#NO ONES MAKING THIS A GAME BUT YOU HOLY SHIT

[200-word-rpgs]

Index of Entries, Part 2 (G–Q)

G

Gagic The Mathering by @isaac-dressen

Game Playing Role by @that-house

General Duckery by @toy-dragon

Genre Savvy by @parasign

Godslayer by @notsomeoneyouknow

Gosh Darn Kids and their Gosh Darn Summoning Spells by @strixcattus

Got to Get Out of Here by @preponderance-of-parallelograms

Guilty Conscience by @shitting-in-the-woods

Guns N' Gumption by @chaotic-evil42168

H

HAUNT JOCKS by @toy-dragon

Head of A Bull by @thecoppercompendium

HEAVY METAL VAN WIZARDS by @henchmaxxing

Hellsquad by @cavetalesz

HERMES by @fagenthusiast

Heroes From A Hat. by @treefrogsoup

HEXecutive Dysfunction by @that-house

Highlighters and Hand Sanitizer by @ladytabletop

Holiday Cheer! (Which Holiday? Don't Worry) by @pomrania

Holy RPG, Batman! by @catsarehumanstoo

Holy Shit We're So Fucked by @yaintbeet

How to Eat God by @onetruemab

The Human Observatory News by @arsene-inc

HYPERSEAS by @vinfluorine

I

I AM THE GOD by @moth--punk

I Dream of Breaking Free by @treasondarling

I Understood the Assignment, a collaborative-yet-adversarial narrative RPG for two or three players by @dreamerinsilico

I wanna participate but I waited til the last minute! by @patient-sunshine

I'm an English Major, Not a Scientist! by @coopbella

I'M NOT LEARNING TO PLAY MAGICAL GATHERING by @txttletale

I'm too tired to write a proper RPG by @pomrania

IF IT HAD TO PERISH TWICE by @ferncube

Imp Wars by @mallowmaenad

In Which The Players Are At The Mercy Of A Big Stupid Dice Table, Or: The Confounding Circumstance. Being An Examination Of A Certain Role Playing Trope Through The Eyes And Pen Of Someone With Basically No Experience, Complete With Both Rules And Included Table, Sufficient For Any Seasoned Adventurer, Third Edition by @momoguido

Incredible Skeletal Crisis by @zincrising

Interlocked Fates - An RPG Made of Interlocking Individual 200-Word TTRPGs by @thefaewriter

AN INTIMATE INTERPLAY OF SWORDSMANSHIP ATOP A SUNLIT PEAK by @seth-a-nahk

It's NOT a salad by anonymous (posted by @fishmad122 on their behalf)

Itsy Bitsy Critters by @bossarmadimon

J

Joust! by @shroudofnerscylla

just taking a hike by @universalthaumaturge

K

KARAOKE EMERGENCY by @andaisq

Kill the Stars by @wholesalemagnesiumoxide

Killing Machines by @ribstongrowback

The Kingdom is Coming to Ruin, But This is a Story About You. by @jaiofalltrades

KOKAZO by @homarus-words

L

Labyrinthine Escape! by @nucleiclight

LADY FIONA'S MANSE by @itskobold

The Last Man Standing by @transparent-alias

The Last Mission of a Pilot of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment by @nochnye-vedmy

Late Night in Limbo by @crackerjackalopegames

Le Alien ne parle point françois by @detentescapement

Le Pelage Noir - A Game of Furry Detectives in a Furry Town by @ashleyrowanthewriter

Ledgermen by @whorelandoflorida

Les Femmes Damnées: Fuck! Marry! Kill! by @jessica-problems

Letters from Bath - A solo journalling game. by @evegoldenwoods

Level 1 by @sirilyan

License Plate Spells by @imperfectfinch-blog

Lies of Men's Fates by @shyce-overgod

Lift With Your Knees by @takataapui

LINE 1st Edition by @sabrinahawthorne

The Littlest RPG by @copperspont-games

LOGOFACTURA by @zwoelffarben

THE LONG ROAD HOME: A strange and dreamlike road trip game for 3+ traveling companions (inspired by Kentucky Route Zero) by @veenilla

Look At My Blorbos by @inktog

Love is In Bloom - A Solo Journal Otome RPG by @mushroomwitchgames

M

The Machine War, and the people by @josie-like-the-girls-name

Make Brown by @thee-rat-king

Minute to Midnight by @chaotic-error

Mires by @i-exist-for-spleen

A Miserable Little Pile of Secrets by @takataapui

My Friends Are My Power by @timorousghosty

N

Naive Rules to Argumentative Fantastical Play by @meticulac

New Moon of the Gods by @piratesexmachine420

No Man's Land by @just-another-madman

No One Asked for an M&M-Based RPG by @strixcattus

No Such Agency: a TTRPG with no GM by @orthernlight

Normal Human Survival Horror by @pomrania

O

OATH (Prototype) by @sabrinahawthorne

Offerings to a Kinder World by @renaissancewoodsman

Oh fuck by @kavka--esque

On God's Desk By End Of Days by @krawkpaladin

One of us only ... by @cavetalesz

Orphan Detective Generator by @kiyomitakada

P

PACT 1st Edition by @sabrinahawthorne

Paleolithic Fantasy by @cavetalesz

The Player is a Slayer of the Mindflayer! by @wizardshark

Please Teach Me the Secret Technique! by @mysticargus

Pocket Basic Rules for OSR by @gwembombyms

Poet Simulator v1.0 (open beta) by @cineresis

Practical Applications by @squidknees

Priest and Monkey Travel Left by @pomrania

Prophecy by @luminous-licid

Prototypes by @derpravener

Puddle of Ooze by @somewhereovertherainbowtables

Q

Quaint Seaside Town Stuck In A Time Loop by @believerindaydreams

QWOP: The TTRPG (5 players recommended) by @fionn-o-nassus

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[mythalism]

in my rook hating mindset now after that post this morning and cannot stop thinking about how they are literally the worst protagonist maybe in any story i have ever experienced JRHGKJERHGJERG. and like if you love your rook i am not saying you shouldn't. if you love your rook i am so so happy for you genuinely but you are also probably brilliant and have a huge brain because what the game gives you to build off of is so abysmal.

i literally cannot stop thinking about how insane it is that rook literally causes a double blight and worldwide catastrophe on a scale which thedas has not seen probably since the creation of the veil itself and just. experiences no remorse. and the story tries to tell us thats a good thing and makes them better than the villain/their foil. JHREGJKHERGJKHERG. HELLO?!!??!?!?! literally no one ever goes "hey maybe you shouldnt have done that" except solas and hes framed as the VILLAIN!!! WHAT!!!!!!!!!! hawke blames themselves for not putting the pieces together fast enough when a bouquet of white lilies arrived at their door? the narrative gleefully condemn anders with the immediate opportunity to kill him for his crimes. nearly every single character in origins immediately puts the entirety of the responsibility for the fifth blight on loghain's shoulders, regardless of the CLEAR SUGGESTION that the battle at ostagar could never have been won. and all of these makes sense for the world and characters!!!!! of course hawke would blame themselves for their families deaths when they were given the role of protector by leandra after malcom dies. of course the city of kirkwall is going to want anders dead for his extreme act of violence rather than start the uncomfortable process of acknowledging the beloved chantry's complicity in large scale abuse happening in the mage circles!!!! of course alistair and the warden are going to blame loghain for the blight and cailan's death!!!! it doesnt matter if they are right or wrong, it makes sense for their perspective and worldview to feel this way!!!!

have yall gotten the low approval conversations in inquisition????? solas's "Inquisitor. Tell me. How does it feel? Being you. Are you blissfully unaware or, deep inside, is some part of you banging on the walls, screaming?" cassandra getting drunk and practically spitting in your face how she regrets raising you up to such power? blackwalls' "Are you proud of yourself, of what you��ve built here? How about the lives you’ve destroyed along the way? Given much thought to those lately? Is this Inquisition all you wanted it to be? Because I’m disappointed. All I see is a gang of thugs led by a self-serving tyrant." and these SCATHING comments from those who once believed in the inquisitor enough to join their cause come from decisions that affect a fraction of the population that dies under the southern double blight. people will rip the inquisitior to fucking shreds when they fuck up. THATS THE ENTIRE POINT OF THE TRESPASSER DLC EHRGKJHERGKJHERG. like holy shit every decision carries the weight of "oh my god whos gonna hate me. who is going to die because of my choice. how is this going to come back to bite me." have we forgotten what its like to return to varric after leaving hawke in the fade and confess what we did? the call we just made? to look him in the eye and tell him that we sacrificed his best friend? WHY IS ROOK NEVER ASKED TO PARTICIPATE IN ANY OF THIS INTROSPECTION?????????? TO EVALUATE HOW THEIR DECISIONS AFFECT THOSE AROUND THEM BOTH PERSONALLY AND SOCIETY AS A WHOLE????? OH MY GODDDDD

the regret prison scene is so insane. first its insane because its solas at his best and most cunty. but secondly it makes no fucking sense even if im largely distracted by pookie being fun and villainous. solas tries desperately to play up rook's regrets during their conversations and we are supposed to believe that it was that manipulation that allowed him to swap with them in the prison. how does this actually work? blood magic? dont worry about it, kitten. but then when we get into the prison.... the only two regrets that manifest are things that just happened within the last 3 hours - your two party sacrifices. lets be clear that these are not even real sacrifices because literally all of these people volunteer to go and then argue about why they should go. this is so fucking stupid. then rook looks at the statues and says "i dont regret this because this was your choice". YEAH????? OF COURSE YOU DONT FUCKING REGRET IT WHY WOULD YOU. HELLO???? THIS WAS NOT ROOKS CHOICE THIS WAS ROOK JUST SAYING "SURE I GUESS". AND THEN THATS ENOUGH! THEY JUST LEAVE BC THEY CONQUERED THEIR REGRETS!?!?!?!?!??! WHAT!!!!!! there is no discussion of rook being responsible for the blight in the south that we find out via ooc inquisitior letter has KILLED LITERALLY EVERYONE. no suggestion that their recklessness and willingness to act WITHOUT ALL THE INFORMATION at the ritual is the reason for every single thing the evanuris do following their release.

and let me be very clear bc i know this was causing drama on twitter last week. i am not saying the double blights is rook's fault. i actually dont think it is their fault, although i do think they are stupid and reckless and shouldn't have acted so carelessly. but although rook is responsible for ghilly and edgar breaking free, rook is not responsible for the their actions following that freedom, and rook is not at fault for being put into an impossible situation (the need to stop solas's ritual) without all of the information on what the ritual was and what stopping it might incur. however, the double blight is rook's fault in the same way that the veil, the fall of the elvhen empire, elven mortality, and every demon's existence is solas's fault; which is to say, it is and it is not. solas was backed into a corner, in a desperate situation without knowledge of the potential consequences, and was forced to make a decision for the good of the world when he imprisoned the evanuris and blight with the veil. rook was backed into a corner, in a desperate situation without knowledge of the potential consequences, and was forced to make a decision for what they thought was the good of the world when they interrupted solas's ritual. but while solas feels immense guilt and responsibility for the choice he made, rook feels.... absolutely none. and the game tells us that... they're right? people should just not take accountability for anything? i will give credit where it's due here that varric's contribution to this scene is quite good and his line where rook tries to take responsibility for his death and varric says smth like "no, that was my own choice and you dont get to take that from me" is B A N G E R. WHERE WAS THAT ENERGY IN THE REST OF THIS FUCKING GAME!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?

