expert on all things baby wearing. He's a perfectionist and carrying a baby wrong can be dangerous. He makes sure he knows how to do it right.

Just as he has little affectionate touches for you, he has the same for his baby. His large hand stroking their tiny head and little hair. His finger stroking their chubby little cheek. He's a tactile person and touch is grounding for him. It soothes him to do so with his baby and reassures him they're really there and that they're okay.

He's super attentive. Of course he works a lot but as soon as he becomes a dad, he doesn't stay late anymore and makes sure to have days off. The second he comes home, he's making a beeline for his baby, scooping them up with a grin. He loves to read to them, something that continues as they grow up. His weekends used to be restful or if he was feeling like a masochist, he'd work from home. But now weekends are his time to shine. By the time you wake up on a Saturday morning, he's already up with the baby, making you breakfast as he's got the baby attached to him via baby carrier.

As his baby grows into a toddler, each milestone makes him tearful and full of pride. He kisses any booboos that happen and he's constantly playing with his child. He has a pretty silly side to him that most don't get to see. Making his kid laugh and smile brings him the greatest joy.

He loves taking his toddler to the office with him. Everyone dotes on his kid and treats them like royalty.

When they turn into a small child, he watches with a proud smile and amusement as his kid wants to fight with his men, watching them 'beat' the shit out of them. The guys at Anvil are more than happy to very dramatically go down, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when the tiny Russo grins smugly at their 'win'.

Their first day at school and Billy's a mess. It's such a turning point and he doesn't know how to deal with how fast their growing up. But every achievement at school, even minor ones, and he's showering them with praise.

He encourages them to work hard and as soft as he might be, he is still the boss. He makes sure they do their homework and don't fall behind on their studies.

One thing Billy loves is teaching his kids stuff. Whether that's mundane stuff to help with school or teaching them shit he knows like survivalist things, because you can never be too prepared, right? He loves helping them with school projects and answering any questions they might have about one of the many things he's knowledgeable about.

When his kids moves onto those hard teenage years, the ones where everything feels so dramatic and world ending, he's a little tougher when it calls for it. Billy is no novice to rebellion, he has a rebellious streak of his own and marches to the beat of his own drum half the time. He respects that. What he doesn't respect or tolerate is behaviour that's going to fuck his kid over in the long run or self sabotage. He will be firm and a hard ass if he needs to be to keep his kids on a path where they don't get hurt or ruin their life.

Billy has a zero tolerance policy on drugs. After the shit with his mother, he won't budge on this. If he finds out his kid is dabbling in drugs, they're grounded until they're old enough to move out.

-

No matter what age his kids are, Billy loves them immensely. He wants to be the father he wished he'd had growing up and he pours all of his anguish and pain from his upbringing into it. Channeling it into the purest form of love for his kids. To break the curse that had hold of him. He won't perpetuate the cycle.

Being a father brings him a sense of completeness and peace he didn't think was possible for him to achieve. It fills the void that's been eating away at his soul from his lack of love as a child and he loves every second of being a parent. Even the hard moments.

-

Bonus:

The Russo's and the Castle's go on monthly camping trips together. Billy loves the outdoors, the mild survivalist feelings he gets from it without the real danger. He loves taking his kids there, teaching them everything. In his role as dad and uncle, he sits around the camp fire at night, the light of the flames dancing along his face as he very theatrically tells the kids a spooky story.

You and his kids are his immediate family but the Castle's are his family too. So he really loves it when you all get to spend time together like that.

[queenxxxsupreme]

A Favor For A Favor (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: I love Arthur and reader being supportive of young lovers Kieran and Mary-Beth okay. This would make more sense if you read A Soft Heart, A Sweet Soul first. My masterlist is here!

Warnings: none, Micah is a douche but it’s in his character tree so that’s not surprising

Word Count: 3.7k

***

You hummed as you straightened up a few things around Arthur’s tent and wagon. You were going through both of your clothes, folding them and sorting them before putting them away.

“Y/N?”

You turned your head to see Mary-Beth standing just beyond the tent. She clasped her hands together nervously in front of herself. 

“Hi, Mary-Beth.” You smiled. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t mean to bother you. You look busy.”

“Oh, no worries. Just doin’ some chores.” You put the skirt of yours in your hand down. “What is it?”

“I just…. Would you wanna go for a walk with me? Nowhere far. Just maybe down to the river. I don’t want everyone hearin’ us and there are some…. nosey people here.” She whispered. 

“Of course.” You nodded, chuckling just a little. “Come on.”

You walked side by side towards one of the trails that led out of camp. Your eyes caught sight of Arthur, who stood at Dutch’s tent with Hosea, John, Micah, Charles, Bill, and Dutch himself.

Arthur’s eyes met yours, his attention drawing away from whatever it was the boys were discussing. He tilted his head up, brows drawing together slightly as if to question what you were doing. 

You shook your head softly, silently telling him not to worry. But he needed to know where you were going. It wasn’t safe to leave camp, especially to leave and not tell anyone where you were going. 

Arthur excused himself from the group and made his way towards you and Mary-Beth.

“Hello, ladies.”

“Good afternoon, Arthur.” Mary-Beth greeted him.

“Arthur.” You smiled. “We’re just walking down to the river.”

“It really isn’t safe for you ladies to be out that far from camp.” Arthur shook his head. Once the words left his mouth, he immediately started to back track. “I-I didn’t mean it in the way that you can’t handle yourself. I know ya can. It just-,”

“Arthur, darling.” You stopped him, reaching out to place your hand on his chest. “We’ll be okay. I’m taking Calvin. He won’t let anything happen to us.”

“He’s a goddamn horse, Y/N.” Arthur grumbled, putting his hand overtop of yours. “He ain’t an attack dog.”

“Give us thirty minutes. If we aren’t back in thirty, you can send the cavalry after us.”

“Fifteen.” He bargained.

“Twenty.”

“Deal.” He brought your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss. “Be safe. Both of ya.”

“I’m always safe.” You grinned, taking a few steps away from him. “Come on, Mary-Beth.”

Arthur watched you untether Calvin and guide him down one of the trails. Only once you were out of sight did he return to the group at Dutch’s tent. 

“Mary-Beth, come walk on my right. Calvin’s blind in his left eye and I don’t want to chance him gettin’ spooked and hurtin’ you.” You told her. She moved around to walk on your right side. You patted Calvin’s shoulder. 

“Y’all are just so cute.” Mary-Beth brushed her fingers through the curls that fell over her shoulder. “Arthur’s really sweet on you, Y/N. I never seen him like that on someone.”

“He’s just got a big heart hidden under all that grumpiness.” You smiled. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, I just…. I don’t know.” She sighed gently. “I know you’re sweet on Arthur, but do you…. What do you think about Kieran?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too big. 

“I think he’s a really nice kid. He’s done real good with the horses since he joined us.”

“He is nice, ain’t he?” Mary-Beth smiled, looking down at the ground where she stepped. The smile didn’t last long though. It faded and soon her nose scrunched up. “But he’s an O’Driscoll.”

You let out a soft sigh, reaching your hand up to rub Calvin’s nose.

“Have you ever looked at someone and just felt this feelin’ in your stomach that somethin’ ain’t right about them? That you can’t trust them? Maybe even that bein’ alone with them makes you feel uncomfortable?”

“Micah.” She nodded. 

“Micah. Micah is a good example of that. Does Kieran make you feel that way?”

“Well…. No. Not really. I’m comfortable around him. Except I’m really nervous. My heart beats all fast and my stomach twists up like I might be sick.”

“Being nervous is normal.” You smiled and nodded. “I’m sure he’s nervous around you too.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well I don’t….” You trailed off. You didn’t want to tell her about what he had told you a few days ago. It wasn’t in your place to share what he disclosed with you in private. “Kieran is nervous around everyone at camp. He’s unsure where he fits in and everyone is sort of unsure about him. Which I understand. But he’s a good kid. I like him a lot more than I like a lot of other people up there.”

“I like him more than Micah.” Mary-Beth giggled.

You agreed.

You found a decent spot at the river and tethered Calvin to a tree. Mary-Beth settled on a rock while you had no problem sitting in the grass. 

She pulled a flower from the grass and studied it for a few moments, brows drawn together softly. 

“Y/N, I want what you have.” She admitted quietly. “I-I want someone to look at me the way Arthur looks at you. I swear, he looks at you like you’re the prettiest sunset he’s ever seen and it’s just…. It’s like something straight out of a fairytale.”

You turned your head to look out over the river. 

“It wasn’t easy, me findin’ Arthur. We’ve had our fair share of hardships.”

“I know.” She nodded. “Y/N, I don’t want you to think that means that I’m jealous and I-I don’t like you or nothin’, ‘cause I do-,”

“It’s okay, Mary-Beth.” You met her gaze, offering her a warming smile. “I understand. It’s lonely to have no one. Even with everyone back at camp, it means nothin’ if you’ve got no one special.”

She nodded again. 

“But just…. Just be patient, sweetheart. You’re young.” 

“It just feels like time is slippin’ by.”

“I know.” You paused for a few moments. “Do you think…. Do you think you might be interested in Kieran, Mary-Beth?”

She didn’t answer immediately, pulling a flower from the ground. 

“He is so sweet to me, Y/N. He always asks me how I’m doin’ and he doesn’t expect nothin’ from me. You know how men are.” She murmured quietly. 

“Unfortunately, I do.” You nodded. “Do you want my opinion, Mary-Beth? I won’t give it to you if you don’t want it. I know sometimes I just want to talk and don’t want to hear what others have to say, and there’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what you want right now.”

Mary-Beth pulled the yellow petals from the flower, letting out a little sigh. Then she nodded her head. 

“I think that if you feel like you’re interested in him enough, then you should go for it.”

Her eyes lit up and the confusion and doubts melted away. 

“You think so?”

“I do. I’m not saying he is the one and that you would be perfect with him.... But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“That’s true, I suppose.” She nodded. 

The two of you chatted for a while longer until you spotted Arthur coming down the hill from camp. He stayed on the hillside, a gun strapped to his back should he need it. He would keep his distance so long as you wanted to continue talking to Mary-Beth. You weren’t in trouble so there was no reason to break your conversation up. 

You smiled at him, knowing he would stay there no matter how long you and Mary-Beth talked. 

The conversation ended up going on a little longer than twenty minutes. It was nearly forty minutes by the time the both of you realized how much time had passed. 

“I wonder why Arthur didn’t come down here.” Mary-Beth thought out loud as she brushed off her skirt. 

“Well…. He’s been back there for a while.” You looked in Arthur’s direction. 

Mary-Beth followed your gaze to find Arthur sitting at the base of a tree on the hillside just below camp.

The two of you made your way towards him. You guided Calvin by his reins, pulling a peppermint out of your pocket and unwrapping it. The second he smelled the sweet treat, he was nudging your hand with his big nose. 

“Arthur, why didn’t you come tell us we were takin’ too long?” Mary-Beth asked him.

“It was nothin’.” He shook his head, standing to his feet. “Don’t mind waitin’. It was nice just sittin’ there doing nothin’.” 

The three of you walked together back to camp. 

As you tethered Calvin to a hitching post, you watched Mary-Beth go towards the caravan she shared with Tilly and Karen. 

Calvin whinnied rather loudly right in your ear, tearing your attention away from Mary-Beth. 

“I know, I know.” Arthur muttered as he moved away from Calvin’s blind side to his right side. Arthur knew he made the mistake of coming up on the horse’s left side but it was too late to fix it. Calvin had sensed him and it spooked him. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to make him rear up. “Sorry, boy.” He patted the horse’s shoulder, settling with standing right behind you. 

“You’re okay, Cal.” You cooed, rubbing his side. 

Calvin turned his head to look back at you, trying to get a good look at Arthur. 

“That’s why he doesn’t like you, Arthur.”

“Nah. He’s just a grumpy old man.” Arthur shook his head.

You gave Calvin another loving pat and then moved away from him. Arthur followed, making sure to stick as close to you as possible so as to not spook Calvin again. 

“She asked what I thought of Kieran.” You grinned a little, turning to face Arthur as you came to a stop. 

His hands found your hips and yours went to his broad shoulders. 

“I think she likes him.”

“Did ya tell her that he’s…. he’s soft on her?” 

“No, it’s not my place.” 

Arthur let out a rather dramatic sigh. 

“Wouldn’t it make things easier if you just put the pieces together for them?”

“That’s not how it works, Arthur.” You patted his chest and slipped out of his hold. 

“Sure it is!” Arthur followed you as you moved across camp to get to his caravan. 

“It ain’t my job to play matchmaker, Arthur. If they want to get involved with each other, they can do it on their terms.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur leaned against the side of his wagon while you went back to folding the laundry. He took his hat off, tossing it down onto the foot of the bed so he could brush his fingers through his blond hair. “But look at it this way. If we weren’t together and someone knew that we were interested in each other, wouldn’t you want someone to come along and…. Give you a nudge in the right direction towards me?”

“If I remember correctly, that did happen.” You turned your head to look at Arthur. You caught sight of Charles moving towards your shared caravan. “Mr. Smith here had a little something to do with that. Didn’t you, Charles?”

“Someone had to make you two see eye to eye. I knew Arthur wouldn’t do anything. No offense, brother.”

“None taken.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. 

“If you aren’t too busy right now, I could use some extra hands on a ride over to Emerald Ranch.” Charles spoke to Arthur. “Hosea has something he wants picked up from a man who works there.”

“Yeah, I’ll ride with ya.” Arthur nodded, picking his hat up from the bed. 

Charles moved to mount Taima while Arthur lingered by the tent. 

“Anything you need while I’m out, pumpkin?”

“No.” You shook your head. “You just get back to me in one piece and without tearin’ your clothes up too much.”

“We’re just goin’ to Emerald Ranch.” He rolled his eyes at you. You moved to stand chest to chest with him, your hands finding either side of his jaw. 

“There’s a lotta things you could get snagged on. Branches and tumbleweeds.” You did your best to hide the grin on your lips. 

“You’re rotten, you know that?” He dipped his head down to kiss you softly. “Teasin’ me like that, it really hurts.”

“Oh, you’ll get over it. You heal up quick.” You patted his chest as he took a few steps away from you. 

“You’re a cold woman.” 

“So I’ve been told. Be safe, Arthur.”

“Safe is my middle name.”

“I thought your middle name was Burton.” Hosea teased from one of the tables at camp. 

Arthur grimaced and swatted a hand in Hosea’s direction. 

You watched Arthur and Charles disappear from camp, a sigh leaving your lips. 

***

When the sun went down and everyone was having dinner, you found yourself sitting at a table with Mary-Beth. The two of you were idly chatting to pass the time when you spotted Kieran moving towards the pot of stew. 

“Hey, Mary-Beth?” You cut her off, keeping your eyes on Kieran. 

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“Would you…. Would you mind if I invited Kieran to sit with us?”

Her eyes widened and she quickly looked around, searching for Kieran. 

“Mary-Beth, you don’t have to say yes.” You reached over to comfort her, placing your hand on hers. “I just thought it would be a nice idea. Maybe to make him feel included.”

Mary-Beth looked over her shoulder for a few moments before nodding her head. 

“Just…. Just don’t let me make a fool of myself, Y/N. Please.”

“I won’t, sweetheart.” You assured her with a smile and stood up from the table. 

As Kieran was making his way away from the stew pot, you hurried to catch up to him. 

“Kieran!” 

He turned to you, a smile coming to his face.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Do you want to come sit with me and Mary-Beth?” You asked, gesturing to the table. 

Mary-Beth waved when he looked over to the table. 

“Oh, uh, I-I…. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

He sat to your left and Mary-Beth sat directly across from you. 

“Hi-Hi, Mary-Beth.”

“Hello, Kieran.” She smiled at him. 

It was quiet for a few moments as all three of you ate. 

“I haven’t seen Arthur all day.” Kieran looked at you. “Is he busy?”

“Hosea sent him and Charles over to Emerald Ranch.” You nodded. “They should be back soon.”