THAT was the lesson solas needed to learn, not that his regret was wrong but that it was MISPLACED!!!!!!!!! and that is why it is mythal acknowledging that their burden is shared and not his alone is the culmination of his entire story and what finally allows him to move on. pride stands alone, wisdom seeks out the input of others to make an informed and wise decision. this is also why he leaves such breadcrumbs for the inquisitor (a high approval one, at least) because he respects their opinion and their input and their existence and the way they treat him turns him back into wisdom from pride. this is why a romanced inquisitor mentions his name being pride and how its possible that hes not even CAPABLE of changing his mind because it would be so against his nature, and he needs someone whose opinion he values to show him the way. his flaw is his SELF INFLICTED LONELINESS!!!!! NOT HIS REGRET. varric even fucking says this in some random banter you get with his ghost in the infirmary but im too lazy to go find it on my desktop. its something about how he sees attachments as a weakness rather than a strength. his pride causes him to take on responsibility that is not his, his wisdom -> pride corruption has led him to believe he is the only one capable of fixing the world's problems and he will destroy both himself and those he loves in the process. he asserts that he is just a man but is unable to stop making decisions for the world like a god.

THIS is the solas/rook foil that should have been: rook relies on their friends and that reliance is ESSENTIAL; after all, the neve/bellara and davrin/harding sacrifice is essential to win. in contrast solas refuses to rely on anyone, and this isolation makes him increasingly cruel. when he has no one to mirror the way a spirit should, he becomes Pride, too proud and too god-like. his attachments make him more human. he is terrified of depending on others and will kill them rather than risk the vulnerability of dependence after what it has done to him (mythal, felassan). he has to unlearn this avoidance and fear, he has to admit that there "could have been a better way" that someone else saw and he did not. he must learn that he does not have all the answers. he is not Pride. its NOT that rook doesnt experience regret and doesn't take accountability for mistakes while solas is trapped by his own regrets. the message we got instead is so incoherent. but it was SO CLOSE TO BEING GOOD. the bones of this are littered everywhere in both the game and in the datamined content and for some reason it just could not be brought together in a way that makes sense.

the message that rook is "right" and better for not having regrets is genuinely insane, especially when the "regrets" they have to conquer are literally just. other peoples decisions. the fact that rook has the audacity to say to solas that he could never escape the prison while they could so easily because he is trapped by his own regret as if rook is better than him is genuinely so fucking dumb it makes me want to claw my eyes out for having been forced to read it. rook sacrifices nothing and learns nothing. the sacrifices within the game belong to the characters that make them, rook does not order people to their deaths in the same way that solas or even THE INQUISITOR do. rook never is asked to grapple with the fact that they ACCIDENTALLY unleashed a double blight, no matter how good their intentions. WHY DOES NO ONE BLAME THEM FOR THIS???? regardless of if it is their fault or not, the objective truth of fault does not matter, what matters is that you make decisions and PEOPLE JUDGE YOU FOR THEM!!!!!!!!! THIS IS LIKE FOUNDATIONAL TO THESE GAMES JEHRGJKREHGJKRHG. this is what the entire game is about doing to solas. judging him. based on his choices. and the game clearly wants you to have empathy for him in the end. but its so OBVIOUS that the vessel for building up that empathy should have been ROOK EXPERIENCING THE SAME THING!!! THE SAME JUDGEMENT!!! THE SAME GROWTH!!!!! FEELING THE BURDEN OF THE WORLD ON THEIR SHOULDERS. FEELING THE DREAD OF GUILT AND SHAME AND REGRET. TRYING TO DEFEND THEIR INTENTIONS!!! I DIDNT MEAN TO I DIDNT MEAN TO IT WAS A MISTAKE!!!! LEARNING THAT THEY HAVE TO OWN UP TO IT BUT THEY ALSO HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO MOVE FORWARD!!!!!! HELLO!??!?!?!?! they BARELY even express remorse for the treviso/minrathous sacrifice, even when faced with neve/lucanis's anger they just go "a decision had to be made and i made it". well. YEAH? LIKE YEAH THATS RIGHT BUT HUMANS HAVE FEELINGS??? YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE A PERSON, NOT A BLANK SLATE VIDEO GAME PROTAGONIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ITS OKAY TO FEEL BAD!!!! YOU MADE A DECISION THAT RESULTED IN PEOPLE DYING. ANY HUMAN BEING WOULD FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS. ITS KIND OF FUCKING WEIRD THAT YOU DO NOT. HOW IS ROOK JUST BORN BEING OK WITH THIS. ITS SO ROBOTIC AND ARTIFICIAL LOL

rooks actions are such a clear, perfect parallel to solas putting up the veil and the guilt that haunts him afterwards that i KNOW it was intended that way and somehow it just got completely shafted. it literally feels like they did have a coherent parallel going and for some reason were forced to change directions last minute and thus we got some mish mashed barely cobbled together incoherent nonsense with clear echoes of its former self. instead rook has no flaws, makes perfect judgements at all time, has unconditional support from all of their friends who also make perfect judgements, are immune to making mistakes, and the message is its actually just really easy to not have regrets if you just choose right every time and refuse to take responsibility for anything as long as you had good intentions :D

[capquinn]

here i am yet again hope you’re not over me yapping in your inbox all the time

i think about quinn revealing the big news that he’s gonna be a dad to jack & luke, maybe he’d get them mugs or tshirts that say ‘uncle’ and it takes them a hot minute to put the pieces together 😭

oh my god it would be absolute chaos, but in the most brotherly way possible.

Picture this: they’re in town for a couple of nights because it’s tradition at this point — late-night card games, takeout from Quinn’s favourite spot, and banter so constant you can’t even keep up. But this time, you and Quinn have a little extra something planned, and of course, he thinks he’s a genius about it.

So, the night before, Quinn had pulled out two brand-new mugs from the cupboard, bold lettering on each one: World’s Greatest Uncle.

“They’ll get it immediately,” he’d assured you, his confidence solid. “It’s so obvious.”

Except, now, it’s breakfast, and things aren’t exactly going to plan.

Quinn places the mugs in front of them casually, setting Jack’s next to his plate of eggs and Luke’s beside his toast.

“Sorry,” he says, far too nonchalantly, “we’re out of clean mugs. You’ll have to use these.”

Jack picks his up, squinting at it.

“World’s greatest uncle?” he reads aloud, glancing at Luke. “Why do you even have these? Did one of your friends have a kid or something?”

Luke furrows his brow at his own mug, swallowing a bite of toast.

“Why are there two of them?” he asks. “You don’t even know that many people with kids.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “This is so random, dude,” he says, taking a sip from it like nothing is amiss.

Across the kitchen, Quinn sips his coffee, his expression unreadable except for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. You bite back a laugh as Jack and Luke spiral into a completely unrelated tangent about Quinn’s supposed lack of kitchenware, but your gaze meets Quinn’s over your mug, and you know he’s thinking the same thing: how are they this dense?

It’s not until you and Quinn have retreated to the couch that the lightbulb finally flickers to life. From the kitchen, you hear the low murmur of Jack’s voice, a scrape of chairs, and then:

“Quinn?”

Quinn turns slightly on the couch, his arm resting along the back as he glances at them over his shoulder. Jack and Luke are standing there, mugs in hand, expressions somewhere between confused and dawning realisation. Jack holds his mug up like it’s a crucial piece of evidence in a high-stakes case, his brow furrowed deeply.

“Are you guys having a baby?” he says, his voice a little louder, eyes wide.

Quinn’s lips twitch, the faintest ghost of a smile forming as he leans back against the couch.

“Yep,” he says, his tone calm and easy, like he wasn’t just waiting for this exact moment.

Jack’s reaction is instant. The second the realisation hits, he’s shoving the mug into Luke’s hand, muttering a distracted, “hold this,” before practically vaulting over the back of the couch. He crashes into Quinn with a hug so forceful it nearly sends them both sprawling, his arms locking around Quinn like he’s trying to squeeze the news out of him all over again.

You can’t help but laugh, reaching out instinctively to steady them, your hand bracing Quinn’s shoulder as he struggles to keep his balance. Jack is grinning ear to ear, smacking Quinn on the back hard enough to make him wince.

“Holy shit, bro!” Jack exclaims, his voice booming with excitement. “This is huge! Congrats!”

Quinn huffs out a laugh, his arms coming up to return the hug, even though Jack is practically squeezing the air out of him.

“Thanks, Jack,” he says, his voice a mix of amusement and affection.

Luke, meanwhile, is still standing there with both mugs now, his brow furrowed in confusion as he processes what just happened. He glances between the mug, you, and his brothers like he’s replaying the moment in his head, trying to make sense of it.

Finally, he looks at you, his eyes wide.

“Wait, you’re serious?” he asks, his tone softer, tinged with awe. “You’re really having a baby?”

You nod, your grin widening as Luke’s expression shifts, the dawning realisation giving way to pure joy. He sets the mugs down carefully — because apparently, someone has to — and moves around the couch to wrap you in a hug.

“This is insane,” he says, his voice warm and full of excitement. “You’re gonna be parents. Holy shit. Quinn’s gonna be a dad.”

Jack pulls back, his grin turning mischievous as he claps Quinn’s shoulder.

“Better you than me, bro,” he says with a laugh.

Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t falter.

“Yeah, thanks, Jack,” he says, the dryness in his tone failing to mask the warmth underneath.

[heechwe]

HEHEHE redeeming my moot privileges to request: dino + by the ocean (yeogi ocean viewww) + action #16 + ❝ Louder. Don’t hold back on me. Let me hear your pleasure. ❞

Anything for you my lovely Lia <3

Chan is an impressive lover, always giving you what you desire. But he's also a cocky shit about trying new positions to prove how good sex with him can be.

Even now, without anyone to hear you two in the seclusion of your hotel room by the beach, he wants to make it known that you're being thoroughly and satisfyingly fucked. He rocks his hips up into you as you ride him, and your mouth drops at the sensation.

"Holy shit," you exclaim quietly, trying hard to keep a moderate pace, but he wants none of that. He takes it into his own hands, moving you harder and faster against him.

You love and hate him for these exact reasons. Not just because he's confident, but because he's as stubborn as all hell when he has an idea of where he wants things to go.

"You can be louder, baby. Don't hold back on me." Chan keeps his hands on your hips, rubbing them down and around your backside. "Let me hear your pleasure."

hosting a drabble game; come request one! 🤍

[lynnimini]

₊⊹ 𝘢𝘱𝘵 ₊⊹

description: fluff ⋆ comedy ⋆ a little suggestive

in which you become sungho’s neighbor from across the hallway and the spark between you two is just too strong to ignore

pairings: p. sungho x afab!reader

words: 3.2k

warnings: suggestive ⋆ mentions of alcohol ⋆ mentions of sungho & y/n making out

author’s note: chat lynn is back!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) im sososo sorry this oneshot took so long (｡•́︿•̀｡) if you couldn’t tell by the title, it’s partially inspired by “apt” by rosé and bruno mars so i strongly recommend that you listen to it while reading (ㅅ´ ˘ `) happy reading !!

tags: @onedoornet @blossomnet

game start !

"alright sweetheart, let us know if you need anything at all"

the older woman at the front desk smiled sweetly as she handed you the key to your new apartment.

"thank you so much"

you bid her goodbye as you boarded the elevator, praying that there would be a broom or something inside so you could clean while procrastinating on unpacking.

you arrived to your new apartment and saw tons of boxes stacked up in the hallway. you breathed in the scent of cardboard, paint, and air from the balcony. a little weird, but it was the smell of a new beginning.

"now how do we open the door"

you muttered as you fumbled with the key. you turned it over and over, hearing it click so many times but the doorknob just wouldn't turn.

"you okay?"

you jumped slightly as you heard the clicking of another door from behind you, turning to see quite possibly the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

"oh yeah, i'm just trying to open the door"

you laughed awkwardly as he locked his own door, bearing an amused smile as he watched you very unsuccessfully turn the knob.

"you sure you're okay? i'm the only one on the floor at this time and about to leave soooo if you're sure.."

he took baby steps towards the elevator before you whipped around, nearly dropping your keys in the process.

"i lied"

you said sheepishly as you watched him grin and do a mini jog towards you.

"i figured"

he teased as you blushed a shade of pink and laughed softly.

"no one's moved to this floor for a while so the room hasn't been opened that much. you just gotta.."

he cut himself off as he rammed lightly into the door with his shoulder, the door finally swinging open and revealing a dusty, creme colored room.

"just gotta give it a harder push"

he looked at you bearing an accomplished grin, making you laugh and set your backpack down on the floor of your apartment.

"i'm y/n. and you are?"

"park sungho. it was nice meeting you and i'm so sorry but i'm in a hurry to get to my class. looking forward to meeting you, miss new neighbor"

sungho smiled as he hurriedly jogged towards the elevator, waving to you as the doors closed.

apt, apt

you walked into your apartment for the first time ever, shutting the door and sliding down with your back against it as you squealed to yourself, calling your best friend.

"jules, the cutest guy i've ever seen lives across the hallway from me"

"oh my gosh girl no way?? pleaseeee talk to him and don't pussy out this time"

"i did a little bit and he helped me get into my apartment but he left to get to his class. i'll try as soon as i see him next girl, promise!"

"good luck babe. i gotta run to my stupid afternoon class too so i'll text you later. love you"

"love you julie <3"

your best friend and day one never failed to hype you up and match your energy. you got up and dusted yourself off, not even noticing the amount of dust on the door and floor before you slid down.

grabbing the broom in the corner of the room, you started sweeping as much dust as you could into a pile and opened the windows to air out the place. within half an hour, your apartment was almost completely dust free.

"now to bring all this stuff in"

you breathed out a heavy sigh, reluctant to bring 50 boxes inside, but also excited to settle into your new home.

"HOLY SHIT"

you screamed the second you opened the door and saw sungho's figure: arms crossed staring at the messy boxes in the hall.

"what are you doing here?"

you asked with a hint of amusement in your eyes. neither you or sungho could stop the slight smiles from spreading on your faces.

"got bored. wanted to help my new neighbor move dusty boxes instead of listening to lectures about stats"

he said nonchalantly as he lifted a box. you sarcastically rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a smile.

"you skipped just to see little old me? i'm honored"

sungho scoffed and looked on as you picked up a box.

"don't even, i used you as an excuse to leave stats"

he teased as you both exchanged glances and laughed as you set your boxes down, chatting about little things you two were curious about.

"so what brings you here of all places instead of like, the maldives or something?"

he finally asked as the last box was set in your apartment, sitting on it as you sat across him.

"well, i just got out of high school and i wanted a sense of freedom. so i came from busan to seoul for a change of pace. i wanted to see the city and be away for once"

you smiled to yourself before looked up at sungho, who was looking out the glass door leading to the balcony.

“i feel you. i’ve lived in the city all my life and couldn’t imagine being without it. i just moved provinces away from my parents to gain more freedom”

sungho grinned, turning to look at you who smiled in recognition.

"well it's getting late and no better time to go see seoul than now right?"

sungho stood up and went to go open the door, letting cool summer air into the room.

“so you’re saying i should go out now??”

you were amused, but didn’t fully catch onto what he was saying. sungho beckoned you over to the balcony and pointed outwards.

"look over there. see those lights? that’s the part of seoul where nightlife is most active"

he smiled at seeing the way you were so enchanted seeing all the colorful lights.

"i was gonna go out to the club with my friends tonight, did you wanna come with? they're all cool, promise"

he glanced at you as you two closed the balcony doors. you were hesitant in your answer. busan was definitely not the most loud, party city, but what did you even come to seoul for if not to get out of your comfort zone?

"yeah that sounds great"

you smiled and nodded and sungho patted your shoulder.

"i'm gonna go back to my place to get ready and hopefully you can dig up your stuff in a couple hours. i'll knock when it's time"

sungho nodded as he closed the door behind him, leaving you to scramble and find which boxes had all your clothes and makeup.

and lo and behold exactly two hours later, you were freshly showered and had glitter on your face and dress alike as sungho knocked.

red hearts, red hearts

"well this is a nice change from the girl covered in a dusty tank"

he teased as he shut the door behind you guys and got on the elevator.

"shut up, as if you weren't covered in dirt the entire time we talked and moved boxes"

you rolled your eyes as sungho opened his car door for you, letting you get into the passenger side.

"kidding. but you clean up nicely"

you could've swore his eyes glanced up and down your body as he slipped into the drivers seat, looking back at your face that clearly showed you were caught off guard.

you became hyperaware of how good sungho looked too, your eyes catching on how his tight shirt displayed his broad shoulders.

"thanks, you too.."

you said slowly, unconsciously eye fucking him before you snapped out of it, looking up to meet his eyes. the slight smirk on his face laid painfully clear until he realized that you knew he was eyeing you as well. the two of you looked away after a brief moment and cleared your throats.

im tryna kiss your lips for real

"anyways you're about to see the best club i've ever been to. best dj and bartender in the world”

he said, focusing on the road as you looked between him and the view of seoul’s busy streets.

the loud voices of the people walking by and the bright, colorful lights were a sharp contrast to what you were used to in your hometown, where it was all quiet with noises from the sea.

sungho took a quick peek at you while stopped at a red light and found it endearing the way you looked so enchanted by something he found so normal in his life.

he thought you looked so beautiful with your hair waving in the breeze of the open windows, light reflecting off the glitter on your face.

dont you want me like i want you, baby?

dont you need me like i need you now?

“we’re here”

you turned your attention back to sungho who just got done parking the car in front, walking to the passenger side to let you out.

“after you, miss”

he swept his hand outwards, teasingly directing you out of the car and onto the sidewalk as you rolled your eyes at him.

“what a gentleman”

you teased back as he laughed and offered you his arm to hold, playing the part as he walked you towards the club.

turn this apartment into a club

“hey sungho!”

sungho steered you towards his friends, who were shouting and waving to greet him over the loud music playing.

“hey guys”

he individually greeted 4 different people as you stood by and smiled as you enjoyed the unfamiliar, but lively atmosphere, straying a bit from the table as you looked around.

“who’s this pretty girl?”

one of the taller guys asked as sungho promptly stood next to you, placing his hand gently on your lower back to bring you back to the table.

“this pretty girl is my new neighbor, y/n. she just moved here so i invited her to come out”

he explained as you smiled and waved at all of them.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you”

you said politely and the four of them immediately welcomed you to sit down with them.

“so how do you feel about soju shots y/n”

one of the guys, leehan, asked as he poured one up and offered it to you.

“my favorite”

you replied excitedly as you took it fast, chasing it with a nearby lime.

“i like her already”

jaehyun shot a pleased smile at both you and sungho, promptly following you as he took a shot.

“okayyy you might’ve found the one this time”

riwoo whispered to sungho as he watched you down shots like they were nothing, the others happily drinking with you.