“Always so hopeful, Miss Y/L/N.” Micah commented as he leaned against the back of your chair. 

“Micah.” You sighed.

“What makes you think Morgan’s gonna come back to you?” 

“Oh, don’t be so mean, Micah.” Mary-Beth scrunched her nose up at him. 

“I’m not bein’ mean, darlin’, I’m just trying to help Miss Y/L/N be more realistic so that when our dear Arthur doesn’t return she won’t be so heart broken.”

“I know he’s coming back to me, Micah.” You tapped your fingers against the side of your bowl. “Don’t you worry about it.”

He left the table, realizing he wouldn’t stir up the reaction from you he wanted. 

“Speak of the devil.” Mary-Beth said, her eyes focused on someone behind you. 

You looked over your shoulder to see Arthur and Charles hitching their horses up just outside of camp. 

“I’m going to go get Arthur.” You excused yourself from the table. 

A smile grew on Arthur’s lips as you approached him. 

“Hi, pumpkin.”

“Hey, handsome.” You leaned against the hitching post his horse was tethered to with your hands. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

“A favor, hm?” He shifted his weight to one foot. “Do I get a favor in return?”

“Not in those dirty clothes.” You scrunched up your nose at him but did a bad job at hiding the grin on your lips. He wasn’t terribly dirty, but it was clear he had been working hard all day. “After you get somethin’ to eat, you can go down to the river and get a proper bath.”

“A proper bath?”

“Mhm. So you can go to bed nice and clean, and not dirty and nasty.” You searched his blue eyes for a moment, your heart fluttering as he smiled down at you. 

“You callin’ me nasty, Miss Y/L/N?” He raised a brow, stepping towards you.

You giggled, placing your hand on his chest to keep him from coming any closer to you. You didn’t want him to get you dirty.

“That favor, Mr. Morgan.” You reminded him, knowing very well you were about to lose track of what you were supposed to be doing. 

Arthur took your hand from his chest and kissed the space on your palm beneath your thumb. 

“What can I do for you, pumpkin?”

“Come sit down with me, Kieran and Mary-Beth.” 

The smile fell from his lips as he looked over to the table the two younguns were seated at. Mary-Beth was smiling at something Kieran had said. They seemed to be doing okay while you were gone. 

“It’s not so bad right now, Arthur. Just a little…. awkward.”

“Why don’t we just leave them and go get that bath early?”

“‘Cause I can’t do that to Mary-Beth. Or to Kieran.” You shook your head, pulling your hand from Arthur’s grip. “Go wash up, then you can come sit with us. You don’t gotta sit there all evening. Just a few minutes.”

He sighed heavily, watching you walk away.

***

Mary-Beth and Kieran greeted Arthur as he sat down at the table next to you. 

“How was your day, Arthur?” Mary-Beth asked him. 

“Didn’t get shot, so that’s good. I reckon. Every time I go to Emerald Ranch, I remember how lucky I am I don’t got a farm.”

“What happened?” You looked over at him. 

“One of the fences broke. Ended up spending most of the day chasing cattle halfway across the Heartlands.”

“Don’t sound too bad.” Mary-Beth shook her head. “To have a broken fence be your biggest worry.”

“I’d rather get shot at.”

“I agree with-with Mary-Beth.” Kieran said. “Much rather have the farm and normal life.”

“Looky what we got here.” Micah approached the table with his hands on his belt. “Cowpoke sittin’ with the O’Driscoll, Miss Y/N and Miss Mary-Beth.”

“Good evening, Micah.” You greeted him, your tone less than friendly.

“When are we gonna go for that ride, Y/N?” Micah asked, moving around the table.

“What ride?”

“Micah, I’d watch what I say next if I were you.” Arthur warned.

“Easy there, cowpoke. Just tryin’ to have a friendly conversation.”

“Don’t get too friendly.” You said. 

“You two are still at it, aren’t ya?”

“Micah, that’s enough.” 

“Settle down, Arthur.” Micah waved a hand dismissively at him. “Just tryin’ to establish what ladies are fair game here.”

His eyes landed on Mary-Beth, who kept her back to Micah. 

“What about you, Miss Gaskill?”

“I am not interested, Mr. Bell.”

Micah reached out to touch Mary-Beth.

“Didn’t you hear her say she ain’t interested?” 

Your eyes flickered up to look at Kieran. You didn’t expect him to say anything, especially not to Micah. 

“What did you say, O’Driscoll?”

There was a brief pause as Kieran held Micah’s gaze, debating on whether or not to repeat himself. 

“I said didn’t you hear her say she ain’t interested? Don’t put your hands on her. She-She ain’t interested.”

Mary-Beth’s eyes found Kieran. 

“You think you’re all tough, don’t ya kid?” Micah took a step towards Kieran. He stood to his feet. 

“Arthur.” You whispered his name but he was two steps ahead of you.

He made his way around the table to keep the two from fighting. 

“This ain’t your camp, O’Driscoll.” Micah stepped forward as if to prepare to strike Kieran but Arthur stepped between the two. 

Kieran stepped back. 

“You throw a fist at the kid, Micah, and I’ll put on your ass.” Arthur promised..

Micah, still angry, kept his eyes on Kieran. 

“This is as much of his camp as it is yours, Micah.” You told him. 

Knowing he had no chance of beating Kieran up with Arthur in his way, Micah stomped away. 

“Th-Thank you, Arthur.” 

“Don’t mention it, kid.” Arthur moved back around the table to return to his seat by you. “He’s just a hotheaded fool. No sense is startin’ anything with him.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him make Mary-Beth uncomfortable. Wouldn’t want him to do that to any of the ladies.”

“I get it. But next time let someone a little more…. At level with Micah handle Micah. Don’t want you with a broken arm or somethin’ stupid like that.”

You smiled at Arthur, placing your hand on his forearm. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” He began to eat his stew. He was tired and wanted to get to bed. He didn’t want to stop anymore fights. If anything, he’d be starting them pretty soon. 

“For bein’ such a sweetheart.”

“Don’t get soft on me. M’too tired for that.”

Across the table, you could hear Mary-Beth quietly thank Kieran. 

“Thank you, Kieran.”

“Oh, you-you’re welcome, Mary-Beth. I’m sorry if-if he made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m a little used to it by now, but it was awfully brave of you to stand up to him. Micah scares me a lotta times.”

“He can be a bit scary but I’ve dealt with guys like him before.”

***

You and Arthur parted ways with Mary-Beth and Kieran after dinner was over. 

As you were heading towards your shared tent, Hosea called Arthur over. You continued on towards the tent to get out clean clothes for the both of you. You hummed softly as you folded the clothes into a neat little pile on the bed. Those were the clothes you’d be taking down to the river. 

Arms wrapped around you from behind. Arthur tucked his nose into your neck. His stubbly beard tickled your skin. 

“Arthur, stop it.” You giggled, leaning back into him. 

“I think it’s time for my favor, pumpkin.”

Taglist: @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

the problem is you, peter.

i waited until i watched spiderman: no way home for the second time to write this, and i’m happy to say that a second viewing only reaffirmed for me why i loved every second of every minute of this film. 

mcu!spiderman has always felt the weight of multiple legacies--not just of the already-established mega-heroes of the mcu, but also of the spidermen that came before him, both in movie and comic form. he’s somebody that’s already firmly entrenched in the collective cultural consciousness for the better part of the last several decades, which means we can look at every subsequent peter parker swinging on to screen in two ways: as a deeply cynical attempt by multiple mega-corporations to squeeze every last penny from this highly popular piece of intellectual property; and as an interrogation of a pop culture icon, a rare kind of indulgent character study that’s played out in front of the world over the last twenty years. no way home tries in its way to reckon with all of this, and--incredibly--manages to give us something coherent, emotional, and genuinely fun.

SPOILERS AHEAD for the whole movie. i’m going to place a Read More here and have tagged this with as many spoiler tags as i can think of but in case the text still shows up, please scroll past to the next post as fast as you can (or just press ‘j’ on your keyboard) if you want to avoid being spoiled for the whole thing.

1. i’ve talked about this before, but it really feels like the home trilogy is this peter’s origin story--the first hour or so of a standard spider-man movie--stretched out over three films (and in cameos in other films). everything’s been working towards that one glorious, crowning moment right at the end of the film: where peter-as-spiderman swings out over new york city, ready for his next adventure.

1.5. peter’s transformation into spiderman across all of his different origin stories is shaped by terrible tragedy--but usually set off by relatively mundane, and even perfectly understandable, desires. tobey’s and andrew’s spider-men revelled in their abilities initially for the unexpected power that it gave them, then sharpened that power towards getting revenge. peter-the-nobody can now out-bully his bullies. he can throw men thrice his size across a cage without breaking a sweat (and indulging in a fair bit of unfortunate homophobia). he can hunt down his enemies and make them pay.

but what would a peter parker who’s starting out in a world with already-established superheroes want? what does it mean to wake up with spider-powers in a post-avengers universe, where it’s common place to see men in robot suits, supersoldiers and demigods fight against aliens? he wants to be one of them. peter can’t help but admire videos of him online saving civilians. he doesn’t have many--if any at all--questions when tony stark carts him off to germany to fight captain america in service of an agenda he has only the foggiest idea about. he is so desperate to be everything at once but he can’t quite grapple with what it means to be every one of those roles. he’s the friendly neighbourhood spiderman, sure, stopping burglaries and helping out little old ladies, but he’s also an avenger, fighting aliens on distant planets with the stakes so huge that they’re incomprehensible. he’s a poor kid from queens desperate to use his smarts to make something of himself but he’s also the benefactor of tony stark’s often misguided mentoring, receiving the gift of his technology but then having to deal with cleaning up tony’s planet-sized messes. he’s peter, ned’s best friend and mj’s boyfriend, but he’s also peter parker, the brains and heart and soul who decides which crisis spiderman will handle next. 

1.75. it’s a lot to draw upon. for peter, his new life might as well have been created in one of tony’s fabricators, the pieces tweaked and rearranged and brought to life in perfect harmony, but he’s spent the last several years realising that he can never make it so. he is still consumed by self-doubt. spiderman still feels like Something Else to him, the part of his life that’s apparently given him everything that he’s wanted but is also threatening to take it all away the next moment.

there’s a moment in this film (when he’s talking to one of the villains? i don’t remember exactly) where somebody’s taunting him about mj loving him or spiderman and peter says that he doesn’t really know; that he hopes that she would love him even if he wasn’t. the moment passes quickly, but it’s an insight into spiderman-as-a-construct, and how little control peter has had a lot of the time over how that construct fits over him as a person.

2. this slots neatly into my feelings for how meta this film is. there’s a sense of a spiderman universe trying to define itself without being sucked into a broader creative engine and succeeding for the most part. that iron man would be the hero to introduce spidey, or that iron man would have such an outsized influence on the world that holland’s spidey lives in are things out of this trilogy’s control. outside of the home trilogy there’s very little honest interrogation of what it means that tony stark is peter’s mentor, or the fact that he recruited this kid out of nowhere and outfitted him with potentially planet-destroying technology. but the home movies do have to reckon with that--in ways that are honestly quite interesting, by making peter’s biggest nemeses products of the very same person he considers his mentor, and of the superhero team he looks up to and aspires to join.

2.25. and so when it comes down to it, when peter is facing his biggest crisis and is spiralling from well-meaning but ill-considered decisions, it’s the so-called mcu mentor who (in a well-meaning way) fails him. when he’s flailing for a moral reference point, it’s aunt may who gives him one, and then people who have literally been him in different lives reinforce that with what they’ve learned the hard way. 

i mean, sure, tobey/andy/green goblin/”i’m something of a scientist myself”/”great power, great responsibilty” nostalgia cashgrab yada yada, but it’s worth not losing sight of the fact that this doylist framework was used to tell a very quintessential peter parker story.

2.5. and while we’re still meta, don’t think i didn’t notice the digs at all the criticisms of holland’s spiderman: that he’s “iron man jr”, that he didn’t “make it on his own”--he ends the film firmly cut off from the mcu and any billionaire benefactors, sewing his own decidedly tech-light costume and swinging out into the city to do what’s right. 

2.75. and what a glorious way to address all of the endless “which spiderman is the best” debates on the internet! the three spidermen coming together and revelling in each other’s presence, genuinely happy to see and work with and help each other. andrew’s peter in particular was an absolute delight to watch, and a reminder how terribly his movies had failed him. 

3. there are a couple of narrative choices that both took me by surprise and delighted me: one was the decision to “cure” the villains that came through the multiverse, and the other was the bittersweet way the whole trilogy ended, with peter sticking to his sacrifice, letting go of what he wants to be able to do right by everybody else. these two unexpected beats seem to me to reflect in a way how the superhero narrative has “grown up” lately, now that there is seemingly endless demand for more stories with the same characters. 

the home trilogy took its sweet time letting peter come into his own, and the future is so pregnant with possibilities that i can hardly contain myself.

this is such an incredible tipping point for holland’s peter parker: he can make a clean break from the mcu if he wanted to here (and honestly i kinda wish he does--i have watched no mcu that doesn’t have spiderman in it since endgame.) the multiverse is now a thing that Exists, and he can tap into it if he wanted to. everything he does now is weighed by delicious sense of tragedy, of things he coveted and gave up, and the sacrifice that it took for him to be where he is.

gosh, i mean--i really really can’t believe i watched all of that with my own two eyes. incredible!

[glassheartjukebox]

love letters

feat. ushijima

word count: 1.3k

“listen listen to my heart

that i only wanted you to know” - love letter

a/n: no content warnings, just pure fluff ! also a reminder that reblogs really help ! thank you guys sm for reading :D

the letters started about three months ago. you hesitate to call them “love” letters. “love” letters would indicate some sort of romantic prose, frilly stationary, and sweet declarations of love. the letters you receive are decidedly more... blunt.

the notes ranged from dry compliments such as “the school uniform suits you.” to borderline offensive remarks such as “did you do something different with your face? you look less tired today.” nonetheless, they had become part of your everyday routine. a blue sticky note with messy, slightly smudged ink and a blunt message.

after a month of notes, you decided to show them to your friends. as strange as the letters were, you never discarded them. they held a special place in your heart, often making you smile from the sheer absurdity. your friends immediately hounded you for not telling them about your “secret admirer” earlier. “that’s it, we need to catch him in the act,” your best friend declared, slamming her milk carton down on the lunch table. you rolled your eyes. “i don’t see the point,” you sighed, “he’ll tell me who he is when he’s ready.” this triggered a barrage of complaints about how boring that plan was.

to be fair, you had two reasons for allowing your admirer to stay anonymous. first and foremost, the chance of him being a creep was high. you had no desire to get your hopes up, thinking that he may be your dream man. secondly, you enjoyed receiving the little notes everyday. they’d become a part of your routine, something to look forward to. so, the notes continued to come uninterrupted for three more months.

the end of the semester was approaching, and break was right on the horizon. it dawned on you that this meant the end of your daily notes, which made you a little bit sad. the one you received this morning read, “i have very important business to attend to. it might be a little bit before you hear from me again. please wait for me.” that was the most he had ever written on a single post-it note. you rolled your eyes, secretly yearning for a way to wish him well on his endeavors.

after receiving the last note, you spent two days mourning the loss. there was nothing to break up the monotony now. you found yourself thumbing through the old notes he had gifted you. the most conventionally complimentary one by far had been “i like the shape of your lips, they suit your face very well”. it was the bare minimum, but it still had you blushing.

when friday, the third day without notes, arrived you were provided with a reprieve from your routine by the school. everyone was escorted out of class to attend a pep rally for volleyball interhigh qualifiers tournament. after all, volleyball was a big deal at shiratorizawa. both the men’s and women’s team stood tall on the school auditorium stage. the captain of the women’s team gave her speech first, but you found yourself zoning out and examining the men around you. your secret admirer was likely one of the fidgeting boys near you, looking hungrily at the women’s team as if they were pieces of meat. gross.

a deep voice broke you out of your reverie. the boy’s team captain had begun his speech. ushijima “ushiwaka” wakatoshi. the entire school knew who he was. the volleyball ace that repeatedly led the team to nationals. he had even been ranked in the top three aces in japan. ushijima stood well over six foot, with broad shoulders and a permanently stoic face. truth be told, he intimidated everyone. you’d had a few interactions with him, most of which happened at the beginning of the semester. a teacher asked you to tutor him for one english test. you met for three tutoring sessions, and during each he was quiet, polite, and apologetic for taking up your time. you found him much less imposing after seeing him hunched down in a desk too small for him, focusing on past tense verb translation.

after the rally had concluded, you were forced to return to class. shiratorizawa would begin their games at the interhigh tournament roughly two hours after school let out. you decided that maybe you would attend one or two of their matches if you could convince your friends to tag along. you honestly needed to get your mind off of the notes and your secret admirer.

you and a few of your friends were walking out of the school gates, preparing to visit some shops to bide the time before the game began when it hit you. you left your history textbook sitting in your desk. your history textbook that was full of notes crucial to the test you had on monday. you froze in your tracks and your friends turned, a little confused. “i have to go back, forgot my textbook,” you squeaked before taking off back towards the school building. you were screwed if the teacher had already left for the day and locked up the classroom.

grabbing the door handle, you were relieved to find it unlocked. what you were not relieved to find was a large figure bent over your desk and rummaging through your things.