“i hope so. she’s really nice and really matches my personality”

sungho whispered back before also taking a shot.

“come on, don’t think we didn’t see you taking your shots hella slow”

taesan teased sungho as he poured him more shots, sungho rolling his eyes as he took them all.

“you know better than anyone that i’m no lightweight”

sungho scoffed, shaking his head and smiling while taesan took one more shot.

“wanna go dance?”

taesan shouted to the table and everyone agreed, including yourself. it wasn’t until you were on the floor that you started hesitating.

“what’s wrong?”

sungho shouted to you over the music, seeing how hesitant you were to follow the others into the crowd.

“i kinda don’t know how to dance”

you shouted sheepishly and sungho took your hand, smiling reassuringly.

“i’ll teach you how. do you trust me?”

he asked, and you just laughed.

“big request when we just met today sungho. but yeah. i do trust you”

you smiled widely at sungho, who mirrored your smile and tugged you into the crowd with the others.

sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy

“just follow the music. don’t even worry about what anyone else thinks. they don’t care”

sungho said right next to your ear as he pressed his body directly behind yours, fingertips lightly ghosting your hips as to not make you uncomfortable.

“you got it”

he praised, and you laughed as you both jumped along to the loud music blaring, not caring about a thing in the world.

“this is fun”

you turned to look up at sungho, whose smiling eyes made his entire being glow with happiness. it was contagious. you couldn’t help but smile in peace knowing it’s him leading you through it.

the two of you looked away quickly, but the moment was enough to make you really think about sungho.

maybe it was just the alcohol talking but even after you turned around and started jumping around again, sungho was all you could think about.

the closeness and intimacy of it all, how he matched your energy, how he was so respectful yet goofy in the way he touched you. it all showed the caring nature of park sungho, and maybe you could see yourself falling for your new neighbor.

are you ready?

“guys i think i’m gonna take y/n home. she’s drunk and starting to get a little…”

sungho didn’t even know how to describe you, and let your actions speak for themselves. you were giggling profusely at nothing and slightly stumbling if not for sungho holding you still.

“and you’re okay to drive? i can call you guys an uber”

jaehyun worried over you two as usual, but sungho shook his head.

“she had a couple more drinks in there but i sobered up. we’ll be okay”

sungho reassured everyone, bidding them goodbye as he basically carried you back out to the car.

“sungho..”

you mumbled out as he buckled you in, moving around to the other side to buckle himself in.

“yes?”

“was so fun”

sungho couldn’t look at you for fear of crashing his car, but let out a small laugh all the same.

“i’m glad. you seemed like you had a good time drinking with everyone”

“mhm”

it was a mostly silent car ride back. you dozed off as sungho was left alone with his thoughts. thoughts about you. he met you 12 hours ago and he could barely get you out of his mind.

he glanced over at your sleeping figure curled up in the passenger seat, tossing his jacket over you as a blanket. he hoped that you would sober up a little during the car ride so he could talk to you a little while longer.

sungho parked the car and tried to shake you awake from your nap without much luck, so he picked you up and carried you into the building.

“oh? i didn’t know you two met already”

the sweet old lady at the front desk teased when she saw you two together. sungho just laughed and pulled your dress down to cover your thighs since it shifted when he picked you up.

“i was just showing her around and she had a little too much fun”

he and the woman shared a laugh before she shooed him into the elevator, saying that you two should get some rest. not that you were awake for any of it anyways.

once he got in front of your door, he realized that he didn’t know where your keys were. your purse was in the car and he was not about to go down into the parking garage for it.

he unlocked his own door and laid you down onto the couch, walking back to lock the door behind you two.

“sungho?”

he whipped around to find you sitting up, clutching your head.

“you feeling okay?”

you gratefully accepted the bottle of water he passed you, nodding as you drank it.

“just a small headache, it’ll get worse in the morning”

you jokingly said as sungho let out a light laugh and sat beside you.

“i took you to mine because your purse is in my car and your keys are there, and i also remembered you have no bed yet. do you want to stay here or do you have anywhere else..?”

you shook your head.

“if it’s okay, could i stay here? and maybe borrow some clothes?”

you asked sheepishly and sungho nodded profusely.

“of course! i’ll be right back. you can help yourself to anything i have”

his voice faded away as he ran to his closet looking for clothes small enough to fit you. you sat up on the couch while you waited, looking at all the pictures sungho hung up until he came back with a loose tshirt and sweats.

you changed into them and thought about how kind sungho was: taking a girl he barely knew out because she was new, letting you stay in his house. you made a mental note to yourself to get sungho a gift or take him out for dinner later.

“thanks for taking me back to yours after you let me tag along with you tonight”

you settled next to sungho on the couch and gave him a sweet smile, to which he smiled back. you decided not to point out or tease him about the light pink blush on the back of his neck when you moved a little closer to him.

“it’s no problem. i had a lot of fun dancing with you tonight, and i know my friends like you a lot too”

he cleared his throat, clapping a hand to the back of his neck to hide the spreading blush that you so obviously noticed judging by the small smirk on your face. he avoided your gaze, staring at the TV for a movie to put on.

“i had a good time too. we should do it again sometime”

you looked up at sungho from beside him, smile faltering nervously at how close his face was to yours.

“yeah, for sure..”

his voice trailed off as he looked at your lips, the soft opening melody of a random movie playing in the background.

the building tension from earlier combined with the slight buzz of alcohol awoke immediate feelings for one another, not being able to think about anything but kissing the other’s lips.

the two of you kept looking at each other and hesitating before you tugged on the front of his shirt lightly, finally pulling him in for a kiss.

the kiss was slow and sweet. sungho was stiff at first, scared of making you uncomfortable until you started getting bold, letting your hands roam over him.

it took a while for you guys to pull away, not wanting to let go of the moment. you both only let go for air, smiling at each other as you caught your breath.

“you’re a damn good kisser”

you teased as you ran your hands over sungho’s chest and shoulders, him giving you a quick kiss as he laid you down onto the couch.

“yeah? i could do better than that”

he teased right back, making you laugh softly as he hovered over you.

“i think i liked you better when you were all shy”

your eyes started fluttering shut as sungho pressed another kiss to your lips, hands wandering under your shirt and rubbing circles on your waist.

“i mean i could just sit right next to you again”

sungho abruptly pulled off of you and sat you both up besides each other, making you laugh and struggle to pull him back down with you.

you were finally able to pull him back down into another long kiss, forgetting about the random movie playing in the background.

“not a chance pretty boy. gotta finish what you started.”

just meet me at the…

[dreamwatch]

Part 2 Part 3 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Part 1

Word Count: Pt1 - 3080 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

I'm posting in 3 parts, because this is nearly 12k in total, which is a lot. Mods - hope that's ok! I'll link them all together. :)

There’s a wispy smell of smoke wafting under his bedroom door.

Something’s on fire.

His eyes fly open. Holy shit, something’s on fire!

Eddie pulls himself out of bed as quick as he can; in a fraction of a second his mind has managed to flick through his options like a rolodex  - grab his crutches, yes or no? Should he put clothes on? It’s freezing outside, he should at least bring a sweater, right? Shoes though, those are definitely important. Maybe he doesn’t need to go out at all, maybe it’s small and he can deal with it himself—

He’s hears crashing and banging from his kitchen, followed by a loud “Mother fucker!” 

That is definitely not Wayne.

He’s on fire and he’s being burgled.

He grabs a crutch with the full intention of braining someone with it, and drags his sleep addled body through the house. He stumbles into his kitchen, crutch raised to find Steve Harrington waving a towel around, and something smouldering in the sink while being doused with water.

“Uh, what the fuck is going on?”

Steve spins around, the towel waving come to an abrupt end.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Eddie limps to the kitchen table and gingerly lowers himself into a seat. It’s been eight months since… since. His mind is in a surprisingly good place, all things considered, but his body, not so much. After everything, after Chrissy, God rest her soul, and Patrick, and being hunted by an entire town, and then being ripped apart by creatures that shouldn’t exist outside of comic books and fantasy games, after all of that his body just said ‘enough.’ The bats got enough bone, muscle and tendon to leave him changed in ways he couldn’t imagine when he was sitting under Skull Rock trying to make sense of what his life was going to be like if he lived long enough to see it;  court cases, long prison sentences (or death row), and a complete and utter mental breakdown. He avoided the court proceedings and prison, but he got his mental breakdown eventually, once the relief of being alive and the undoing of handcuffs had sunk in. He was free. He was going to live. Time for his mind to try and process the tsunami of emotions that overwhelmed it during the summer.

He got through it.

There’s a number of reasons for that. Wayne, first and foremost. Wayne, who never doubted him, who had always done his best by Eddie, somehow managed to step it up another notch. He took extended leave from work, that Eddie knows he couldn’t afford unless he had managed to dip into what Eddie knew to be an extremely meagre savings account. Eddie doesn’t love easy, trusts people even less so. People leave. People can be bitterly mean, people can hit and lash out when you’re least expecting it. His father was a viper in their nest of a home, always coiled, ready to strike. Wayne was never like that. Eddie pushed that mans buttons so hard but there were no hands raised, no words that couldn’t be taken back. Just disappointment. Anger was rare, but Eddie had been beyond a fucker to him at times, when he was young and the world had torn away everything he knew, the good and the bad. They fought, then they made up. Nothing was held over his head, nothing got filed away and thrown at him at a later date. They fought, they said sorry, they moved on. 

Eddie doesn’t love easy, and he trusts people even less so, but the exception to that is, and always will be, Wayne Munson.

Of course, there is also the Nerd Brigade that he kind of thought he would just never really hear from again, if he’s honest. They went to school together, he ran campaigns for them, and okay, they saved him from something horrific but like, it’s just something he got caught up in right? He didn’t really mean anything to them, after all. 

Except, they visited him in the hospital. They came to visit him at home. They brought him books and tapes and magazines, and kept him company when he was stuck in bed most days. Brought him movies once he could make it to the sofa. He wasn’t in the mood for them in those early days, especially when he was stuck in his little tar pit, but they kept throwing him ropes until he hung on. Stubborn to the bitter end.