“what are you doing?” you asked quietly, still in shock. consequently, the large figured managed the bump your desk in surprise, knocking it over and spilling the contents everywhere. you rushed to help clean it up on impulse. you were only able to recognize the figure in the dark classroom once you were up close. “ushijima?” you said incredulously. this entire situation was giving you a headache. he just nodded at you. you continue to haphazardly shove the contents of your desk back in when your hand landed on a small, blue sticky note. ushijima’s hand flew out to catch it but it was too late.

“my dearest y/n, the apple of my eye, the holder of my heart, fire of my loins, the most wonderful person i have ever laid my eyes on. you looked positively beautiful today, scrumptious even. how could anyone resist your charms? i find myself falling madly, deeply in love with you everyday. sincerely, with much love, your secret admirer.” the blocky handwriting juxtaposed the flowery diction of the note. furthermore, someone had drawn little red hearts around the perimeter of the letter. this was… very different than usual.

ushijima was also very different than usual. he was quickly losing his usual composure. his face was bright red and sweat gleaned on his brow. you looked up at him awestruck and confused.

“i’m sorry for the inconvenience,” his voice cracked, “but tendou had me write this love letter after he found out i had been sending a girl notes. he drew the hearts as well. i did not realize he was joking until after i had slipped it in your desk. i came back to retrieve it before you could see it. i’m sorry again.”

you were at a loss for words. “it was you sending the notes the whole time?” you stated the obvious. ushijima simply nodded.

“but why?” you asked, still struggling to process all of this. “i found you very attractive when you tutored me. i wanted to express my affection without drawing extra attention to you or pressuring you to return my feelings. sorry again.” he stood, preparing the walk out the room. your body moved on its own as you stood as well, grabbing his wrist.

“i didn’t know it was you,” you whispered, “but i’m really glad it was.” you leaned up to kiss his cheek, causing him to flush an even deeper shade of red.

ushijima stared back at you, a rare smile adorning his features. “now go, you’re going to be late for your own tournament,” you teased, still quite bashful over the entire situation.

“before i do,” he paused and dug through his bag, “would you want to come to the match wearing this tonight?” he held out his spare volleyball jacket, adorned with his name and number.

needless to say, you accepted. in that moment, you knew you’d be attending volleyball games than you expected.

©glassheartjukebox all written content belongs to this user. do not repost, modify, or copy content

[demonsandmischief]

Come Home To Me Part 2

Marvel - A Sam Wilson Imagine

Sam Wilson x Female Reader

1K Words

Here's Part 1

TFATWS Spoilers Kinda

-Part 2-

Finding you.

----

"This place is empty," Sam groaned miserably to Bucky into their earpiece. "I was prepped for full fire fight. It's just an abandoned warehouse."

"It doesn't look like anybody has been here in awhile," Bucky told him. "I've got some old newspapers, but that's about it."

Sam thoroughly went through every room in the basement. It was where you said you'd be, so why weren't you there?

"I'm sorry," Bucky said from behind him.

"I don't understand. Do you think she's okay? Does she even exist?"

It was hard to see Sam like this, a man normally so care-free and easy going. This had really taken a toll on him. It sucked that Bucky didn't have any answers for him.

"Maybe I remembered it wrong." Sam took a shaky breath, a million scenerarios running through his head.

"Hey," Bucky patted his back. "It's going to be okay."

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here, man. I know we don't always get a break." Sam shook his head, running his hand down his face.

"Don't worry about that," Buck said softly, observing the exhausted man in front of him. "Let's get out of here."

Sam stood from where he had been resting on the wall, a piercing pain flooding his temple as his vision went white. His knees buckled, and he released a startled yell.

"Sam."

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, gripping his arm and helping him up.

"Please hurry."

Sam let out another groan of pain, reaching up to his head, "Do you hear that?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to find you, but you're not here," he yelled back to the voice, sending his foot into the wall with frustration.

Bucky furrowed his brows as he watched.

"They knew you were coming. They put me in a van, but didn't lock the door. I can jump out."

"Don't jump. Not until I get close." Sam didn't know how she was talking to him. Bucky was looking at him like he had grown another head.

"They took her in a van."

"I'm not sure I want to believe the man that just had a full ass conversation with himself."

"Shut up."

---

"You're Captain America?"

"You can see me? Bucky, that's the van, on third street." He said from the sky.

"Sam that street is an exit to the freeway. She's going to have to jump, otherwise other people are going to get caught in the mix. Are the people driving armed?"

"I don't think they'd drive a armored truck like that without some kind of weapon."

"There's two up front and three in the back with me. All with weapons."

The communication caused a dull ache in Sam's head. He was confused and scared. He'd never imagined having to rescue his soul mate, and it added a whole other vulnerability factor.

"How the hell were you planning on jumping if there's three in the back with you?"

"What's the plan, Sam? We're running out of time here."

Sam folding his wings slightly, allowing him to get closer, "You get the back and I'll get the front. On my count."

He knew Bucky never waited for his count. He had already launched himself into the van, yanking on the metal handles that opened up too easily. The doors came right off their hinge, flying into the busy street with sparks and chaos.

"My bad," Bucky yelled, jumping off.

Sam used Redwing to take out the drivers. The vehicle crashed full force into a lamp post with a metallic crunch.

He landed on his feet, eager to see who was inside.

Two large men staggered out disoriented, but, guns raised.

"There must be one still in there. We need to make sure he doesn't try to take off."

Bucky nodded, "I'll deal with these two. You go."

"He's waiting for you. Be careful."

There was a lot of smoke, and a sickening smell of gasoline.

"What exactly does Captain America want with our van," a greasy man sneered, blocking something or someone in the corner.

Sam squinted as his eyes adjusted to the low light. "If I wanted the van, I wouldn't have crashed it."

"You need to draw him out. You can't do anything if she's cornered in there," Bucky told him in his ear.

"My hands are tied, but I can kick him from behind. Let me take him. You grab the gun."

You really wanted to fight. He couldn't help but smile slightly at the eagerness. It was kind of adorable.

"You're a smartass and you need to get out," the man growled, pointing his gun and forcing Sam backwards toward the opening.

The man stumbled forward, and Sam took it as an opportunity to get the weapon. They struggled for a moment, and the triggered was pulled in the process, sending bullets ricocheting off the metal walls like a pinball machine.

"Shit," Sam yelled. He hoped you were okay.

Bucky snapped the gun in half, knocking the guy out in one clean punch. He threw the pieces on the ground. He stared darkly at Sam, silently asking him why he was such an idiot. "Should we be worried about more coming?"

"Yes," you spoke up for the first time. "The warehouse was full of them."

Sam walked hesitantly to the corner. Your hands were tied behind your back and around the seat, preventing you from moving.

"Now I really want to know how you were planning on jumping."

You shrugged with a smile, "I could have figured out a way."

Sam smiled back, working quickly to free your hands. "I'm Sam Wilson."

"Y/N, Y/L/N," you copied. "Thank you for getting me out of here."

---

He winced when he saw how raw your wrists were. "I have a lot of questions, but let's get going first."

Here's Part 3

Thoughts? I'm not an action writer so I was scared for this.

Tag List: @superwholockruleztheworld @imiiimargo @hiuahoe @idunnomayn @cable-kenobi @nialeesato @bklynxbaby @wolflover384  @mytbel0st @burnalley @heyarely16 @lilithknight1111  @loveyou5everr @yougottalovefandoms @lets-love-little-me @cxlpxrnia @taleah 

[here4theheartbreak]

Sweet Cream Nights (jjk + ksj + myg)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jungkook x Seokjin x Yoongi Genre: smut, fluff Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~8.4k

Tags: smut, fluff, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, bakery au, coffee shop au, arcade au, getting together, polyamory, food play, oral sex, come eating, dirty talk, humping

Summary: The local video game arcade owner is in love with the local barista who is also in love with the local baker. What could go wrong?

A/N: Third Kinktober fic, day 5: foodplay

Friendly competition was healthy, normal, and expected from successful business owners with shops near to one another. It only made sense that the two best coffee shops on the same street would have a friendly rivalry, or that the local bakery would compete with the nearby diner serving fresh cakes. What wasn’t normal, and not expected, was the local bakery in such a cutthroat competition with the local arcade.

It wasn’t even really about the products, of course. Individuals routinely purchased snacks or lunch from Seokjin, the owner and baker at History in the Baking – the best bakery in town by any local’s standards, then stopped in two doors down to play a few video games, often with Jungkook, the owner of the Golden Closet; a newer, but booming arcade. There was no loss in business and nothing forcing the rivalry.

Nothing, that was, except Deja Brew, the small café and coffee shop nestled directly between the two businesses. Really, it was because of the owner of the shop, one Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi was everyone’s favorite. He liked to put on a grumpy front, often standing out in front of his rather adorable little shop as it opened at 6:37am sharp (he said, because 6:30 is too damn early, and what person wants coffee as late as 7:00am, really?) But it wasn’t real. No, the short, sweet faced grump was really as gentle as could be. He gave the bleary-eyed children of busy moms small sweets and volunteered with local charities. He often worked with Seokjin to make sure no product went to waste; every few days he and Jin would gather up near expiry products – Jin’s baked goods and breads and coffee beans that hadn’t sold, and Yoongi would drive them over to the nearby homeless shelter for breakfasts for the needy. 

This was where Jin first realized that he’d fallen truly head over heels for the barista. The only problem he had was that he wasn’t sure if Yoongi liked him back, or if he was even into men. And the idea of ruining the both friendship and business cooperation they had was more terrifying than keeping silent. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, knew almost immediately that he wanted to ask Yoongi on a date. The first week he’d moved into the empty space next to Yoongi’s shop, he’d wandered in, exhausted from an all nighter getting things up and running and just needing a quick pick me up. He’d expected something like a fancy Starbucks – in and out and perhaps a misspelled name on the cup to boot. What he’d gotten instead was a very concerned Yoongi herding him to a booth and a warm breakfast; the most delicious oatmeal he’d ever tasted, along with a rich, sweet coffee that made his toes curl and his heart skip. Though, maybe the heart skipping was more Yoongi’s doing than the coffee. Yes, Jungkook knew he’d been swept off his feet. His problem however was that despite being told he was handsome and being quite boisterous and loud in regards to his friends… Once someone he fancied came near, he clammed up; closing himself off and barely speaking more than a few words to the person. Which was what happened with Yoongi.

And Yoongi – for all his attention paid to customers, bills, and the local news – had no idea that he was being courted after by his two neighbors. When their rivalry picked up, Jungkook had blocked Jin’s back door for nearly three hours with a large truck first off; then Jin had had a whole pallet of flour ‘misdelivered’ to Jungkook’s door – he assumed they were old friends, or old enemies. Perhaps exes that were out to get one another. It wasn’t his problem, and he had no care about how they handled their rivalry – just as long as he wasn’t dragged into it. 

Seven months, it went on. Seven entire months of petty pranks and murmured name-calling and generally annoyed glares between Jungkook and Jin. And then it happened.

Jungkook was early in to the arcade. It was nearly 6:15, but the sun was shining and he was feeling particularly good. He’d spent the evening out with an old friend who had encouraged him to ask Yoongi out before someone (Jin) did. 

He walked past Jin’s shop, glancing in. He could see a few lights on in the back; Jin was always in early, working on his day to day treats. Despite his annoyance with Jin, he had to admit, the man was an excellent baker. And what was more, he was frankly stunning. Tall and broad, slender, with the face of a God – if Jungkook wasn’t so taken with Yoongi he may have gone after Jin. His custom pastries and cakes were stunning and elaborate, and his simple day to day cookies and pastries were always a hit. Rivalry or not, Jungkook knew good sweets, and that man’s were to die for. 

He passed the bakery without lingering too long and glanced into the front window of the café. Much to his surprise, the main lights were on; Yoongi normally kept them off until opening time. He looked a little closer, and his stomach did a tight little flip. Yoongi was sitting at one of the tables, sipping coffee… With Seokjin. 

They were laughing, and Jin reached over, brushing the tips of his fingers over Yoongi’s cheek. Jungkook saw red. It wasn’t fair. He reached up, ready to tap on the glass, draw Yoongi’s attention, anything. He froze though. What right did he have? He hadn’t made his move on Yoongi fast enough – that was on him. He sighed softly and shook his head, hurrying past the café before one of them caught him peering in like a pervert. 

Jungkook tried to ignore the ache he felt as he worked, but every time his mind drifted, it went to what he saw that morning. Was it what he had assumed? Were they just friends? He had to find out. He slipped out under the guise of an early lunch break, entering Deja Brew. 

Yoongi was behind the counter, looking stunning as always. He looked up and grinned. “Afternoon, Kook. What can I get you?”

“Whatever you think is good,” Jungkook said, settling in one of the tables. “You know I trust your opinion here.”

“Coming up.” 

The shop was empty; Jungkook knew it wouldn’t start getting busy again until about noon. It was nice; he could watch Yoongi working without others wondering what was wrong with him. Yoongi circled around to the table with a tray, setting a sandwich in front of Jungkook along with a coffee. 

“Mind if I join you? Grab my own lunch before the real lunch rush.”

“Of course not,” Jungkook grinned, trying not to sound too excited at the prospect. 

Yoongi set a similar meal down on the other side and hurried the tray back to the counter before sliding in across from Jungkook. 

Jungkook took a bite, groaning happily. “This is amazing.”

“Apple sausage with fresh veggies. I managed to get some really great products at the farmer’s market this weekend, and Jin gave me a deal on the bread. Nobody does these little sandwich loaves like he does.”

The smile slid from Jungkook’s face. He tried to replace it, ignoring the twist in his gut. Well, this was what he came for; might as well rip the bandage off. “You and Jin are pretty close, huh?”

“I think so,” Yoongi said casually, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“How long have you two been…” He drifted off. Yoongi’s brows furrowed for a moment. He swallowed the bite in his mouth.

“Been friends? About a year. We met a few months before you joined our little shop front.”

“No… Dating,” Jungkook clarified.

Yoongi coughed, laughing after taking a swig of coffee. “Dating? No, no. Jin and I aren’t dating. I’d love to but… He’s not into me that way.”

“Are you kidding? He’s obsessed with you,” Jungkook said without thinking, wanting immediately to kick himself. “I saw you two this morning when I was walking to my arcade. I figured… You know… It was a date.”

Yoongi chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it, but no… We were just having breakfast.” He hesitated. “Do you really think he likes me?”

Jungkook snorted. “He adores you. I mean, why wouldn’t he? You’re funny and smart and one of the most caring guys in this town. Plus you make amazing coffee, you’re independent. And you’re handsome as hell and I—” He froze, realizing Yoongi was staring at him, eyes wide. 

“I—I just mean you two are a good match,” he mumbled. 

“I appreciate the plethora of compliments, but no we aren’t.” Yoongi chuckled. “Jin’s damn near a model.”

“He really is. I’ve never seen someone with such broad shoulders that doesn’t look weird. And his smile…” Jungkook shook his head, smiling a little. “He’s stunning. But you are too.”

“Well, maybe I’ll ask him out. But… I don’t think he’d be into my lifestyle.”

Jungkook’s brows raised. He twitched his head to the side, mouth pursing. When Yoongi didn’t continue, he nudged him with his foot under the table.

“Lifestyle?”

“It’s… Very hard to explain.”

“If it’s not comfortable, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s not that. I am comfortable with it. I just wish others were,” Yoongi mumbled.

“It sounds intriguing… I’ll listen without judging, you know me.”

Yoongi smiled softly. “You do have a knack for that, don’t you?” He sighed. “I’m not… Comfortable in traditional relationships. I never have been.”

“Like sexually?”

“Oh no, no. I’ve always been very sexual being. No, I mean traditional monogamy. I believe in faithfulness and I abhor cheaters… But for me the traditional two-person relationship is dull and unfulfilling. It’s like… I feel like I have so much love to give and no matter how much I give to the other person there’s this space missing.” He sighed again. “It’s very hard to explain to folks.”

“You feel like the true way to be happy in a relationship is to have more than one partner?” Jungkook clarified. 

“For me, yes. I’m not disparaging traditional relationships, I just… When I date someone, I feel like there’s still this gap there, waiting to be filled by a third party. And it doesn’t matter to me whether that third is dating my first partner, or if they’re just dating me, or even if they’re dating someone else that I’m not dating, I’m okay with any combination, I just… I need to have more than what traditional monogamy can give me.”

“I get it,” Jungkook said, nodding. He sipped his coffee as he thought, processing the information. “I don’t see anything wrong with what you feel. You still love and believe in being faithful; I’m guessing seeking a third partner, or a fourth or however many would be something that you’d discuss with your partner originally.”

“Oh of course, but therein lies the problem. The majority of people don’t understand this mindset. They hear something about wanting another partner and insecurity crops up. Are they not good enough, do they not satisfy, am I falling out of love with them and there’s really no way to explain to a person who sees things in the traditional way.”

Jungkook nodded. He scowled at the remnants of his sandwich in thought, trying to put himself in Yoongi’s shoes, or in the shoes of someone Yoongi might be dating. 

“It’s gonna catch fire if you laser focus any more on that bread,” Yoongi joked, his voice a little tense. Jungkook looked up. “Oh, sorry.” He laughed. Yoongi looked as tense as he sounded, and Jungkook wondered if he was waiting for a sort of negativity about what he’d just confessed.

“I was thinking about the type of relationship you described.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, trying to put myself in that place – the mind of someone you might be dating who you told this to.”

“What’s the verdict? Would you dump me?” Yoongi laughed as he spoke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Jungkook shook his head no.

“When I think about it, I don’t deny my initial thought would be to ask if you were happy – I feel like that’s everyone’s gut response. We were raised in a monogamy preferred society, so it’s just… Natural to think that way. Not right, of course… We were also raised in a heterosexual society and I think it’s pretty clear that’s bullshit.” 

Yoongi and Jungkook both chuckled at that. Jungkook continued.

“But I think if you explained that you were, and how you just told me about it, I think I’d get it. I would want to be with you in the process though. I don’t think I’d be comfortable with my partner seeking out another person without me. That would feel too much like hiding or cheating. But I think if we went together and met folks, or even had a person in mind that you wanted to ask, I’d want to like them too. Maybe not as much as I liked you, but some sort of friendship or agreement that you’d be good together, if that makes sense.”

Yoongi was silent for a long time after Jungkook spoke. He couldn’t figure out his expression. There were subtle shifts in it, and sometimes Yoongi looked close to tears, other times happy, and blank. Jungkook wanted to ask what he was thinking, or if he’d said something wrong, but didn’t want to push Yoongi into answering if he was still processing. 

So he went back to eating, finishing the last of his sandwich and sipping the sweet coffee while he waited. He looked outside, watching the traffic pass through the window. Some familiar faces passed by, likely heading into his arcade next door. He should head back at some point soon, he’d left Taehyung in charge, which was fine in the short term, but Taehyung had a way of getting too up in his head or too hyperfocused on one thing – so it was best to have a second person there to bring him back to reality. 

Jungkook was just about to clear his throat and call it a meeting when Yoongi looked up suddenly, meeting his gaze.

“Jungkook…”

“What?” Jungkook laughed a little, the intensity of Yoongi’s gaze startling. Not to mention, arousing; he’d never been looked at like that before. At least… Not by anyone he liked back.

“I’m in my late twenties,” Yoongi began, finally breaking the gaze to gather their plates. “And I’ve known this about myself since I was very young… Thirteen, fourteen maybe?” He rose, holding the plates and his empty cup. “In all that time I’ve never had someone respond how you just did. Taking the time to process and try to understand and… Get it. Maybe not think the same way as me but… Be able to offer me an answer that wasn’t going to break my heart. That would let me and them be happy.”

“I—”

Yoongi shook his head, his mouth curling up into a bright, gummy smile. “You asked about Jin because you’re jealous, didn’t you?”

Jungkook felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He lowered his gaze, nodding softly. “That’s weird, huh?” He mumbled.

“I think it’s cute.” Yoongi leaned down, his breath warm on Jungkook’s ear. “And I think you’re cute Jeon Jungkook.” He shifted, pressing a quick kiss to Jungkook’s cheek before standing upright.

Jungkook’s head snapped up when Yoongi rose. “What?”

Yoongi smirked. “I don’t mince my words. You heard me.” Yoongi glanced at the door, nodding to a customer approaching that he must have recognized. “My lunch rush is about to start,” Yoongi said as the bell dinged, signaling the customer’s entrance. “Come by when I close. I want to talk to you more.”

Jungkook grinned brightly, his nose crinkling up. He rose quickly and nodded even as Yoongi walked away. “I will,” he said, not wanting to turn his back as he watched Yoongi walk behind the counter. “I’ll see you—” He winced when his hip bumped the corner of a table hard enough to sting. He moved out of the way, nearly running into the customer. 

“Sorry!” He cried, bowing low. He glanced up, his cheeks warm as he spotted Yoongi watching him, an amused smirk on his face. 

Jungkook made it out of the café and over to his arcade without any further accidents. His mind was whirring over what had just happened. Yoongi had said he was cute. Yoongi had kissed his cheek. And asked him to come over. Was this happening? Was he going to win the guy? 

The other information Yoongi provided him also crept back in. Now that Yoongi dating him might be reality, rather than theory, would Jungkook really be okay with sharing him with another partner? The more he thought about it, the more he realized he would. The idea of sharing Yoongi with someone else was intriguing. He wondered how date nights might look, if Yoongi would call them both boyfriends – if the other partner would even be a boy. What if he fell for that one too? It was something he’d never considered before; being in love with two men at the same time, but it was something that he was very interested in exploring. What was Yoongi’s type too? Would it be someone else similar to Jungkook? Or totally opposite? His mind wandered through all the possibilities, making the day pass easily. 

Shortly before closing time, the front door opened. Jungkook glanced up from where he was sanitizing one of the game systems. His brows rose, disappearing into his shaggy hair when he saw none other than Jin standing in his doorway. 

“Good afternoon,” he said politely, bowing. “You looking for something specific? We have some open computers at the internet bar, and some other game systems. I just cleaned this one, so—”

“I’m looking for you,” Jin said bluntly. His jaw was set, giving him a stern look, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Can we chat?”

“Of course.” Jungkook nodded, heading behind the small counter that housed a few mini fridges worth of snacks and books filled with codes and game information. He tucked the sanitizing supplies on the bottom shelf and waved Taehyung over. “Keep an eye on the front for me, okay?”

Taehyung glanced at Jin before nodding to Jungkook. Jungkook motioned for Jin to follow him, unlocking a nondescript door that led into an “office” – really it was a gutted storage closet, but it worked to keep the fancy and important stuff out of sight of customers… And for private meetings. Jungkook leaned on the small desk. 

“What do you need to talk about?”

“When did you start dating Yoongi?”

Jungkook blinked. “Who said I was dating him?”

“I saw you two this afternoon. He kissed you.”

“He kissed my cheek,” Jungkook corrected. “And you’re a snoop.”

“The shop’s windows aren’t exactly hidden away. I was walking past and saw.”

Jungkook nodded. He sighed and went around, slumping into the folding chair he’d set up to sit in while dealing with bills and other business things. “Well, we aren’t dating. I assumed he was dating you… I saw you two awful cozy this morning.”

“Oh, now who’s the snoop?” Jin grumbled, leaning on the door. 

The two remained silent for a long time, staring each other down across the small space. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how the fabric of Jin’s shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Though it was a well fitted, button up shirt, it still seemed tight with his body. His belt was cinched around his waist, making his slender hips all the more obvious as well. Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hold onto those slender hips, or wrap his arms around the broad shoulder span. And the more he looked, the more he noticed Jin’s mouth and neck. The curve of his throat, ridged with muscle, his full, pink lips that looked just a little chapped – but still oh so soft. The gentle curve of his nose and the smooth, shiny glow to his skin. Despite working in a bakery all day, not a hair was out of place, bangs parted just so to show a broad, smooth forehead that was begging to be kissed.

It was Jungkook who broke first, laughing in the silent room. He shook his head. “This is so stupid,” he said through bursts of laughter. Jin tried to remain stoic but broke as well, laughing along with Jungkook. 

When their laughter faded, Jungkook shook his head, wiping his cheeks. “Look, I do like Yoongi. That’s no secret. And yeah, he did kiss my cheek – he was flirting. So, if you like him… I encourage you to tell him.”

“You just said he likes you.”

“And he likes you too. He told me today.” Jungkook hesitated. He didn’t want to say too much about what Yoongi told him; it wasn’t his place to tell. “You should talk to him. His answer might surprise you. But either way – we’ve been fighting over him for months, when in reality this is his choice. He deserves to know the truth so he can make that choice.”

Jin’s shoulders sagged just a little. He nodded. “I know you’re right. But I don’t want to make it harder for him if he has decided to date you.”

“I know you don’t, but you won’t know what he decides until you tell him. He’s a big boy – I’m sure he can handle it.”

Jin chuckled. “True… Thanks, Jungkook.” He turned to go, then turned back. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick these past few months.”

Jungkook grinned. “I’m not. It’s been fun. I’ve kinda enjoyed our pranking.”

“Is that so?” Jin smirked. “Well, maybe I won’t stop then.”

“I’ll be waiting.” 

Jin turned and walked out, leaving Jungkook to wrestle with far more internal questions than he had answers for. 

That night, Jungkook headed over to Deja Brew as soon as he closed things up. The lights were mostly off, save for a few near the back and behind the counter. Assuming it was locked, Jungkook knocked gently. He saw movement from the back, and Yoongi came rushing out. Even in the fading sunlight, Jungkook could see he looked a little flushed and surprised. He opened the door, smiling brightly. “You came.”

“Of course I did… You okay?” Jungkook could see his cheeks were mottled and his hair was a little mussed.

“Yes. But… I have to tell you something.”

Jungkook stepped into the café, letting Yoongi close and lock the door behind him. He shouldered his bag a little higher onto his shoulder. “What do you have to tell me?”

“There’s been… A bit of a development. That I didn’t expect… When I told you to come by.”

“Oh?”

“Evening, Jungkook.” The voice came from the back room, where Yoongi had rushed from. Jungkook looked over Yoongi’s shoulder, his eyes widening. Jin was leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing the same shirt as he had been when he met Jungkook, but now it was hanging open save for two bottom buttons, his firm, broad chest exposed. It was damp with sweat and flushed red, as was Jin’s face and ears. His hair was a little mussed and his mouth – if anyone could believe it – was just a little plumper. 

“Oh!” Jungkook backed up. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Don’t go,” Yoongi whispered. 

“But you and Jin—”

“He came over,” Yoongi nodded. “But I want to talk to you still. I don’t want you to go, please.”

Jungkook nodded. He met Jin’s gaze, a little surprised to see a gentleness there. He’d won – he expected Jin to look smug. He followed Yoongi back into the back room, and Jin followed as well, leaning against a nearby wall.

“Jin came over earlier,” Yoongi began. “He said you encouraged him to.”

“I did. He came to me and I said it was only fair to you. To tell you how he felt and let you choose. I guess he did and… You did.”

“How do you mean?” Yoongi asked. 

“Well, you two…” Jungkook motioned to Jin’s open shirt. 

“Oh, yeah. We did. I mean, we are… But… I told you earlier today. How I felt,” Yoongi said. “You said… A lot. About how you’d feel about it. Was that true?”

“About the… More than one person thing?”

Yoongi nodded.

“Yeah, I meant it all. I wouldn’t mind. If I knew you cared and were happy, I’d try.”

“Well I told Jin too.”

“And I said the same thing,” Jin added. 

Jungkook smiled softly. “I’m glad. It’s good to find similarly minded people.”

“Jungkook,” Jin stepped forward. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t you?”

Jungkook pouted. “No,” he mumbled. “I was just trying to be fair, I didn’t—”

“Jungkook, you and me and Yoongi all say the same thing. We’d be happy to try a relationship with more than one person.”

“Yeah, I got that…” Jungkook said, glancing between the two. 

“Right… And we both like Yoongi,” Jin continued. “And… Considering the way you were eye fucking me in the office earlier…”

Jungkook’s eyes bulged. He opened his mouth to argue, but Jin shook his head. “I know when someone is giving me that look. I would’ve told you to stop if I didn’t like it.”

“You…”

“Think you’re kinda… Annoying.” Jin laughed at Jungkook’s expression. “And really attractive. Plus you’re competitive and stubborn and loyal…”

“You didn’t lose anything, Jungkook,” Yoongi said. “If you don’t want to lose, that is. If you want… You can both have me.”

Jungkook’s eyes bulged. Comically, if the laughter of Yoongi and Jin meant anything. “You mean—I—I could be with you both?” Jungkook stumbled over his words, wanting to kick himself.

Yoongi nodded. “Why should I choose between you when you both want me and I… Want both of you. And since you’re both okay with sharing me, then… It only seems fair to do so.”

“I was simply getting started a little early,” Jin teased, pulling Yoongi back to him. He kissed him hard.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what to do. He’d just been given the okay – he could date Yoongi – and Jin. He stepped forward, setting his backpack on the ground. Cautiously, he reached out, touching Yoongi’s wrist. 

Jin broke the kiss. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, nuzzling Yoongi’s neck even as he looked up at Jungkook. 

Jungkook took a deep breath. He stepped forward, pulling Yoongi to him and kissing him. The reality of what was happening seemed to hit him suddenly when their lips met. He grabbed his cheeks, holding him close even as Yoongi laughed into his mouth. Jungkook felt a warmth behind him and hands on his hips. Jin. 

“Can I share you too, Jungkook?” Jin whispered in his ear. Jungkook broke the kiss with Yoongi, looking over to meet Jin’s gaze. 

“I—I guess so.”

Jin smiled softly. He stepped to the side, wrapping one arm around Jungkook and pulling him into a deep, needy kiss. His mouth tasted of warm, sweet vanilla and a hint of spice, while Yoongi’s had tasted like coffee beans and chai. It was the perfect blend. 

Yoongi’s mouth landed on his neck, his hand sliding Jungkook’s front as he and Jin kissed. He felt hands on his jeans and gasped, breaking the kiss. He glanced down. Jin was undoing Jungkook’s jeans. 

“You can stop me,” Jin said softly. 

“And me,” Yoongi added.

“No,” Jungkook leaned back, sliding his hand up Yoongi’s neck and through his hair. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He reached forward, touching Jin’s bare chest before sliding lower, his fingers tracing the firm muscle of his abdomen. He undid the other two buttons of his shirt and pulled it open just as Jin opened his jeans. The slid down a little, and Yoongi helped, pushing them the rest of the way down to his ankles. Jungkook toed his sneakers off and kicked the jeans off. He let go of Jin’s chest to turn, grabbing Yoongi’s belt. “I’m not gonna be the only one with no pants,” he said.