Gareth, and Jeff and Matt. Well, that was more complicated, because they couldn’t ever know what had happened, and explaining away injuries like his was tough when you can’t say the words ‘inter-dimensional bats.’ There was a wall there for a while. It’s a fence now. They can see over the top of it, can link hands and shoot the shit, but it’s still a divider. Maybe one day they’ll get to push the last of it down.

The last reason he managed to climb out that nasty fucking pit of self loathing and pity was currently standing in his kitchen with an exasperated look on his face, dish towel over his shoulders and hands on his hips. 

Dustin and the other kids he could understand. They’re excitable chimps, nerds of the highest order. They have things in common, things to talk to him about that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, and get out of bed. And his band, well they’re his band, you know? Brothers in arms, even if the arms are linked a little looser than before.

But Steve Harrington turning up to their new home? Nope, that was not on his recovery bingo card.

Steve was there in the hospital, dropping off and picking up kids. So sometimes he sat with him a while, when the chimps were visiting Max. And then one day Chief Powell walks in, mutters some half assed apology and uncuffs him. Just like that. As it turned out, those cuffs were the finger in the dam. And once you take the finger away, it all comes pouring out.

Eddie’s not entirely sure about what happened next. He knows he let out the most embarrassingly loud sob, and that spurred Steve into motion because then he’s being held; Steve was on his bed wrapping his arms around him, and fuck if Eddie didn’t hurt all over, his skin, his legs, his everything on fire, but it felt good to be held. To have someone to press their mouth so close to his ear and tell him it’s okay, you’re going to be okay, for someone to stroke his hair, lay a comforting hand on his back. For someone to reach the pain that morphine could never dull.

After that, Steve was just there, with or without the little assholes that tormented him. He was there the day the doctors told him they couldn’t do much more for him, he was there the day Eddie went home. He had been there even when Eddie wasn’t; the asshole had helped Wayne move into their new little house and decorate the place. 

He was there through the summer, there with the kids, there without. He was there when all Eddie could do was stare blankly at a wall, and he was there when all Eddie could do was cry. He was there when things started to get better.

And now he’s here, setting fire to Wayne’s new kitchen at eight P.M.  on Thanksgiving. 

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, obviously, but um… why are you setting fire to my home?”

“I wasn’t setting fire to your home, asshole. I was trying to—“ he gestures angrily at the sink, “make you dinner. Or heat, it up at least. But that’s ruined, so…”

“Dinner?”

Steve shrugs at him, flushes a little across his cheeks, and Eddie does his best not to think about that too much.

“I just— when you said Wayne was working tonight, I just thought, you know. Like, your first Thanksgiving after… and I just thought—” He’s beet red, looks firmly at the floor, at the wall, at literally anywhere other than Eddie. “I just didn’t want you to be on your own, thats all.”

It’s not a revelation, exactly. He had several offers for Thanksgiving dinner; Hop and The Byers, which would have been desperately awkward, the Wheelers, an absolutely firm but polite no, and even the Sinclair and Hendersons. And it was all lovely, honestly, that people were over the Satan workshopping thing, but they’d moved onto the pity thing. And more fundamentally than that, their Thanksgivings were never going to be like his and Wayne’s Thanksgiving, and that’s fine. Variety is the spice of life, and he’s sure they’ll have a great time. It’s just not for him.

But maybe it is. Because Steve didn’t want him to be alone, and there’s a little lump growing deep in his throat. 

“That’s… really nice, actually.”

Steve huffs, dramatically. “Yeah, well, it’s ruined. Mom gave me all this left over food and all I had to do was leave it in the oven,” he scrabbles around on the counter, in amongst the dishes and retrieves a piece of paper. “It’s all here, all the times, the temperatures. And I fucking nodded off and now it’s—“ he gestures to the sink again.

Eddie climbs out of his seat and makes his way to the sink. He winces at the sight of what he thinks might have been some turkey.

“It’s pretty black.”

Steve sighs. “Understatement.”

“If you were trying to make charcoal you did a pretty good job.”

“Ha ha.” 

Steve flops into the chair Eddie vacated. “I just wanted it to be perfect for you. You know, it’s been a shitty year, like for everyone, but you especially.” He tails off, his voice gets quieter, as if he’s embarrassed by it.

Something swells inside of Eddie, a knot of happiness. Not at how dejected Steve is, but at how much it had clearly meant to him that this was good for Eddie. 

Perfect. He wanted it to be perfect. 

He needs to not be reading into things so much. There be dragons, after all.

Steve looks miserable, and Eddie hates that, can’t bear it actually, so he makes his way back to the table and flops into the chair facing Steve’s.

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging Steve’s hand with his. “Honestly I really appreciate the thought.” 

And who is this Eddie Munson that doesn’t mock people for being considerate, for putting effort into things he’s never considered important? A habit born out of bitterness at not having parents like everyone else’s, at not just being different, but having to lean into the different, to own otherness before someone else takes it and wraps it around him anyway. 

He does appreciate the thought. He’s revelling in it and trying desperately to keep a lid on just how much it means to him. Outside of Wayne, who has cared this much about whether he has nice things?

Steve leans back in his seat, that quick flash of red colouring his cheeks again. “Yeah, well, the thought isn’t much good if it’s sitting in the sink burnt to a fucking crisp, is it?”

“How was your Thanksgiving?”

Steve shrugs. “It was okay. Mom was hosting this year, so we had like, a million people in the house. My cousins are a fucking nightmare, honestly, probably ripping my room apart as we speak. Animals.”

“Was the food good?”

The confused little ripple on Steve’s face is cuter than it has any right to be, and Eddie doesn’t even make an effort to stop the little smile that he knows is pulling at his own lips. He rests his head in on hand, elbow planted on the table.

“Yeah, it was good. You’d know that if I didn’t fuck up reheating it. I should have just put it in the microwave, seriously, I don’t why my mom—“

“Was the company good?”

“Uh, sure. It’s nice to see the family, yeah.”

“Was it perfect?”

There’s a silence, a little wrinkle as Steve wonders on the question. There’s something about sitting here with Steve, just the two of them at the kitchen table, burnt food in the sink. Something warm. Something homey. Like Steve fits in ways Eddie had never imagined anyone fitting. It’s resolute and fast and comes from nowhere - I want this. Eddie buries it as fast as it came.

“I mean, it was nice, sure.”

“But was it perfect?”

Steve shrugs and it strikes Eddie that Steve might think he’s being made fun of, that Eddie is goading him somehow, and nothing could be further from the truth.

“You know how I usually spend Thanksgiving? Wayne usually works it, money’s too good to pass up, you know? So he works, and I get up early and then we have a couple of Turkey dinners and a couple of beers, and maybe pie if we could get one. And then we sit in front of the TV until Wayne falls asleep in his chair. And I cover the old man up in a blanket, and I leave him to sleep for the day. I go to my room and I listen to music and I read and then when it’s time to wake him up we have waffles and ice cream and maybe some more pie if we’re feeling extra decadent. Then he goes to work. 

“And I’m here by myself and yeah, it’s lonely, sometimes. But I have Wayne, and so I get a day to be thankful for that. It’s not perfect by most people’s standards, but it’s perfect for me.”

Steve looks at him, awed.

“Holy shit.”

It feels reverent, oddly, like Steve has seen this gentle part of him, like he’s unpicked locks for Steve, like he’s—

“You’re such a sap.”

Asshole!

“I am not!”

Steve leans back in the dining chair, wood creaking dangerously, grinning widely. 

“You are! You’re a fucking sap, Eddie Munson. How did anyone think you were cool enough to be a Satan worshipper?”

Eddie damn near splutters at it. “Oh fuck you Harrington! Look at me, I’m practically the Prince of Darkness.”

“Okay, so that’s Ozzy—.”

“You remember—“

“—and also you’re a fucking pussycat.”

He has to bite his tongue, can’t say anything else or it might be something he can’t take back. And he doesn’t want to lose this. He’s never been short of friends, he has the band, and okay, they’re like eleven years old or something, but Dustin and the dweeb crew are friends now, too. There’s Robin, and Nancy - Nancy fucking Wheeler for Christ’s sake - and then there’s Steve.

There’s something to be said for people seeing you at your worst and sticking with you regardless. All of those people - okay, not the band - have seen him at his worst. Dead is probably him at his worst. Bloodied and torn open is not a good look for anyone. He feels sick thinking about it. But they saw it. 

Steve saw it, then he tried to fix it.

Or well, Steve gave him CPR; no one wants to know they’ve had CPR performed on them, it’s a window into an event that he really doesn’t want to think about. But it was Steve, and somehow that feels big in a way he can’t put his finger on.

And then Steve got him out, and Steve kept him alive in the car all the way to the hospital, and Steve screamed at a nurse until they brought a gurney, and Steve, Steve, Steve. It always comes back to Steve.

Crushes are childish things, things for hair twirling girls and handsome boys, and Eddie has never had crushes. He watches someone from afar and then stuffs it away, squashes it before it gets that far. He watched Steve, once, before folding that feeling neatly and stuffing it in a box marked ‘I Can’t Have It.’ 

But there’s something to be said for a man saving your life, for risking his own to save yours, and then for sticking with you for months after. For not just being there physically, but mentally, emotionally. There’s a bond that has been growing, a root deep within Eddie, a seed that’s been there for years but has finally been watered, has had the sun of a long hot summer to grow it; Steve is his best friend. But the flutter of more, of want, sings within him.

Sitting here with him, hands almost touching over the worn top of the kitchen table, burnt turkey in the sink, over cooked potatoes and solid gravy on the counter, it’s as close to looking at that neatly folded thing as he dares, and this time when he stuffs it back inside it hurts.

“So,” Steve says, with a soft knock-knock on the table. “Have you got plans for tomorrow? Hitting up the stores?”

Eddie can’t help the snort of laughter. “Uh, no. Just chilling here, I think. The guys asked me to go with them to Indie, but… not really in the mood for walking around the mall all day, you know?”

Steve flashes a look, like concern maybe? 

“Oh. Everything okay?”

“No, yeah, everything’s fine. Just tired is all. And you know,” he taps his leg, the only shorthand he needs for the shit show that has become his body. He smiles, big and as genuine as he can make it and it does the trick as Steve’s shoulders relax.