Yoongi laughed. “I’ve already had my pants off. I put them on when you came in.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jungkook undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. “What were you two doing in here?” He looked back at Jin, who smirked.

“I was showing him just how… Versatile my food can be.”

“Is that so?”

Jin nodded. Jungkook pushed Yoongi’s jeans down and turned. “Well now I’m envious… Can I get a lesson in that diversity too?” He pouted.

Jin smirked. “I’m sure that can be arranged. He circled around the two and opened a small fridge under Yoongi’s desk. He pulled out a small cheesecake and a can of spray whipped cream. “Mind if I get some things from up front, Yoongi?” 

Yoongi shook his head no, busying himself kissing along Jungkook’s neck. “Bet this isn’t at all what you expected tonight,” he murmured.

“Not at all,” Jungkook leaned into his touch. “But I’m not complaining.”

He turned, pulling Yoongi’s shirt off over his head. He took a moment to stroke his hands over Yoongi’s soft skin, tweaking his nipples just a bit and giggling when Yoongi hissed. Yoongi moved forward, forcing Jungkook to walk backwards until his back hit the wall. He moaned openly, grabbing Yoongi’s hips. 

“Don’t come in your shorts now, I have some fun for you two,” Jin teased when he re-entered, holding a cup of coffee and a bowl of what looked like ice. He set them on the table next to the food and beckoned the two over.

“Yoongi… He smirked. He scraped a small chunk off the cheesecake and brought the fork toward Yoongi. Yoongi opened his mouth for it, but Jin moved the fork at the last second, smearing the cheesecake over Yoongi’s bare collarbone. He looked at Jungkook. “Go on.”

Jungkook grinned. He moved forward, gently licking and sucking the cheesecake from Yoongi’s collarbone. He let his teeth graze over the area, enjoying the squeeze of Yoongi’s hands on his waist. 

“Take your shirt off now,” Jin whispered when Jungkook had cleaned Yoongi’s skin, and left an array of delightful red marks in his wake. Jungkook obeyed, stripping his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Jin did the same, and stripped his jeans off as well, leaving all three in their boxers. Jin grabbed the can of whipped cream, looking between the two. “Who wants a treat?” 

“Yoongi,” Jungkook said. “I stole his cheesecake after all.”

Jin stepped forward and reached out, palming Jungkook through his boxers. Jungkook gasped, his eyelids fluttering shut. 

“Lets get these off then,” Jin whispered, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s jaw. Yoongi stepped forward, sliding them down his hips. Jin made a low noise of appreciation when his cock sprang free. He shook the can once more. 

“It’ll be cold,” he warned before tipping it upside down. He pressed Jungkook’s cock down a little further so it was more parallel to the ground and sprayed a few lines of the creamy dessert whip over his shaft. 

Jungkook forced his eyes open as Yoongi sank to the ground, licking his lips. He grasped Jungkook’s cock gently behind the tip, careful not to disturb the whipped cream, and looked up at him. Slow and steady, he began to lap to Jungkook’s cock, catching the cream with his tongue. Each inch slipped into his mouth, hot and warm and slick, Jungkook gasped, reaching out for anything to brace himself. Jin caught him, holding his hips to keep him upright as Yoongi sucked his cock.

“That’s it, feels nice, doesn’t it?” Jin murmured in his ear, reaching up to pinch Jungkook’s nipples gently. Jungkook moaned, stroking his fingers through Yoongi’s hair. 

“Wanna repay the favor?” He asked softly when Yoongi had sucked all the cream from Jungkook’s cock.

Jungkook nodded. “But—What about you?” He asked, sliding his hand down to palm Jin’s cock. 

Jin smirked. “Oh, wanna see what I have too?” He teased. Jungkook nodded.

“Only fair,” Yoongi said as he stood. He slid his own boxers off and they turned to Jin, shedding the final article of clothing he wore as well. 

Jin handed Jungkook a piece of ice. “Put it in your mouth… And suck my cock,” he instructed. He took a mouthful of coffee and knelt in front of Yoongi. Glancing up, he winked. He grabbed Yoongi’s cock and gave it a few strokes before slowly sliding it past his closed lips. Yoongi groaned and jerked. A bit of the warm coffee dribbled out, down Jin’s chin and chest. He began to bob his head, and Jungkook could hear the slosh of the coffee in his mouth as he sucked Yoongi. 

Jungkook dropped to his hands and knees and placed the ice chip in his mouth. He grabbed Jin’s cock and gave it a few strokes, blowing first gently on it. Jin shuddered and grabbed the back of Jungkook’s neck, squeezing just enough to be known. Jungkook watched goosebumps appear on his thick thighs. He leaned down further and sucked Jin’s cock into his mouth. He flicked the slowly melting ice chip over and around it, using Jin’s grip on the back of his neck to guide what felt the best. Yoongi’s moans were filling the air, as well as the heavy breathing of all three and the wet noises of the two sucking. Jin pulled back and swallowed, gasping and moaning Jungkook’s name. Yoongi sank to the ground and grabbed another ice chip, tapping Jungkook on the shoulder. He moved back, allowing Yoongi to take over. 

Jungkook stood and grabbed a forkful of the cheesecake. He slowly streaked it down his belly and over his cock, leaving a little bite on the tip of his cock. Jin smirked, his mouth open already. Jungkook guided him to his cock, moaning when Jin took his tip into his mouth. He sucked hard, flicking his tongue over the top of the head to get the remnants of cheesecake. He moved up then, shifting as much as he could with his cock in Yoongi’s mouth, and licked and nibbled at Jungkook’s belly. Down, over his cock, firm licks and daring grazes of his teeth that had Jungkook tensing in preparation for pain – and moaning in disbelieving arousal when it didn’t come. He was dribbling precoma freely, and knew he wouldn’t last long.  Jin pulled back and moaned, tugging on Yoongi’s hair gently.

“Stop, stop—I’m gonna come,” he whined.

Yoongi pulled back, looking up at him. “Isn’t that the point?” He teased. 

Jin chuckled. “I suppose. But it wouldn’t be fair of you to hoard it to yourself, what if Jungkook wanted a taste?”

Jungkook smirked. “He could share with me after it’s already in his mouth, I suppose.”

Jin’s breathing caught, just a bit, and he nodded. “I suppose he could.” He and Yoongi rose and Jin grabbed a small bowl from the fridge. “My homemade frosting,” he explained when Jungkook twitched his head at it. He uncovered the bowl and took a spoon, stirring it. “Yoongi. Come here.” 

When Yoongi approached, he slathered the frosting over the length of Yoongi’s thick cock, adding a playful swirl to the dollop at the tip. He looked to Jungkook. “He’s the only one you’ve not tasted yet. Go for it.”

Jungkook sank down and took him into his mouth quickly, moaning around his length. The rich, sweet vanilla cream blended perfectly with Yoongi’s salty precome, dribbling in and teasing him with the promise of more. Jungkook bobbed his head quickly, eager to swallow down both the frosting and Yoongi’s unique taste. Yoongi held back no sounds, tugging softly at Jungkook’s hair as he moaned happily. 

Jin dropped down next to Jungkook, shifting to suck and lick at the part of Yoongi’s cock not in Jungkook’s mouth. They switched, taking turns lavishing attention over Yoongi’s cock. Their mouths often met in wet kisses, his cock slotted between their lips. He whined, his hips bucking. 

“Please—” He panted. “It’s okay, you can come,” Jin purred, swallowing his cock down. He backed up, letting Jungkook do the same. They kept at it until Yoongi’s cock began to throb. As it did, Jungkook pulled back, holding it towards them and stroking quickly. The ropes of come erupted from his cock, hitting both on the cheeks and open mouths. Jungkook whined softly, feeling a rope shoot over his tongue. As his orgasm faded, Jin grabbed Jungkook’s face, kissing him hard. They cleaned Yoongi’s release from one another with kisses, sharing the salty treat between them. 

Yoongi sank down, his legs shaking visibly. He grabbed for Jungkook and Jin’s cocks, stroking one in each hand as they made out. Jungkook pulled back in time to see Yoongi leaning forward, swallowing Jin’s cock down as he stroked Jungkook’s. He switched after a few moments, wrapping his perfect lips around Jungkook’s cock and stroking Jin’s. 

“God, I’m already close,” Jungkook whined, holding onto Jin as Yoongi bobbed his head along his shaft. 

“Come in his mouth,” Jin murmured. “You can see how much he wants it.”

Yoongi whined in agreement, his breath hot around Jungkook’s cock. He began to bob his head a little faster, reaching up to play with Jungkook’s balls as he did. 

“That’s it,” Jin praised, stroking the back of Yoongi’s neck. Jungkook let his head fall onto Jin’s shoulder, his fingers biting into his side as Yoongi’s mouth dragged him closer to orgasm. He grunted, biting his lip. Jin slid his hand down, squeezing Jungkook’s ass. He brushed his finger teasingly over Jungkook’s hole, smirking when he jumped. 

“Sensitive,” teased.

Jungkook moaned, pushing his hips forward, pumping into Yoongi’s mouth, and back toward Jin’s hand. The hand disappeared from his ass for a moment. He heard Jin spit and it was back, one finger slipping into his hole. Jungkook shouted in surprise. His hips jerked forward and back, gagging Yoongi.

“Sorry,” he panted, laughing breathlessly as Jin began to finger him. Yoongi gave a thumbs up, shifting to adjust his movements. 

Jin found Jungkook’s prostate easily and began to rub and press it, murmuring soft praises in his ear. 

Jungkook whimpered. He tugged Yoongi’s hair gently. “I can’t hold back,” he gasped in warning. Yoongi nodded as well as he could and pulled back, focusing his oral work on Jungkook’s tip. He rubbed and pressed his balls gently at the same time Jin pushed a second finger up his ass, scissoring them and rubbing against his spot. Jungkook swore, his legs beginning to shake. His cock jerked as his orgasm hit, spilling ropes of come into Yoongi’s mouth. 

Jin slowed his fingers but kept them buried inside Jungkook, rubbing just enough to keep a low level orgasmic buzz running through Jungkook as he milked him dry. 

Yoongi rose, his mouth open to show the come in it. He winked at Jungkook before pulling Jin into a deep kiss. Jungkook struggled to stay upright, watching them share his come.

When Yoongi pulled away, Jin withdrew his fingers momentarily.

“Can I keep fingering you while I come?” He asked. 

Jungkook smirked tiredly. “Of course.” He bent over the desk, wiggling his ass playfully. 

“Wanna finger mine too?” Yoongi teased.

“Well, I’d like to do more than that,” Jin murmured, kissing Yoongi once more. “But I’ll settle for rubbing off on it… If you’ll let me.” 

Yoongi immediately bent over the desk next to Jungkook, kissing him softly. Jin added more spit to Jungkook’s hole, going back to fingering him lazily. Jungkook whined, his soft cock still dribbling weak ropes of come at the right pressure on his spot. He glanced over, watching Jin spit on his other hand to slick his cock. He slid it up, along Yoongi’s perky ass, and moaned, immediately beginning to hump against it. 

After a while, Jin pulled his fingers free from Jungkook’s hole and squeezed Yoongi’s ass, swearing softly. 

“Spread it,” he panted. Yoongi obeyed, spreading his ass open for Jin. 

Jin spat against his hole, and Jungkook watched him slide a finger in gently. Yoongi moaned, deep in his chest as he did. Jin removed his finger and lined his cock up, poking the tip gently against Yoongi’s tight hole. He paused, jerking his cock quickly. 

He moved over to Jungkook, squeezing his ass. 

“Spread,” he panted. Jungkook obeyed, blushing darkly when he heard Jin spit and felt a glob land on his hole. Jin went immediately with his cock, spreading it with the tip and nudging Jungkook’s hole. Slightly more relaxed from the earlier fingering, Jungkook felt his hole give a little, and he moaned.

“Goddamnit,” Jin panted. Jungkook could hear him stroking his cock, the nudges against his hole becoming more persistent. “I wish I could fuck you both,” he grunted.

“Next time I’ll have lube,” Yoongi murmured. “I’d particularly like to see you take Jungkook and pound him against the wall… Looks like you make such pretty sounds with a cock up your ass, Jungkook.”

Jungkook laughed breathlessly, moaning softly. “I think I do… I love begging for it,” he admitted.

Both Jin and Yoongi made appreciative noises. 

“I’d like to fuck him after,” Yoongi continued. “Lay him on his his belly right over there… And fuck him after you gape his ass. You could fuck me while I was doing it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jin swore. He moved between them and grabbed the plate of cheesecake, setting it on the table. With a soft groan and a series of rhythmic grunts, Jin came, thick ropes spilling from his cock over the dessert. 

Jungkook met Yoongi’s gaze and smirked, understanding the intention. They both grabbed forks and began to cut into the cake, feeding one another the come covered bites over Jin’s cock. He moaned softly, seeming to shudder and relax as they ate. Jungkook scooped up the last bite and stood straight, holding it out for Jin, he took it gladly, meeting Jungkook’s gaze as he chewed and swallowed. He leaned forward, kissing Yoongi and then Jungkook. Jungkook returned the kiss, pulling back to kiss Yoongi as well. 

The three redressed and cleaned up the office in relative silence, each seeming to be going over what had happened.

“So… That was… Admittedly a little unexpected,” Yoongi said finally, settling into his chair behind the desk. Jin, for all his gusto, looked a little shy, and Jungkook was worried. 

“Was it too much?” Jungkook asked. 

“I don’t think so. Not for me, at least… What about you two?” 

“I liked it,” Jin said. “I had fun and it was a good way to… Try out this dynamic, of all three of us. I’ve never… I’ve never dated more than one person at a time, but I like Jungkook, and I want to try it. And I know it’s where you feel comfortable. So for me, it was nice to sort of… See where we all stood and get close in a new way.”

Jungkook nodded. “I agree. I had said earlier today that I’d be fine with my partner dating someone else, and I kept thinking about that during the day. My mind did wander to Jin a few times, I won’t lie. I think he’s the best match for both of us. He and I have always had our…”

“Rivalry,” Jin filled in, laughing a little, and Jungkook nodded.

“Yes, rivalry. That I have enjoyed. And I obviously care a lot for you, Yoongi… I’m happy with tonight and… I hope we can move forward as a … Well, not really a couple, are we?”

Yoongi laughed. “Not exactly. There’s a lot of words that people have come up with for folks in our dynamic, we can figure it out later. For now I’m content just knowing that there’s no regrets. And that we all want to move forward into… Dating.”

Jungkook and Jin both nodded eagerly. 

“How will dating work?” Jungkook asked. “Do the three of us go together? Two at a time? I mean… Since Jin and I, I figured… You are okay with… Wanting to date me too?”

“I’d like to try it,” Jin said, nodding in agreement.

“I’ve never actually had this kind of relationship,” Yoongi admitted, “despite wanting it for so long. I think we’ll have to sit down together and really hash out what each of us need in a relationship, and how the other two can best provide it. I do know that for this sort of thing… We need to be open with each other.”

Yoongi rose as he spoke, going over to Jin and Jungkook. He took each of their hands in his own. “Communicating is the only way this can work, okay? No more secrets, no more unspoken words and passive aggressive pranking.”

Thy all shared a chuckle at that. Jungkook shook his head. “I think pranking has really become Jin and I’s love language… You’re not gonna stop the pranks, Yoongi.”

Yoongi sighed dramatically, grinning. “And here I was hoping I’d get to avoid Jin shouting at seven in the morning when you’ve stolen his mixer yet again.”

Jungkook grinned brightly as Jin laughed. 

“Look, that was a good prank!” Jungkook defended.

“Yeah, only because I returned it shutting down your fuse box the next day.”

Jungkook glared, but grinned as he was doing it. “We’ll keep you out of the pranks,” he promised, looking back to Yoongi.

“I don’t mind. Just don’t prank me.”