“What about you? Big plans?” Eddie crosses his arms and leans across the table with a wide grin on his face. “A date, maybe?” It stings his lips to say it.

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffs. “Robin wants to get away from her family for the day, I think she has about a hundred Buckley’s camped out in her place. You’re welcome to join us?”

That flutter again. He’s so close to saying yes before he reins it in.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to laze around in my pyjamas for the day. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind…”

They spend the rest of the evening throwing out what’s left of Mrs Harrington’s prize, and very, very black, turkey, and ordering a pizza. And Eddie doesn’t think anymore about that thing folded up inside of him.

[gnar-slabdash]

Holy shit this is amazing, thank you all so much for sharing. I can’t respond to everything but I want to give a bunch of general shoutouts for things multiple people mentioned:

- Congratulations to everybody who graduated school this year! And to everybody starting new school!

- Congratulations to everybody starting new jobs, getting raises and promotions, and getting experience in the fields they care about.

- Congratulations to everybody starting new relationships and friendships, and to everybody celebrating anniversaries and marriages, and to everybody who’s deepened relationships with friends and family.

- To those of you coming out or hitting transition milestones: I’m so glad you’re getting to be yourself. It’s so worth it.

- To everybody making strides in physical and mental health: I know that can be so fucking hard when the system and sometimes your own body and brain are all stacked against you, it’s so good to hear things are getting better for you

- To all those getting out of abusive situations and relationships, and to everybody getting into living situations with more safety and freedom, I’m so excited for you to get to breathe freely and find your own way and find real support.

- To everybody discovering/rediscovering nature and outdoor activities, thanks for the reminder that the world is still beautiful.

- And of course, to everyone who finds deep comfort and joy in crafting, reading and writing, art and music, TV and games, learning new languages and finding new special interests, thank you for the reminder that even when the world isn’t beautiful, we can make beauty for each other.

Is it weird to say I’m proud of you all? I guess I don’t care, I’m gonna say it. And again, thank you so much for sharing your joys and triumphs with all of us. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels a little bit more hopeful from seeing them.

hey honest question, did anybody have GOOD stuff happen to them in 2024? cause it was really bad for me and for most people i know, so it would be nice to hear about anything that's been going WELL for any of you. even if it's small stuff. just to know there's light out there.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Kiss it Off Me 💋

A Dear John Installment || John “Bucky” Egan Fanfiction

Summary: Julie Jean is in England for once -and for once, Bucky Egan is too

Warnings: 18+ one long smutty fluff fest

Please note and thank and give a round of applause to my baby and my dear friend and my brilliant co-author Bri! She first requested this series and concept and has become the engine driving this story and the one who infuses it with so much heart. I literally couldn’t have written it without her. This segment is fully co-authored. Love you baby and this was a joy to work on together 💋

Additional thanks: to all of you who waited ages for this to finally lurch its way to competition. Thank you for both your patience and your continued interest. Also to my bestest gal pals Ashley and Christi- to the latter, did you ever think our midnight screaming about Bucky Egan fogging up a phone booth would actually make it in print? What a wild night, what a happy fever dream.

“Bucky, John, JOHN, MAJOR, JOHN EGAN SLOW DOWN!!!”

Distantly, through a ear ringing fog he could hear them calling his name, there were quite a lot of them and many didn’t really know him, not well, and even those he cared for -Buck and Harry and Ev and Jack- their greetings had turned desperate and they called his name in a effort to stall, not welcome.

But holy shit, she was in England, and he was in England, and fucking fate thought it was real cute to yank the string once more and he wasn’t going to play nice anymore. He was gonna show fate where it could shove its little game of marionettes.

He was gonna keep Julie Jean on the damn ground if he had to climb on the wing of her soon departing jet to do it.

And to do that, to get there in time to do it, he needed to kindly disregard the flock of squawking pals behind him.

“John if you go now you’ll only miss her!” Gale’s rising voice warned, beginning to try to physically restrain his friend’s headlong rampage towards the nearest jeep.

“That one’s low on gas.” Ev helped the cause laconically from the back.

“I’m not just sitting here while she goes-“ Egan informed them without a hitch in his stride.

“Let us send a telegram!” Crosby begged, “She told us to alert her, to call or to wire, anything if you were to come back. Going now you’ll just miss her! Sir, sir please! If I get to her a-a-and you’re on the road w-w-what will I-I-I say?”

“Yeah,” Gale agreed, “gonna make us tell her you’re alive but we don’t have you ‘cause you’re broke down on some backroad in East fuckin’ Anglia because you couldn’t wait to call?”

“Yeah, think of it Bucky,” Demarco came in to aid his copilot, “it’s sweet but, it’ll suck if she makes it.”

“How’d you let her go?” John suddenly railed at Buck who took it like his decent, patient self in the face of a half starved, lovelorn maniac he was glad to find alive again, who’d only just touched down on English soil half an hour ago and was taking news of his girl being here and then being gone pretty well, all Buckyisms considered, “How could you, when she was here! HERE, Buck! How-“

“She said she hadta go, John, and after everything she did for us, for all of us-“ Gale sighed, “I wasn’t about to ask her for longer. She was in trouble as is, seems, with her mother.”

That seemed to frazzle Bucky worse, even if it shut him up for five seconds of wordless scoffing before, “Trouble? She’s in trouble, yeah, yeah, wanna know what kinda trouble her mother is? Shitty Fucks!!!” he roared at the sky and it was ferocious and crass enough to scare of some of the gathered newbies.

Croz exchanged a glance with a hunger carved Brady, “Shitty Fucks” he repeated, “-that’s a new one.”

Captain Brady nodded solemnly. “Makes one wonder if it’s metaphorical or literal.”

Croz processed this gravely.

“Like is it -a shit lay? or shitty lay, ya know?”

“Gentleman?” Gale turned to them for backup with blatant and frigid exasperation.

“Major,” Crosby addressed Egan as pacifying as possible, “let me send that cable, hold tight sir, hold tight -”

John didn’t recall much between that and Red Bowman coming down from the old familiar tower, holding a transcript. A “welcome back major” and a “says she’s comin” sent Bucky’s motor into a higher state of being, one thrumming with useless anticipation and bizark energy.

“From Heathrow. That’ll be a couple hours.” Ev cautioned as he started striding towards god know’s where. His bunk was likely long gone. The one he’d written so many letters from. The one across from Brady’s. The one they said she’d laid in when she first got here. Julie. In his bunk. Without him.

Gale overtook him, stood in front of his trajectory down one muddy lane very like the next; Thorpe Abbots was heart achingly familiar and foreign all at once.

“Ya look like shit.” Gale informed, eyes kind and smile less tired than he’d seen it in ages and John tried not to take that to heart, in fact it was easy, he had far more than his feelings to worry about right now. “And Miss Lana likes her men clean. First thing she did with me was feed me and dunk me. You’ve been in a stalag for two years, you’re gonna need every single one of those hours it takes for her to get here to make yourself presentable.”

“Need a shave to spare her the beard burn.” Benny remarked.

“One to talk, Demarco.”

“I’m not the one vowin’ to do all sorts of sordid shit to tender female flesh.”

“Bet you would if you could.”

“Who says I can’t? Huh? Who says I can’t?”

They got to the showers somehow. Someone found a spare change of class A’s. Maybe they were Jack Kidd’s. They looked like they would fit, maybe a tad tight but Bucky had lost weight and the height was right, trousers hit the top of his boots when he held them up.

“Get in, Bucky.” Buck told him from under his own tepid spray; it felt like heaven after the Stalag’s frigid blasts and the complete lack of even a rag and pale in Mooseburg.

He was gonna see her. In a few hours he was gonna see Julie Jean. In the flesh. And after the past year and a half, having nothing but photographs to trace over - sweet photographs with the teasing posture of her mouth-watering curves, the arch of her lower back, but not being enough to sate his need for the real thing.

How many times had Bucky held her photo besides a newspaper clipping to clock the differences? The vulnerability of her eyes, the loose sway in her shoulders, the lack of any rogue or lipstick to match because she never needed any of the Hollywood facade with him. The missing pieces of clothing because she wanted him to see her. The natural curls of her hair falling down her back. How many times had he held a photograph to his face and taken a deep inhale - sure he could smell her Chanel 5 and cherry blossom and something innately Julie Jean and nothing Lana Tierney.

Buck stood beside him in the shower and held the razor to his jaw, scoffing every few seconds when Bucky couldn’t help a nervous twitch from racking his body. He knew he was liberated but he didn’t feel any different from when he was stuck in the Stalag.

Bucky felt trapped and useless, unable to chase after his girl once more and miles away still. He wondered if Julie Jean had felt abandoned by him like she did everyone else in her life. If she’d thought his promise to her had been broken because Gale had returned home first. Did she understand that Bucky had stayed behind because he needed Buck to be alive and safe first and foremost? Would she fault him for that, or would she still hold to what she wrote years ago, saying his dedication to the men, to the cause, to what had to be done was his most attractive trait. Even more attractive than his shoulders, she had said, but perhaps less arousing.

“It’s real, John.” Gale’s voice matches the soothing scratch of the razor against his skin, going through the motions of a wedding morning without the promise of a bride. “Her feelings for you, whatever was written in the letters between you two - it’s all real.”

And Bucky had wished upon a shooting star in Germany and hoped and prayed to a God his mama pleaded to every night and morning but to hear it from Gale Cleven’s lips leaves him with no doubt.

Because Gale would never steer him down a path of pain or delusion. Because Gale Cleven, mighty and loyal and aloof as he may be, wouldn’t waste his time on something that he deemed to be unworthy or a waste of time. The same way he didn’t take any swigs of alcohol or puffs of smoke. The same way in which he never lingered in bed at the camp and made every moment count for their boys.

“What’d she say?” He asks, and he doesn’t even care that he sounds like the gossip session his fifteen year old sister has - or had, she’d be older now - and he doesn’t care that Gale’s gonna make fun of him for it sooner than later.