“It’s late,” Jin said. “Why don’t we all have a light dinner together tomorrow after closing? We can meet here, I’ll bring some stuff from the bakery too, and we can have some of the leftover sandwiches from your café. We can all sit together and really talk about what we need and what we’d like from this sort of relationship.”

Jungkook and Yoongi nodded. “I like that idea. I’d like to think more about it anyways,” Jungkook admitted. “I know I want this, but I’ve not been in a lot of relationships, so… When someone asks me what I want from even a traditional two person… I don’t think I could answer. I need to really think and figure it out.”

“I feel like that’s a fair assessment,” Yoongi said. “I’m in a similar boat. The idea that you’re both… Mine… It’s a lot. I’m happy. I’m just overwhelmed.”

“You never thought you could have this,” Jin said. Yoongi nodded.

“Well you do,” Jungkook stepped forward and hugged Yoongi tightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And we might have to figure out the fine-tuning stuff, but you have us. It’s not a dream.”

Yoongi hugged him back, nuzzling his neck. “Thank you.”

“We care a lot about you, Yoongi. No matter what. I think I can speak for Jungkook too when I say that this is a good move for us all. We’re happy, and we’ll be happy like this,” Jin said. He wrapped his arms around them both, enveloping them in a tight hug. 

They separated after a moment and Jungkook grabbed his bag. “Come on, we should get going. Do you have any last-minute things to do?”

“No, I’m all closed up here, just have to shut off lights.” Yoongi headed to the back of the office and grabbed his jacket, flicking off the lights and basking them in darkness.

The trio walked to the doors and stepped out into the cool night air, letting Yoongi lock his door. They stood for a moment, all looking at one another in the streetlights. “Well, I go this way,” Jungkook said, jutting his finger in the direction of his bus stop. 

“I’m that way too,” Yoongi said. 

“I go the other way,” Jin said. He glanced around then stepped forward and kissed Yoongi long and hard. Jungkook chuckled a little at it. It was cute, if he was being honest. Jin glared playfully at him. “What’re you laughing at, punk?” He joked. He grabbed Jungkook’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss as well. 

He stood straight and fixed his shirt. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“Get home safely,” Yoongi said. They watched Jin walk down the street before turning and walking up it. 

“How far up do you go?” Yoongi asked. 

“My bus stop is about two blocks away.”

“Do you live very far?”

Jungkook shook his head no. “Only a few miles. Just a little too far to walk or ride a bike in, so I have to do the bus.”

Yoongi nodded. “I only live about half a mile up, so I usually walk it. Do you have a car, for the winter?”

“No, but the bus stop is right outside my apartment so it’s not so bad. The city keeps these streets shoveled well.”

“Hm… Well, we’ll see when winter comes. I have a car, I just don’t bother using it except winter with how close I live. I wonder how far down Jin lives.” He glanced back. 

“We can ask him tomorrow.” 

They reached Jungkook’s bus stop. Yoongi sighed softly. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“The conversation we had this afternoon gave me so much joy and confidence… Just hearing someone support me and give me hope that I could be truly happy… And then I know you sent Jin to me. Even though you knew it might mean losing me if I didn’t want you as a third, I… Your care means so much.”

Jungkook smiled softly. “I fell for you the minute I saw you, Yoongi. I want you to be happy, no matter what. And getting to be with you… And with Jin… It’s perfect. For as much as he and I argue, he’s an amazing man.”

“He is… And so are you.” Yoongi took Jungkook’s hands and squeezed gently. “I’m so happy that this happened.”

Jungkook grinned, his heart skipping a beat. He leaned forward and kissed Yoongi gently. “My bus will be here soon,” he said, not stepping away from Yoongi. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Yoongi kissed him once more before letting his hands go and heading down the street. 

Jungkook sighed heavily, a grin on his face as he did. Though he’d been hoping for a good result from finally confronting his feelings, this was a better one that he’d ever imagined. He knew that their future would be a sweet as the coffee and pastries his new boyfriends created.

[amysteryspot]

Don’t know how to stop - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Prompts: 40. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”; 69. “What do you want me to say?” + "Don't Know How to Stop" by Halestorm

Requested by: @sighonahurricane

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Changretta!Reader

Summary: “Or what, Thomas?” she interrupted him, defiance in her eyes as she glared back at him. “We both know you won’t kill me. You want revenge, want to see me suffer or you would have already killed me that night at the warehouse, in front of my father.”

Warnings: Smut/NSFW/+18, mentions of violence, swearing, there's a very brief implied reference to rape

Word Count: 2510

A/N: Not even going to try and find an excuse as to why this is longer than it should be, all you need to know is that I was in the mood. I absolutely loved to write this, but I'm feeling anxious about what you all are going to think of it. Really hope that you like it. For reference, reader is a Changretta and this is set between season three/four. Feedback is very much appreciated as always.

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta.

If you want to be tagged in my stories, just send me a message.

She had been the one that faced the Devil. Down on her knees in front of him, begging for her father’s life as he held the knife to her throat.

“One life for another,” she had offered, fingers curling into the fabric of his waistcoat. “You can have me. Do anything you want with me, just spare his life.”

The deal had been made that night, for reasons that Tommy still couldn’t understand, even after all these years. He wasn’t even sure if he had really considered the possibility of killing her, despite the rage clouding his mind at the time.

Vicente walked free, dragged out of the room in tears, at the expense of leaving his daughter behind, a prisoner of war.

Tommy confined her to the guest wing of Arrow House. He didn’t want to see her and be reminded of the reason why he slept in an empty bed now. It was easier to ignore her existence if he didn’t have to see her every day.

His son had other plans though. Somehow, Charlie found a way to escape his nanny and ended up finding (Y/N). Tommy knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into his son’s room to find it empty. It was safe to say that he was seeing red as he climbed down the stairs, calling for Mary and asking about the whereabouts of the nanny and the baby.

The door to her room hit the wall with a loud bang that startled both the women in there and Charlie, who was all curled up in (Y/N)’s arms.

Tommy looked at the nanny, ordering, “Take Charlie back to his room.”

She did as commanded, quickly, even though the boy didn’t seem very pleased with the idea of leaving (Y/N)’s arms. Tommy walked straight up to her, grabbing her tightly by the jaw, and almost lifting her from the ground.

“You don’t get to talk to him. You don’t even look his way or else…”

“Or what, Thomas?” she interrupted him, defiance in her eyes as she glared back at him. “We both know you won’t kill me. You want revenge, want to see me suffer or you would have already killed me that night at the warehouse, in front of my father.”

His hold on her had gone lax but he still kept his hands on her.

(Y/N) continued, “The boy came to me, I’m not going to blame a child for sins that aren’t his.”

Tommy observed her in silence for a minute. The rise and fall from her chest, the way both her hands were circling his wrist, how she didn’t show any sign of fear even though the imbalance in power was evident. He let her go, leaving the room without another world, only to be haunted by the image of her in his dreams.

“Are you going to kill her or fuck her?” Polly’s voice got him out of his trance.

He looked up at her but did not answer, because he didn’t know what to say.

Polly continued, “Because these are the two available options with you. You are either going to kill her or you’re going to fuck her. Considering that you are mourning, I would bet on the second, or you would have killed her already.”

She took a drag from her cigarette, taking her time in exhaling the smoke, before saying, “You men start wars because of your uncontrollable ego, and in the end, is always the women who pay the price of it.”

In the end, both Polly and (Y/N) were right. He didn’t kill her. His aunt’s words have made him realize something better to put a definitive end to this war between them and the Italians: a wedding. What could be worse for Vicente than having to marry his only daughter to a Shelby?

After a year of mourning, Thomas married (Y/N) Changretta, sealing the pact she had made with him for good.

They slept in separate rooms at opposite ends of the corridor. Since she was his wife now, Tommy had to get used to the idea that Charlie would have to be around her, or people would get suspicious. He had never been one to care about what people thought of him, but sometimes it was easier to maintain the appearances than to go against the norm.

If Tommy was worried about having to see her more often now that they shared the same corridor, he was wrong. (Y/N) was like a ghost. He rarely saw her outside of brief encounters whenever he was at home at the time the meals were served, the occasions when he found her in Charles’s nursery, or when she had to accompany at events.

On those occasions, (Y/N) was the image of a perfect, dutiful wife. She was well mannered and educated, making it easy for her to hold conversations with the most different people. Her charm and beauty helped her, and Tommy was surprised at how good she was at making people believe that their marriage wasn’t a sham.

His family and the staff of the house knew better though—all (Y/N) was was spoils of war.

They were surprisingly civil to each other, posing for the public eye as the perfect couple and avoiding each other like the plague at home. When they met at home, occasionally, a polite conversation could end up in a fight. Except for that night when Tommy found Charlie in (Y/N)’s arms for the first time, their arguments never turned physical.

Until one night when Tommy was especially pissed off by something business-related and ended up pressing her up between his body and the wall of her the drawing-room.

(Y/N) had never backed away from a fight, never showed any signs that she was afraid of him. But that night, that night the way she flinched when he touched her and the look of pure horror on her face as she looked at him, made Tommy let go of her immediately.

As he watched her ran away from the room, Tommy realized what must have crossed her mind, and the mere thought of it made his blood boil. The glass of whiskey that was on his desk exploded in a hundred pieces on the wall, before he retired to his room, plagued by the sight of her running away from him.

He tried to be more careful around her after that, always seeking some kind of consent from her before getting too close or touching her. Tommy would never force her to have sex with him, not for revenge, not because she was his wife.

They crossed the line from civil to friendly at some point, maybe after she sassed him because of Lizzie in front of the whole family, making everyone laugh, but he was not sure. What he did know for sure was that he started to see her as more than someone who was there because of a casualty of war somewhere along the way.

It was hard to ignore her after that. It was hard to ignore the beautiful woman navigating the corridors of his house, playing with his son in the garden, handling the staff, helping with the business. It was hard to ignore the woman he tried to avoid for so long, the woman he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He wasn’t sure at what point he had started to consider the idea to fuck her, it just happened. One night, after they arrived from a gala, fighting about something that Tommy didn’t even remember anymore, they fucked against the vanity in her room.

After that first time, it all went downhill. It was like getting high for the first time and then not being able to control the need to take another hit. (Y/N) was warm, soft, willing, and available, and Tommy decided that he wasn’t going to deny himself or his needs searching for other options when he had her right there.

Things escalated quickly and they developed some kind of silent agreement, another deal. During the day, they acted like old acquaintances, respectful, and civil to each other. But after dawn, they would seek each other out, drowning together in a desire that seemed to have no end.

That had been a long time ago, so long that he didn’t remember how it was not to have her around. Long enough for some unrequited feelings to show up.

He did his best to ignore the guy talking to (Y/N). They were hosting a dinner at Arrow House, the man talking to her was some rich bachelor from London that was being a little too friendly to Tommy’s liking. He downed the whiskey in one gulp and noticed Polly watching him, but his attention is quickly drawn back to his wife.

At the end of the night, after all the guests either left for home or to the guest wing and all that is left are the Shelby’s at the parlour, Tommy revels in the feeling of (Y/N) sitting beside him, reclining against the arm he rested behind her shoulders. From the other side of the room, Polly looks at him and smiles, like she knows something that he doesn’t.

It happens the week after the gala. They’re both getting ready for a family meeting. His room became their room, unofficially, because her things were scattered all over the place—her perfume and jewelry on the bedside table, dresses on the wardrobe, lingerie on the drawers, even the sheets smelled like her.

“Tommy,” she exclaimed in a reprehensive tone, as he pressed himself against her back, arms sneaking around her waist and preventing her from running away as his lips trailed down her neck. “What are you doing?”

“Giving some very due attention to my wife,” he answered, casually, walking them both closer to the bed.

“In broad daylight?” (Y/N) gasped, something between surprise and a protest, although she was doing very little to resist his advances.

“Want to see you,” he stated, before turning her around to kiss her.

“Your family is downstairs waiting for you,” she warned against his lips, breath uneven and fingers clutching onto his shirt.

“My family is downstairs waiting for us,” he corrected, nibbling her earlobe and smiling because of the sound she made. “Let them wait. They’re probably too occupied drinking, anyway.”

Any pretense of resistance from her part vanished when Tommy started to unbutton her dress. He was desperate to feel her skin against his, to taste her, and be inside of her. When they were both finally naked and pressed against each other on the bed, it felt like some kind of miracle.

Tommy drank her in, from the blush on her cheeks to the way her toes curled when he touched a sensitive spot on her body. All the scars, the birthmarks, the dips and curves, the softness of her skin, the heady taste of her on his tongue, and how wet she could get for him. He wanted it all, needed all of her.

He was tired to fight against it, tired of pretending that this feeling gnawing on his chest was something else.

“(Y/N/N),” he breaths against her skin, the feeling of her short nails scratching his back driving him crazy. “I love you.”

Her eyes open to stare right into his, something between surprise and uncertainty on her features. Tommy kisses her, gripping her tights a little harder to dive deeper into her.

The whimper of need that comes out of her lips makes him wild. All he can think about is how she feels, how good she feels, how right she feels. Here, underneath him, crying out his name, welcoming him into her body, scratching his back as the both of them get lost in pure pleasure.

All it takes to make her unravel is for him to press the engorged nub at the apex of her thighs. (Y/N) comes undone and brings him down with her, just a few trusts later, her walls milking him from his orgasm, his seed taking place deep inside of her for the first time in a long time because they were too lost in each other to care.

One more time they pretended, dressing in silence and walking down the stairs as nothing more than acquaintances. If his family suspected of something, they didn’t show it.

The meeting went uneventful, as planned. (Y/N) found a way to sneak out of the parlour before him and when Tommy went upstairs to his room—their room—he found it empty.

Sighing, he made his way to the other end of the corridor. He knocked one time, before letting himself in. (Y/N) was sitting in front of the vanity, taking the pins out of her hair. She was already dressed to sleep, the silk nightgown revealing her legs and a bit of the lace underneath. Their gazes met through the mirror as Tommy closes the door behind him.

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I love you.”

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, still not turning around to face him.

“Tom…”

“We’ve been dancing around this for too long, it’s time to face it.”

She sighs, a hand running through her face as she says, “What do you want me to say?”

He is in her in a heartbeat, pulling her up and pressing her against the vanity, just like the first time they had sex. Tommy takes her face in between both of his hands, nose brushing against her as he mumbles against her lips,

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Tom, I can’t. We can’t,” she protests, weekly, eyes closed and hands holding his wrists.

“A little too late for that because I don’t know how to stop this.”

“Your brother blinder my brother, Tommy. Your wife was killed because of that. I’m only here because you wanted my father that and I made a bargain with you. How this is supposed to work. What people will think?”

“Fuck what people think. We are already married, (Y/N). What happened, happened. We can’t change it. But this thing between us, this thing is real. I’ve denied myself that long enough, not going to keep pretending anymore. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time now and I know, I know that you feel the same, so stop fighting against it and say it.”

Tommy’s lips brush against hers as he repeats himself, half plea, half command, “Say it.”

“I love you,” she whispers, eyes closed tightly as if the words will be less real if she can’t see him.

“Say it again,” he commands, nose bumping into hers while his thumbs caress her cheeks.

“I love you.”

“Again,” the sound is music to his ears and Tommy just can’t get enough of it.

(Y/N) opens her eyes, looks him in the eye, and professes, “I love you, Thomas Shelby.”

He smiles, for what feels like the first time in years, and confesses, “I love you too, Mrs. Shelby.”

.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @internalmess3 @theshelbyclan @giowritess @captivatedbycillianmurphy

[whispering-about-loki]

A Little theory regarding the Loki series

Warning! Image-heavy!

I am going to preface this by saying that this won’t happen. Well, maybe it won’t. Most of it won’t. Maybe some of it will. So SPOILER warning, in case it does. 

I’ll put some of my thought process in a note at the end.

---------

After Loki is arrested and brought before court to be charged for his part in certain time crimes, Mobius M. Mobius takes him “somewhere to talk”. He shows Loki snippets of how his life would have gone if he hadn’t skipped out with the Tesseract, then he tells him that he needs his help. Someone has been causing changes throughout history, making a myriad of variant timelines. Mobius believes that someone is taking advantage of their position in the TVA to cause this chaos; but his superiors refuse to believe that any of their ranks would behave in such a manner. So Mobius figures that if you want to handle chaos, you need to embrace chaos, and without consulting his superiors about it, he offers the God of Mischief a deal: help him find and bring back the rogue agent, and Loki will get his freedom. 

It is, of course, against the rules; but Mobius is willing to bend the rules a bit, if it means ending the time incidents. Loki agrees, thinking he will be able to use the situation to escape. But Mobius understands Loki’s thought process and warns him that if he strays from his assignment, he will be brought right back to the TVA. Loki being Loki, though, does try to skip out; but after he is zipped right back to the TVA a couple times, he doesn’t try it again.

Loki then does what he agreed to, slipping through time with Mobius and looking for the cause of the chaos. Disconcertingly, though, Loki’s power and strength begin to diminish, to the point where simple attacks he should have been able to easily counter are enough to take him down. Mobius says he doesn’t know why it is happening.

After a while Mobius's superiors suspect he is up to something, so he begins sending Loki out on his own, staying behind at the TVA to keep the others off his trail. Loki still doesn't like being in someone's "servant", and he resents being kept on such a tight temporal leash; but he continues reporting back to Mobius. While on assignments, Loki occasionally ends up preventing disasters that the “Agent of Chaos” had set in motion; though he also can’t help but make some “small” changes to the timeline, himself.

Mobius tells him to be more careful, or he might cause unforeseen effects. When Loki scoffs at this, Mobius asks him if he wants to see the world where he “won” the battle of New York. Mobius doesn’t wait for Loki’s answer, but immediately ships Loki off to an apocalyptic-looking New York City. When Loki gets there, the air is cold to the point where he can see his own breath, and it is utterly silent. A result, it appears, of not only the Chitauri attack, but of the bomb that the Humans used to try to wipe out the invading army. Apparently, the only ones that got wiped out were the Humans -- Avengers and all.

Loki wanders around the desolation for a while, until he is at last found by a roving group of ragged men. They seem to recognize him and he is brought to the leader of the city, who happens to be himself. Boss-Loki has gone a bit around the bend, though. He has been stuck in this place for years since the attack, and has carved himself out a little “kingdom” in the ruins, based in an old arcade. Our Loki is shocked and almost disgusted to see how far he has fallen. When Boss-Loki’s men turn on him because of this other Loki’s presence, though, our Loki gets caught up in the fighting. He calls out to Mobius that he has made his point, and to get him out of there.

Loki goes on doing his “job” then, being more careful with time. At long last, he finds a strange object at the scene of one of the chaotic events, and he brings it back to Mobius, who recognizes it as something he had taken from one of the young agent recruits, a girl named Sylvie. Mobius explains that some of the agents in the TVA are clones (like himself), but that some are recruited at a young age by the TVA because they show special abilities. Sometimes these recruitments occur from outside the main timeline, which is where they found Sylvie. Not only was she a gifted individual, but the TVA records showed that she should not have existed in the first place; so they took her in to train her, and also so that her presence would not disrupt the flow of time. 

Mobius and Loki go to confront her in her room, but she is gone. Mobius feels responsible because it was he that “recruited” Sylvie. Additionally, he knew that she had a habit of slipping through time on “joy rides” and coming back with souvenirs, which was strictly against the rules. She always seemed innocent, though, so he went easy on her about it. Hidden in a drawer in her room, they find other “souvenirs”, and Loki notes that some of them have Asgardian runes on them. Mobius says that Sylvie is human, according to her genetic code, so he doesn’t understand what she is doing with the runes. 

As they ponder the meaning of this, an alarm sounds in the TVA headquarters, and they know something terrible is happening in some variant timeline. They leave Sylvie’s room to try to get to the portals to take them to the time-incident; but on the way, some TVA agents try to stop them. They claim that Loki is the rogue element that has been causing all of the chaos, and that he needs to be “erased” as soon as possible. 

Mobius pretends to be on the agents' side, then sets them off-guard so Loki can get to the scene of chaos. After fighting his way through the Minutemen that are guarding the portals, Loki arrives when/where Sylvie is--at a quarry mine--the moon is shattered and the fragments are falling to the Earth. 

Loki runs to get to safety, and the ground opens up as the mine before him collapses, blocking him off from the now-adult Sylvie, who is staring up at the falling moon. She turns and looks at him just as the ground completely falls out from underneath him.

Suddenly the world around him stills and he lands hard on the ground. He struggles to his feet and looks up to see that everything has frozen around him. As he is standing there, gaping in disbelief, he turns and sees Sylvie standing beside him. She is wearing clothing very similar to his old Asgardian outfit, and she is smiling at the destruction and chaos before them.

“Hello, Father,” she says. “Have I made you proud?”

-------

-------

Notes: 

SPOILERS below.

My main thought was that since Cailey Fleming is listed as playing “Young Sylvie”, that would imply the presence of an older Sylvie. Otherwise, she would have been listed as “Sylvie”. Sylvie Lushton being the girl that Loki, in the comics, empowered and/or created, and who later became a version of Enchantress. 

That is who I think Sophia Di Martino is playing as an adult, rather than Lady Loki, like I used to think. Her hair is the wrong color to be Loki, for one thing; and she has been shown filming in the same location as Tom Hiddleston, who was wearing an Agent outfit at the time. I’m not gonna put the set photos here, but you know the ones... the pictures where she is wearing just about the same outfit as Loki has in the past. And we know that this character is the one that is causing the chaos, because in those set photos she is wearing a certain pair of boots and fingerless gloves, both of which are freeze-frame bonusses on the “mystery figure” in the trailer (when she drops the lantern and lifts her hands to her hood).

I’d also like to point out that she is wearing what appears to be a sword on her hip:

Anyway, I figure it goes something like this: 

Sylvie exists because another version of Loki had adopted her when he discovered that she had talents close to his own. He had begun training her how to use magic; but he was not so good a teacher as Frigga was, and the training was complicated by her wily and independent nature. Loki in that timeline died, though, leaving Sylvie alone. 

The TVA (specifically, Mobius) took her in, but because of her abilities, she was naturally able to slip through time, create illusions, age herself up and down, etc. Eventually, she decided she would “make her father proud” by sowing chaos. The thing is, she has grown stronger and more chaotic since Loki showed up at the TVA, because she has been inadvertently drawing his power and life force from him -- basically depowering him to charge herself up (c’mon... he gets laid out by a Roomba...). In fact, the draining of his life-force was what killed her “father” in her own timeline, though she didn’t know it.

Additionally (and on another note), the Loki series is said to be a “crime thriller” with sci-fi aspects; so while Loki tracking down a rogue time-agent seems to be a pretty straightforward idea, it could be given a nice twist at the end by having the rogue element not be an agent, but someone of Loki’s own making. And it would be one hell of a cliffhanger for the next season.

And... that’s all I got for now.

[avintagekiss24]

SUNBEAMS & RHYTHMS || STEVE ROGERS; BUCKY BARNES

pairing: Steve Rogers x blind!black!reader x Bucky Barnes || word count: 5,414 || warnings: mentions of depression, mentions of anxiety, mentions of insomnia, mentions of suicidal/dark thoughts, mentions of surgery/side effects of surgery (seizures/medications), smut, sex, threesome (m/m/f), polyandry/polyamory || challenge: @jbbarnesnnoble​​ mental health awareness month writing challenge - “the warmth of the sun fell over you like a blanket in the middle of winter.”

author’s note: this was such a great challenge, but please heed the warnings! we’re dealing with some sensitive issues in this one. I hope you guys like, and I also hope that I’ve handled this correctly! this is my first time writing a disabled reader. let me know what you think please :) and thank you all so much for all of the love since I've been back from my little hiatus! major inspiration from this post. I’m also getting used to a new laptop, so if there’s any weirdness in this post that’s why, lmaooo. okay, I'm done talking, enjoy!

The room is shrouded in darkness - but not that you’d notice anyway. Your body is covered by the thick duvet thrown over the bed, your face buried in your hands. A splitting headache forces your eyes closed, but you’re used to them. The headaches. They started a few years ago, out of nowhere - you just thought it was stress, or, maybe not getting enough sleep at night. You didn’t pay them any attention at first.

They got worse. They got to the point where you couldn’t get out of bed. Your vision would get blurry. Steve suggested a doctor - you said no, it’s just a migraine. You’d be fine. He insisted after a few more months went by, and your headaches got worse, your vision worse.

You still remember it like it was yesterday. You sat there, stunned into silence. Your whole body numb. Steve grabbed your left hand, Bucky your right, as the room started to spin - the doctor's voice fading away as she spoke. Brain tumor. It was so large now that it was pressing on your optic nerves, making you slowly go blind. Within months, purples and greens and blues and pinks were all replaced by nothing. Not even black - it was just nothing.

The last clear thing you remember seeing were the tears in Steve’s eyes and Bucky’s metal arm thrown over your hip as he held you tight. You had to squint to make everything out, but Steve’s eyes were shiny - cloudy - as the emotion trickled down his cheeks. You wiped them away slowly with your thumb as you tried to etch his face in your mind so you’d never forget it. You wanted each line, each crinkle, each little freckle to be ingrained in you. You’d already spent hours staring at Bucky, doing the same.

You made them smile - soft ones, toothy ones, lopsided ones, just so you could remember them. Both men obliged, although Steve clearly couldn’t stuff his grief and anger down as well as Bucky could. Bucky was angry with him at first - telling him to stay strong for you. Surgery wasn’t going to be easy, mentally, emotionally, physically - they needed to stay strong for you. You told him not to be so hard on Steve. You were all dealing with the death - of the person you were, your relationship as it was - he was allowed to grieve.

You woke up from the surgery a few days later, tumor free, but almost completely blind.

Everything was just different from that point on. The medication after the surgery did a number on you. The steroids made you irrationally angry and agitated. Insomnia kicked in, you couldn’t sleep for days on end, so they prescribed you a sleeping aid. You couldn’t tell if it were day or night, so on top of the insomnia, your circadian rhythm was fucked - more medication. Your balance was off, you were confused more times than you weren’t, you had a seizure or two - bad ones.

That’s when the depression seeped in. You missed who you used to be. You were fun. You were wild - that’s how you ended up in a relationship with two men in the first place. You had a great laugh. You couldn’t hold your liquor for shit, and you had a great sense of style. You loved everything and everyone and now, you’re just a shell of that person. You end up laying in bed most of the day, days on end, as dark thoughts swarm around you, consuming the last spots of light you have left.

You’re a burden to them, Steve and Bucky. They’ve both had to leave the team, not wanting to be far from you in case something happened. Steve turned his shield over to Sam immediately upon hearing the news. Bucky stayed on for a while longer but wouldn’t leave the country, until even that was too much for him. He’s been home full time for a few weeks now.

The headaches now are from the new crippling anxiety and stress that you live with constantly. You don’t bother to put on anything but old t-shirts and sweats because, what’s the point? You can’t even remember what your favorite clothes look like. One afternoon, in a fit of rage, you pulled every article of clothing from the hanger and made Bucky tell you what color it was before you threw it away. You could only imagine him standing there, his hands on his hips, his head down, his voice low as he rattled them off - red, pink, yellow with white polka dots, navy blue and white stripes.

Between the irrational anger, the headaches, the insomnia, the feeling that your floundering - sinking just below the endless, dark water - you just want to give up. You just want to close your eyes and float away. Make it all end.

You hear the door slide across the carpet as it opens, and then heavy steps before a massive weight presses into the mattress. The duvet starts to shift but you grab it, stopping it from sliding off of your head and groan loudly.

“Bucky,” you whine, “Please don’t.”

He chuckles, “How d’you know it was me?”

His body wash. You used to laugh at the differences between the two of them - like day and night almost; but their juxtaposition is what made them, them. Bucky always went for earthy tones; rich - scents and colors alike. Naturally, his preferred body wash was heavier than Steve’s, distinctly masculine. Steve always liked a hint of sweet.

“Baby,” Bucky’s voice is soft and airy, “You gotta get up.” You don’t respond. You draw your knees into your chest as you feel him shift behind you, “Come on baby. We have a surprise for you.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

You can sense the smile on his face. He shifts again and suddenly you feel those metal digits slide up your spine. Slowly, slowly, slowly, they creep along your back and up to the back of your neck where he scratches at your hairline. You hate how short it is, your hair. You were natural before, took the utmost care of it. Steve helped you shave it off before surgery. Now, between the medication making it brittle and quite frankly, the lack of care you have, Steve helps you keep it short.

You let out a breath as Bucky’s large hand sweeps over your head, cupping it underneath the duvet before his digits find your ear to pull gently, playfully on the lobe, “Please? For me?”

You sigh. You let him pull the duvet away from your face. You start to blink quickly; jump slightly when you suddenly feel his lips on your cheek. You’re still not used to it yet, your senses aren’t - they’re getting stronger, you just have to trust them. You can hear your therapist's words like she’s sitting in the room with you. You relax though, when his cheek rubs against yours as he wraps your body up in a tight hug. You even smile a little as he kisses down your neck and along your shoulder as he rubs your hip.

You reach for him, finding his chin with your fingers. The short hair that grows along the bottom half of his face is prickly - sharp. You walk your fingers along his jawline and cup his cheek as he moans into the crook of your neck.

“Where’s Steve?” You ask softly.

“Packing up the car.”

You roll slightly onto your back, blinking at the nothingness as your fingers still move along Bucky’s face. You raise your second hand, sliding it along his left cheek, feeling him. You push your fingers over his lips, tracing them as you try and figure out what he’s feeling. Your hands move upward, over his nose, up to his eyes where you feel the crinkles on either side of them. He’s smiling; it’s a big one.

“Steve is really excited.” He says.

You picture an excited Steve. The light that fills his brilliant, blue eyes, the whiteness of his toothy grin. God, you miss his face, “Where are we going?” You ask after a moment.

There’s another kiss pressed to your cheek before he sits up, gently pulling your arms with him, “That’s the surprise.”

You let him pull you up to your feet. There’s footsteps again, coming down the hall, “Buck,” Steve says.

“She’s up.”

You turn your head in the direction of the door, dropping your chin to your shoulder, listening as the steps draw nearer. You close your eyes again and let another small smile spread on your lips when you feel soft fingers, Steve’s fingers, start to massage your shoulders. He kisses the back of your head and then your temple.

“Feelin’ better?” He whispers.

“Not really,” you answer honestly. You’ve never lied to them, there’s no use in starting now.

Silence drops over the room. You’re sure that they’re exchanging a quiet conversation, their eyes bouncing back and forth between each other, “Guys?”

“Still here,” Bucky answers, “Hands up, let’s get you dressed.”

You oblige, lifting your arms over your head as he pulls his old t-shirt away from your body, “I can dress myself.”

“Just let us help you.” Steve says gently, his hands slipping into the sides of your sweats to push them down your legs, “You know we’ve always liked pampering you.”

That they have. It’s been a long time since you’ve let them. Their hands feel familiar but yet different - you weren’t really paying attention to the feel of them before. Now that it’s all you have, the feel, you notice the difference between the two of them. Steve’s hands are a little softer than Bucky’s, but he hasn’t worked in over a year, that’s what you suppose anyway. Punching people and gripping various guns and knives are killer on the hands.

Once you’re stripped naked, Bucky places your arms back by your sides. You feel Bucky’s hands (his are calloused still) on yours within seconds, then, a slick material against your fingers.

You squint, “Is that a bathing suit?”

“It is. Your favorite one. Remember what it looks like?”

“The blue one?”

“With the polka dots.” He presses it into your palm, letting you feel it, “The strapless one, that sinches in the middle of your chest.”

You smile a little as you run your fingers over it. The stomach is cut out, the waist high. You liked it because it made your ass and your boobs look incredible, “I love this one.”