But because Buck is anything but a mean bastard he retains any teasing comments or laughs and says, “Told me she didn’t want to tell me anything that she didn’t get to tell you first.” He meets Bucky’s eyes for a moment, for two, and in them is reflected the sharing of warmth in a bunk and the playing of pretend for both their sanity. The remembrance of when Buck admitted to proposing to Marge and Bucky confessed he’d dropped the love bomb on Julie in his last letter. “When I, uh - ” he coughs, as whatever he wants to say is hard to get out and lodged in his throat. “When I told ‘em, her and Marge, how you let me go first and there’d been gunshots and I wasn’t sure if you were hit,” the blue in his eyes became mirrors of guilt, “she said something funny. Said me and her - we’d somehow know if you weren’t okay. We’d feel it.”

And Buck was never one for spiritual beliefs but he was a pilot through and through and although many would probably call Julie wacky, Buck would consider her to be a good partner to have up there with that intuition of hers. The girl had a radar and it radiated Bucky Egan. If Buck ever lost Bucky he only needed to follow Julie Jean.

“All done, Major.” He claps Bucky on the shoulder, having spent his most precise devotion on evening up that mustache, “Let’s get you out of the shower before you become all wrinkly like a prune.”

It’s only when he’s dried off his curls and he’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and Buck’s got one foot out the showers that Bucky calls him back.

“I’d do it the same all over again, Buck. Wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“Even though your girl would still be here if you’d have saved yourself?”

Bucky shrugs, “My girl’s on her way back, Buck. And because of you I don’t gotta worry whether it’s real - I just gotta go work on my big move.”

His big move was gut impulse when, standing in new duds, shiny boots, starched crush cap, glinting oak clusters, with brushed back curls and a trimmed mustache, he saw a Rolls Royce careen through the flimsy barrier gate of the base after a barked clarification from the chauffeur. John Egan saw her coming, it had to be her, and he went a’runnin’ towards her. There was a small throng already getting in their way, servicemen trying to stop the trespassing vehicle and civilians clamoring to see the starlet back, all gathering around as the sexy black car careened past them before screeching to a well considered stop, still yards from Egan’s sprinting figure.

The door opened without the aid of outsiders, a shiny glint of bottle blonde barely shone above the top of the ajar door, face obscured by the top of the tinted window, then it was slammed shut and a diminutive figure, top heavy and bundled with tiny little legs that seemed to wobble upon their foundation of sky high heels, wheeled ‘round to face him -it tripped him up worse than a roadblock.

At his back John sensed more than saw or felt Buck directing, not himself but others, the boys he guessed, the crowd maybe, he didn’t care. There was a ring of others around them but that’s just what they were, others, about as real or important as the ropes around the ring when two boxers collide. No one was between them and she was bundled in his jacket and she was blonde and her legs were tiny and her ankles spindly for such balance and she looked like a woman who was crying or had been and Julie was panting with an open garnet red mouth and eyes so young and wild and wanting that there wasn’t anyone else there.

Just Julie Jean finally come, just like she said she would. And Bucky sure hoped he wasn’t dead right now, he had so many living promises to make up to her. If he could just touch her -his hand twitched at his side and he heard himself grunt, like a racehorse straining at the bit, like some unknown thing was stalling him.

She swam closer, the clip clop of her heels on shitty pock marked pavement the only thing he could hear besides the wild racket of his heart, crowd noise and the hum of engines he knew should be present weren’t even audible. If those footsteps had clopped along the floors of somewhere as unlikely as Stalag Luft III, he’d have known her, without ever meeting her he knew her. He felt close to staggering, it was mercy his feet knew his heart well enough, it brought them closer. Still a few paces away from each other, she’d have to stagger too if they wanted to touch.

Her young sweet face, the one she had shown him alone, it was plain to see here and now as a catalog of betrayals and hopes flitted across its schooled mask, breaking apart the starlet and letting out the heartsick girl. A loud pop jarred them both, a camera going off. A brief flinch. The rest of the world would see this face too, now. It only broke the facade further. Her lips moved wordlessly once, twice before her throat buzzed to life and the warmest voice Bucky had ever known spoke:

“You kept your promise.”

John Egan was alive, brazenly so, still wearing marks along his face of a grapple or ten with death, darling creased face with its prominent cheekbones sallow and looking deprived of any nourishment apart from stubborn hope. But he was alive, he’d promised he’d stay alive for her, try his damndest and here he was, looking at her like she was the reason, half reverence, half accusation. He was alive, this first promise ever made to her that had been kept.

Could he even comprehend what it meant to her? What he meant to her by consequence? He had kept his promise to her and he was so very alive, an absolute mountain of a man, taller than she had ever imagined, and she had imagined him larger than life, built him up to impossible proportions, saddled his shoulders with impossible expectations and he swore he was man enough. She didn’t know they made men like that but it had been nice imagining him being so. He was every inch what he’d reported, soul and body, if anything he had shorted himself and Julie felt her chest growing tight enough to burst as he stood there, surrounded by his friends and her hangers on, a step or two and they’d be proof of life to each other. But he stood and she wondered if he knew she didn’t care, if he didn’t care she didn’t care anymore: the whole world could know it, hear of it, see it in newsprint

—She loved him.

He had said he loved her first. She saw his hand shake by his side.

“You kept your promise.”

Bucky Egan wasn’t likely to forget the way Julie Jean had reprimanded him for his false politeness in his second letter, how she had been the only woman he’d ever known who asked for honesty and meant it, called it honesty when he’d been so used to being told he was only good at vulgarity, at talking shit, running his mouth, saying the things a grown man should know better than to admit he felt. She had called it honesty.

She’d want him to be honest now. That thought, a conviction more than anything, filled his body with power again, his heart kicking up with resolve instead of terror. Gale said she loved him, or likely did, and John had long ago known he’d never have love for anyone the way he did for her. What was the meaning of being here on this spinning globe after all the reasons he shouldn’t be if not to act on it?

He thought of a disapproving mother, a spineless fiancé, and angry producers and the demanding public — all things his girl had to bear alone because he’d been busy doing his bit. Hurt confessions written on crinkled paper where tear tracks lay, sealed inside an envelope that she sent his way with the press of her gorgeous lips every time no matter what she was enduring, crossed his mind. Never once had she asked for anything besides his honesty and him and he vowed in that moment to never put anything before her again — no, he had kept his promise because he had a vision in mind already: Julie Jean with his ring on her finger, his babies in her belly, and glowing with the love he would devote to her.

Julie thought he looked big from afar, up close and in sudden motion he was like a pillar that could float, some strange grace tempering the bulk of him as he rushed her, not a stagger or a stroll, he marched right up to close the final distance and his hands were expectantly reached out to claim her so that when he was to her, they had her right away, grasped her around the waist, impossibly large and impossibly warm, they lifted her up, right beneath the ribs to get her on some level playing field and then, then she felt him kiss her.

He smelled of aftershave and tasted of bubblegum, and once she’d knocked off his cap with a hand needy to cup his head, she felt the tacky traces of pomade and smelt a heady tang of what had to be sweat. She’d never been kissed by so manly a man in all her days of being smooched, and she thought she’d been smooched before but if that’s what all that playacting of her previous life had been, she needed a new word for the way his lips molded to her own, vigorous, joyous, sure as anything, and somehow possessive like she’d never known. Like he was claiming something promised, not conquered. It felt like a kiss she’d been told to film, but never knew how to make real. The scritch of his mustache was real. The burn of her lungs as a firm hand to the back of her neck stole all her air -that was real. The implacable forearm barring her little self to his body, keeping her aloft and snug, that was real.

Bucky Egan was real and that made Julie Jean sure that she was, too.

Miss Lana Turner of Hollywood fame and canteen acclaim weighs next to nothing in Bucky’s arms; it allows him to keep her up with one alone while sparing a hand to rustle under golden curls and bring her forcefully close. He finds no resistance, his issued cover flies off the back of his head and she is carding through his neatly styled hair with crimson talons and he feels like moaning into her mouth right then and there at how sharp and tangible and real it is. She is tiny and she is feral and she is wearing his jacket and she’s the one who wrote him back.

“I love you.” he reminds her desperately instead of breathing when they break apart, a fraction of an instant to stare cross eyed at the closeness of the other before colliding again.

Her hands are soft and small on his cheeks, her thumbs swiping away what might be an errant tear and: “I love you, John Egan.” Julie swears in turn and his world falls into place, peaceful and right and wrapped up in five feet of wickedly tailored rayon and his flight jacket. He went in again and her tongue met his this time, unreservedly; and this was all he wanted to do for eternity.

But then there was, “uhem, Major,” and it was Crosby tapping Bucky’s left shoulder that allowed them a reprieve for some air, even as Julie continued peppering light presses of her lips to the line of Bucky’s jaw and any part of his face she could reach. “Sir, meet Spangles Egan.”

A white fluffy shape, reminiscent of a muff or a stole, was shoved into the crook of his elbow, now holding Julie with one arm and using the lower curve of her pert backside as leverage for sturdiness, and a bunny with a light pink nose in his other.

“Egan, huh?” He turns to Julie.

“The adoption papers aren’t finished yet but Croz took it upon himself to rush the process.”

Crosby beams. “Ain’t he perfect Major?”*

Bucky had gone down having left his heart behind in a letter written to Julie, sick at the thought that he had built most of it in his head, only to come back and see she had made a family for him to return to. His friends and their bunny and all that was left was taking her to his Mama.

“Yeah he is, Croz,” he agrees, accepting the peck that a lovesick Julie Jean gives and only pulling away because he feels scuffing at his ankles. Meatball howls, low, and Bucky raises the arm holding Spangles higher. “Don’t think Meatball’s a fan.”

“Help Bucky out, Croz,” Brady speaks up, “he can’t stand there holding his girl and their bunny and fending Meatball off forever.”

“Who says I can’t? Who says?” And Brady disguises an eye roll at the similarities between all the boys on base. From beside him, Benny bumps his shoulder with a laugh.

As Crosby nears once more, Bucky does find the arm holding Julie tightening to keep her closer to him and extending Spangles back. Paranoid with the thought of her being taken — like if Crosby would opt to take her from his hands to hold instead.

The boys all release a knowing laugh and it finally spurs Buck into action, the handful of cameras that had followed Julie back to base continuing to snap but at least they were so busy trying to eavesdrop and shove their microphones closer that they hadn’t spoken up to ruin the moment.