He kneels in front of you, grabbing your hand and placing it on his shoulder as Steve places his hands on your hips - steadying you, in more ways than one. Bucky lifts your left leg by your ankle and helps you step into your bathing suit, then moves to the right foot, sliding the soft material up your legs. Once his hands reach your waist, Steve takes over, grabbing the suit and pulling it up the rest of the way, up over your chest. He kisses your neck as you adjust the top over your breasts.

“Thank you.” You offer gently.

Steve pushes your hands above your head again and slips something soft down your arms and over your head. Bucky grabs it and pulls it down your body, adjusting it slightly as you place your hands on your chest - feeling it. It’s a cover up, the white one you think; the one you got on your vacation in Maui. It has a stain on it. Steve knocked over the bottle of red wine the three of you were enjoying as the two of you danced on the patio of your ocean front room, Bucky watching you with a small, happy smile on his face.

“I like this one,” you say more to yourself than to them, “It makes my legs look long.”

“Your legs are long.” Steve chuckles, “Come on, shoes now.”

Once you're fully dressed, Steve takes your hand, starting to guide you towards the door. You slip out of his grasp, taking a breath, ���I can do it.”

It’s thirty seven steps from here to the kitchen. That’s when you make a right and take fifteen more steps to make it to the garage door. From there, it’s five steps to the car, unless it’s backed out into the driveway - then it's between twenty two and twenty seven steps, depending on just where it’s parked. You’re getting the hang of things, no matter how much you hate it.

You feel them hovering behind you as you walk but they both respect your boundaries, letting you navigate the house without intervention. You slide your hands along the side of the car to the door handle and pull, the old door creaking just a little. Bucky isn’t much of a car guy, but Steve? This 1967 Chevy Impala was the only thing he and Tony could talk about without fighting. Steve gushed over it every time the three of you had dinner with Tony and Pepper. Then, one day, it was parked in front of the house with a simple note from Tony shoved underneath the windshield wipers - Capsicle, much like your face, I can’t stand to look at this any longer. Enjoy.

You slide into the seat and within seconds feel their thick bodies enveloping you, squeezing you between the two of them. The seat rumbles against your back as the car comes to life, the engine and mufflers loud as… you lift your hand to the shoulder on your left and run it the length of his arm, down to his wrist, gripping slightly as you go. It’s Steve, his arms are just a tad longer than Bucky’s you’re coming to find; more vascular.

You squint as the car backs down the driveway and the sun hits your face. You lift your hand, blocking the rays as you start to fumble around in front of you. You’re surprised at how sensitive your eyes have become to the UV rays. There’s a hand on yours, then your glasses pressed into your palm, the fingers not pulling away until you unfold them and slip them onto your face.

“Good?” Bucky asks.

You nod, “Good.”

The windows are down, the warm breeze whipping around you, caressing your skin. The radio is turned up - Dreams by Fleetwood Mac - as you drive. Bucky hums softly, his metal fingers linking with yours, his lips pressing against your temple every now and again. Steve taps along to the beat with his fingers against your bare, exposed knee before he squeezes it gently. You smile as you start to relax, Steve’s words coming back to you. Just let us help you. You know we’ve always liked pampering you.

You drive for a while, over an hour maybe. Then, the car slows as you turn and stays slow, creeping almost, like Steve’s looking for something. The car turns again and comes to a stop a second or two later. The engine dies, the two buff bodies shift away from you as the doors pop open. There’s a tap on your right shoulder. You reach out and feel on the forearm until you find a hand, Bucky, before he grabs tightly and helps you out.

“I’m gonna help you, okay?” His voice is soft as he rubs his chin against your shoulder.

“Okay.” You answer. You turn your head to your left and blink quickly, anxiety starting to rush through your veins from the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, “Steve?”

“Right here, baby.” His voice is soft too. You feel his fingertips brush along the inside of your left wrist, just to assure you he’s close, “You’re okay. I had to get the bags.”

Bucky slips his arm around your waist and keeps your hand in his as he guides you. You count each step. Bucky narrates every move - that you are in a garage, just about to enter a house. You’re in a small hallway, seven steps before a left turn, then you’re in the kitchen. There’s an island to your left, a kitchen table with four chairs on your right and if you keep walking straight, you’re in the living room. He lets you feel your way, reaching out to touch the walls, the backs of the chairs, the island, as he talks.

You stop when Bucky stops, and then hear something slide open before the sounds of water crashing fills your ears. You’re back outside, the warmth of the sun falling over you like a blanket in the middle of winter. A hand slips down your calf and wraps around your ankle before your foot is lifted and your shoe removed. A broad smile covers your face. You haven’t been to the beach since the diagnosis.

You take a step forward once you’re barefoot, one of them grabbing your wrist quickly, “There’s steps, babe.” Bucky says.

“How many?”

“Six.” Steve answers, “Here let me-”

“I got it.” You say dancing your fingers over the railing and taking small, cautious steps until you feel the first step, “I got it.”

They’re hovering again. You can’t see it, but Steve has both hands extending out on either side of you, ready to catch you if you stumble. Bucky jumps the railing entirely, landing softly in the sand and rushes to the bottom step, his eyes on you as you move down them slowly.  When you step into the hot sand, your smile grows - if that’s even possible. You wiggle your toes as the grains slip between them and the waves continue to crash not far from where you stand.

Steve and Bucky keep their small distance from you as you walk towards the ocean’s edge, knowing you're close when the sand changes from loose and dry to stiff and wet. The water washes up over your feet, the smell of salt fills your nostrils, the random calls of seagulls both near and far ring in your ears. You grab the hem of your cover up and pull it over your head, discarding it onto the ground without a care as you move deeper into the water - a new purpose, new life flowing through your veins.

You don’t feel them hovering anymore. You guess they’ve both stopped at the water’s edge, soft smiles on their faces as they watch a wave crash into you, making you stumble. You laugh, loud and carefree, as you fall on your butt, the strength of the water pushing you around slightly. You don’t know it, but Bucky’s smile widens and Steve’s chin trembles as they watch you find a meaning again.

Tilting your head to the sky, you run your wet hands over your head before you wrap them around your legs, bringing them into your chest. You let the sun beat down on you. You let the water wash over you. You let the tears come. You let them slide down your cheeks and fall into the water. You let the ocean carry all of your tears, sadness, anxiety, and depression away from you and out into the abyss. You don’t want it back.

You lay out underneath the sun for hours, making peace with yourself, becoming one with the sand, water, and sun. Steve and Bucky keep a watchful eye until you call for them. Then, and only then do they approach, hands and fingers and lips all over your damp skin. They lay with you, staring up into the sky and calling out the shapes of the clouds. They play with you, splashing water in your face and pinching and tickling your sides as the three of you laugh loudly. Wildly.

You feel like yourself again.

When the sun sets, and the breeze rolling off of the water turns chilly, making chills run through you and bumps pop up on your skin, the three of you head back inside. Door dash brings you a quick dinner, which you all inhale before heading back into the bedroom to bathe. Bathtubs are rarely big enough for the three of you, but you always make it work - sitting in Bucky’s lap, your back to his chest, Steve at the other end.

Steve shaves your legs slowly, dropping kisses on the inside of your ankle as Bucky massages the shampoo into your short hair. Bucky taps underneath your chin before he pushes his index finger into it softly, tilting your head back. He pours warm water over your hair, sweeping his hand through it to push the suds away. Just let us help you. You know we’ve always liked pampering you.

You stay in the tub with your boys until the water runs cold. You’re wrapped up in a warm, fluffy towel, Bucky rubbing his hands up and down your arms trying to warm you up as you shiver and laugh at yourself. A song starts to play from somewhere in the house, slightly muffled as the sound passes through the walls and down the halls. Dream A Little Dream Of Me. The duet between Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were long replaced by Captain America and The Winter Soldier by the time this version came out, but they love it all the same. It reminds them of home, they tell you.

You’re suddenly crushed against one of them - Steve. You know this because you run your hands along his chest to his shoulder, not feeling the jagged, deep scar where Bucky’s flesh meets metal. He grabs your small hand and places it to his chest as he sways with you, back and forth, turning in slow circles as Louis croons.

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Just saying this

Steve spins you away from him and Bucky finds you, wrapping you up in his arms - an arm slung around your waist, fingers spread against your naked back as he holds your hand. You melt into him, humming softly as your toes brush against his, the soft sounds of your feet pushing along the hardwood floor beneath you adding a natural soundtrack.

Steve’s hands find your shoulders from behind. He presses his thumbs into your flesh as he squeezes and rubs slowly, his lips peppering your jaw and down your neck, “You’re so tense, baby.” He whispers.

“Depression will do that to you,” you chuckle, your new humor darker than what either one of them are used to. You feel them both stiffen at your words, hear a sad sigh from behind you, “Sorry. It was just a joke.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky says, “We want to know what you're feeling, good, bad or indifferent. You don’t have to joke with us.”

You take a breath. You rest your head on his chest and start to chew on your bottom lip, “I know.” Your voice is small.

Defense mechanism.

You fight the urge to cry. Your eyes start to water, your skin starts to flush with heat, your jaw gets tight. Steve grabs the back of your neck gently as he kisses your shoulder blade gently, just wanting you to feel him. Bucky keeps dancing with you as the tears start to fall, cupping the back of your head in his large hand as he pushes his lips to your forehead.

What is it your therapist says? You aren’t in this alone, or something like that. You never believed her, or those words - until right now. Right in this moment. It’s been a year of self imposed loneliness. Dark thoughts accompanied by even darker impulsions of wanting to slip underneath the water and never resurface. Fear and anxiety telling you that you need to push away - they’ll both leave you one day for a resemblance of normalcy again.

They haven’t.

They won’t.

The days have turned into weeks, have turned into months - and here they are. Slow dancing with you in the moonlight as Ella Fitzgerald plays through the walls. Bucky wipes at your cheek with his thumb, pushing the emotion away. He nuzzles his cheek against yours as you reach up and scratch at the nape of his neck to calm yourself, “We aren’t going anywhere, doll.” He whispers.

“We promise.” Steve adds on.

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Bucky tilts your head towards his and without a warning, his lips cover yours. Soft. Commanding. His velvet tongue massaging yours as Steve bites down on your shoulder.

The sheets of the bed are soon mangled and twisted, pillows cast to the floor as you writhe beneath Bucky’s heavy body. Your leg is thrown over his hip, your fingernails dig into his thick flesh, the tips of his long, soft, dark hair brushing over your face. You have your other arm draped over his neck as his hips push into yours, driving himself deeper and deeper into you. Your mouth hangs, as does his - lips brushing against each other, hot breath washing over each other's skin as you push your foreheads together.

Steve waits patiently, although his fingers dance over your breasts, his palms brushing over your nipples before he palms your skin. He squeezes and gropes before he sends his hand down your stomach and to your clit to rub gentle circles against it as Bucky pummels you. He’s on his side, his nose and forehead pressed against the side of your face, his bottom lip between his teeth before he nips at your jaw and chin.

He tears your hand away from Bucky’s body to grab his hard length, dragging your palm with his, down his shaft. He’s so warm. His tip wet from his arousal.

It’s been a long while since the three of you have made love. It’s been a long while since you’ve felt beautiful enough too. You hadn’t realized how much of your self esteem was wrapped up in your hair until you had to shave it off. You also weren’t sure if you’d like it the way you used to - handle it with the same confidence you once had. Not being able to see them - see their hard muscles and their strained faces while in the throws of passion. That’s what turned you on.

Not anymore.

It’s the way you can tell them apart without having to see them. It’s the feel of their bodies now, not the sight of them. How rough and dominant Bucky’s hips are in your darkness, how sweet and loving Steve’s touch is. Their sounds; both deep and desperate for you. How the sounds vibrate against your ear drums and skin, moving through you - the illicit response your body has to them - the sounds.

You slam your head back into the pillow as Bucky pulls out of you. You pant and moan as you arch your back from the mattress as they shift around. Steve’s lips, you know their Steve’s because they’re rushed; always rushing, rushing, rushing like he’s still a man running out of time, push against your stomach, light kisses moving down to your sex. He bends your legs back, your feet dangling by his ears as he nibbles on the inside of your thigh.

Bucky grabs your hand just as Steve pushes his nose through your folds and sucks you into his mouth. Bucky moves your hand down his hard stomach to his pulsing hips. You wrap your hand around his warmth and feel him pump up into it, a little grunt falling from his lips at the same time.

Steve hums as his tongue swirls around you, flicking and lapping at you as his index and middle fingers push into your cunt. You buck your hips into his face, using all of him, his chin, his lips, his nose to cop a feel as he sucks on you. He releases your flesh with a loud smack - then drags his wet mouth the length of your thigh, up to your knee, and along your calf as he sits up on his knees. He extends your leg, resting it against his chest and shoulder as he sucks your manicured toes into his mouth, his large hand caressing your calf.

Bucky growls as he sucks your taut nipple into his mouth and wraps his metal fingers around your throat. He then kisses your mouth, hard and desperate, moaning into you as he continues to push his hips into your warm hand and against your side. He squeezes, gently, slowly, causing you to gasp just as Steve pushes into your wet, slick, swollen cunt.

You groan into Bucky’s hot mouth as Steve starts to move. His thrusts are softer, gentler than Bucky’s - always have been. He keeps your leg curled over his shoulder, his lips peppering kisses along your ankle and calf, his other hand and fingers gripping your thigh. The cool metal of Bucky’s fingers skip over your hot skin, down between your breasts and to your stomach before he flattens his palm against you, pushing down to add some pressure.

Bucky bites your bottom lip, pulling softly before he lets go. He nuzzles back into the side of your face, the stubble on his cheek cutting across your skin. He wraps his hand around yours that still pumps his cock and glides it slowly up and down, up and down, up and down as he moans into your ear; heavy, hot breath caressing your neck and the side of your face.

Steve hits a spot; your toes curl. Your hips jerk - your muscles tense. Fingers begin to massage your clit, slow, slow, slow circles to draw out the sensation. Teeth nibble at your ear lobe. Fingers glance across your skin. Mouths and lips take turns on yours. Steve drives his hips harder and faster - pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling. Bucky breaths fire laced words, provoking you, prodding you, coercing you to just let it all go…

You shatter. It consumes every bit of you. Physically. Emotionally. Their hands and fingers are everywhere, gripping, pinching, holding as you come. Steve pulls out of you - he always liked to watch you come, how your sticky, swollen sex convulses with each contraction from your orgasm, your clit jumping. He pushes his fingers back through your folds as he pushes his cock inside of you again, also loving the squeeze.

You feel hot, quick bursts of silk, over and over, splash against your stomach. Bucky groans with each, right up against your ear, the sound vibrating through your entire body.

Heat then blooms inside of you - Steve. Your muscles constrict around him, pulling each warm, thick ribbon of cum from him, coating your walls. He pushes deep and grabs your hand, placing it right in the middle of his chest so you can feel his muscles tense and flex as he comes. Feel the soft rumble of the grunts that vibrate through his chest. Feel his heart.

He collapses beside you, your body bouncing against the mattress as his weight pushes against it. The three of you are nothing but heavy breaths and balmy skin. Eyelashes resting against your cheeks as your eyes close with the recession of your lust. A head rests on your chest. You lift your hand and slip your fingers through the tresses, finding them short and kind of wispy - Steve.

Metal fingers curl within yours, a sturdy leg thrown over your thighs. A hand splays across your chest. Lips connect with your shoulders and jaw - fingers massage and scratch at your scalp softly. It’s all a blur. The haze won’t let your brain try and figure out who is who; but maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s what you need. You don’t need to know. You can let go some of the control that you’ve been so desperately searching for.

You inhale deeply; and let out the breath you’ve been holding for over a year.

Your delicate fingers are lifted and pressed against hot lips - each digit receiving a kiss before being placed on a chest. The thump thump thump of a heart beat drums against them. You let out another breath as you nuzzle into their heavy bodies, soft I love you’s passing back and forth. There’s a faint skip of the record player down the hall. The soft whoosh of the breeze playing with the open curtains that cover the windows. Three bodies huddled in the center of the bed; just breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.