“How about we take this somewhere more private?” he suggests and Julie can feel with the precision of radar the hovering agreement of Herb somewhere near Major Cleven’s side.

“Yeah let’s.” Herb agrees vocally, and from the elevated height of John Egan’s gently jostling arm as he moves them on, Julie blows kisses to the scarecrow boys who look as underfed as they are happy to be back, and in their midst is Marge, with two local kids who’ve both confiscated one of her smooth hands to hold in Buck’s absence.

On the walk back to -to somewhere, Julie doesn’t know where they’re headed, she relishes the feeling of being a bobbing little weightless cork in his embrace and the feeling of his large hand cupping the ticklish flesh of her under thigh, when she glances back to tease or encourage him, she finds pale blue eyes already locked on her and it makes her belly flip.

“You might trip.” she titters in warning.

John just kisses his teeth playfully and shrugs his eyebrows, she wasn’t sure that was something a person could do until him, but that’s what he does before his low voice rumbles out, cushioned by soft discretion for those nearby, “I ain’t gonna trip.”

There’s nothing salacious about that sentence but his surety and his rebuttal makes her thrum and maybe he sees the way her eyes start glowing because he gives her a dark little smile to match that looks exactly like his letters sounded and she attacks his neck and ears with kisses for lack of a better thing to do as he keeps walking and walking. “I love these so much.” she complains, nibbling at the prominent ridge up top until she hears him laugh, delight that swings incredulous when he realizes she’s in earnest and she likes the damn things that’ve always stuck out too much, being too big for his own damn head. “Where are you taking me, Major Egan.” she asks.

“Gonna take you to my favorite joint, Miss Turner,” he returns, accepting each peck she gifts him between every word. “I’d find it hard to believe these boys did it justice without me here to liven them up.” Bucky doesn’t need to look over to know Buck and Kidd are rolling their eyes.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to protest and let him know she didn’t go anywhere without him there because it would have hurt too much, but someone else speaks first.

“You and Julie must have the same mind, Bucky. she chose to not visit any place you frequented without you here.” Crosby’s walking in pace beside them, cap in his hand, and he chuckles. “Must’ve known we’d be missing you too much to enjoy it truly.”

Bucky’s head swivels in disbelief, wide eyes jumping from where Crosby trails beside them at a demure two paces on the cobbled street to Buck a few feet ahead, who nods in confirmation. Bucky’s eyes return to Julie Jean, sheepish and pink in the face. Her eyes are watery again but still bright and full of light, she finds the hurt of missing him returning as she remembers every time she denied visiting the base again or the pub nearby. He’s going to need to keep squeezing her for that horrible lonely feeling to dim in the slightest, it was too strong to be transient even in his hold.

“It wouldn’t have been right without you.” She’s still bobbing in his arms as he continues taking careful steps. She strokes his cheekbone, trails down and thumbs his mustache. “Didn’t want any of it without you.” She’s whispering now to keep the words secret between them.

Love and devotion pour into her confession making Bucky feel more special than he ever has in his life. She had chosen him since the first letter and had been more loyal than he ever thought anyone capable as she continued choosing him, choosing to believe in his luck and chances to stay alive, a devout belief for him to return home and give her everything he ever wrote and promised. A home, a life, happily ever after.

Bucky has no words. He puckers his lips for another taste of her and this time he has to stop walking to ensure he won’t drop her, finding no resistance or hesitance as she immediately allows his tongue to slide besides her. He was an ocean away still but her mouth meeting his felt like home, warm and loving, a big smile threatening to break both their faces at being together.

His boys whistle and holler again, stopping and creating a crowd once more to join their bubble of happiness. At this rate Bucky thinks the five minutes to the bar was going to be closer to thirty.

He steals one more kiss before pulling back to look at her. He jostles her into one arm only once more to push a stray hair behind her ear, allowing his thumb to trace a blushing cheek.

“Then let’s make sure we do it right, huh?”*

The Kings Head is the quintessential English pub, and Julie finds a gasping commendation of it leave her instantly on sight of it; from its squatty white washed and gabled exterior, with flower boxes and lounging hound on the threshold, to its dark and pungent interior, homey and oak, yeast and hearth soot filling the air, hazy evening light filtering through a thousand dust motes and the rest of their illumination is provided by bare bulbs only recently freed from the shackles of black out curtains. The ceiling is so quaint and low that Major Egan adopts an almost constant stoop upon entering and he deposits her on her feet lest she bonk her head amongst the rafters; it’s gratifying the way he sets her down and frees her to shake hands with the barman and his son and Bucky’s friend -the best dart thrower he knows- and all of it without his own hands leaving her waist a single time.

Julie thinks so long as he keeps touching her, holding her to earth she can keep functioning enough not to ruin it, embarrass him, make someone feel awkward about it all. “My girl Julie Jean” he tells them all, she’s been much talked of and not her movies, the recruits know her otherwise but she’s merely Bucky’s girl to most of the elderly locals gathered round the bar when he plops her on his knee up on a stool, and Julie ponders living in this tucked away little world where she’s never anything special but by association with John Egan.

“Yeah, yeah, Donald, the usual!” Bucky is ordering with gusto that’s properly out of place at dinner time and with cheeks as sallow as his are, but it livens everyone else up and many of his recently returned boys dare the same, ordering gin and ciders and whiskeys like they never left. Martini’s not being in the menuc Julie graciously settles for a rum and coke and sips it while Bucky’s large hand engulfs her glass and they remain that way, staring and silly until she runs out of breath and must let the straw go from between her lips.

It’s a bit like watching dominos fall as the freshly liberated boys throw down their shots, smack their lips with appreciation, slam their glasses down before suddenly going green and very worried. Demarco is the first to bolt, Brady after him and Julie isn’t sure which one is in it for companionship and which for necessity.

“You be careful with that.” Gale murmurs on the other side of Egan and his second shot, “Don’t follow those fools out the door.”

Bucky doesn’t vomit, and he doesn’t intend to get plastered while on his first date with his dream girl, but two shots used to be an easy chaser and he isn’t worried. As is, after feeling the second he doesn’t vomit but he does feel the rush to his head of being distinctly buzzed. After two shots. Well shit, that’s what going teetotaler does to a body’s capacity for a good time. There’s a distinctly new and frankly sickening after effect of the world spinning around too, and that he could do without and he shuts his eyes closed for a minute to regroup. It lends to the heightened sensation of feeling, and what he feels is Julie’s lap beneath his palms, her hair at his cheek, the jostle of her arm as she grabs her drink from the bar, the weight of her on his thigh.

She’s actually real. And he’s a sicker man than he thought. He has to manage this for her, somehow.

“Baby drink a little of this.” There’s a straw poking his lips and when he opens his eyes Julie is tending to him with rum and coke on his tongue, “Little sugar crash, huh?” Her hands are in his hair and he feels like unraveling on this very stool.

The sugar does help, or maybe it’s her doting and Bucky is sure he’s got the dopiest grin on his face when he sways near and pops the straw out just in time to lock lips again. They taste like sweetness together and he licks eagerly into her mouth again, chasing that taste, his hands squeezing at her waist and he can tell she likes that, she shudders and her tongue lolls when he does. The barman is not so enthused: to his credit he gives them a good half a minute before letting out an “oi, more o’tha’ and I’ll be givin ye the keys to yer auld room upstairs and requestin’ ye tae make use o’it.”

Out of desire to indeed do the hangout justice, celebrate their liberation, wait for the mince pies to cool for dinner and avoid being perceived as disgustingly ravenous for each other’s flesh alone, Bucky and Julie abscond further into the pub and take up their places by the dart board- where, to everyone’s delight, it is discovered Miss Tierney has never played.

“Stand like this, baby cakes.” Bucky happily instructs her and his hands move her about like they would his own little doll and a recently recovered Brady and Demarco trade looks that say all too much, enough for Crosby to grin with them in a way Brady didn’t remember him grinning when he last saw him. Knowingly. He’s holding the damn little bunny to his chest again and Brady wonders if he’s ever going to give it back to Lana; Herb being very glad to be free of its keeping as he chats over a pint with one of the farmers.

“Ya know it ain’t yours.” Brady feels compelled to remind, feeling faintly sick still and very drunk despite puking it back up.

Crosby just keeps stroking its blue satin collar. “Someone has to see to him when Bucky and Bucky’s girl go at it later on.”

“If I remember straight, Buck had said that was Marge’s sole job.” Demarco muses, eyes a million miles away and light slightly agape, the cider hit him too before it came back up. “To tend the bunny.”

“The bunny is named Spangles and Marge is no longer a fit companion for him.” Crosby declared and nodded at some scene behind the two men. They wheeled around and when they’re spotting vision cleared, they observed Gale and Marge playing at checkers in one of the booths but the game seemed very secondary to the way they were staring at each other, hands in slow motion and lips parted heavy and freshly licked.

“I gotta get me a woman.” Demarco realized and ordered himself and Brady and Crosby another pint.

As the night waxed on, Bucky found himself and Julie as alone as they’d been all night, a paltry sort of privacy mostly gained by placing his shoulders between the ongoing dart game and the sultry dancing behind him and the small little lady tucked into his side, legs over his and her warm hip half in his lap. There’s nothing but her warm face and his jacket and her halo of hair against the paneling of the pub booth and it's intimate suddenly, like he’s not felt all night. It hits him like a wave, the want and the love. Judging by her darkening eyes, she feels the same.

“Buck, he mentioned some trouble,” Bucky broaches the topic, voice gone gravelly and low for her ears only, his hand rising and gently tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “trouble with your mother?”

It feels odd to say these things aloud, subjects they’ve written each other about a million times and yet saying them, she feels half stranger, half twin, like he should know this entirely and yet -and yet.

Julie’s laugh is short and weak, seemingly too overcome by his nearness, the timbre of his voice, the undivided attention. “Well- well yes she, she was in a state. And now that I’ve not arrived I-“ Julie imagines her mother is in more than a state, indeed a rage seems most likely. She wants to shudder but he’s too warm to allow the gooseflesh to form, she hopes he’ll never let go, he’ll never let her shudder again.

“She’ll have quite the morning with those pictures served alongside her danish and coffee.” Bucky remarks in wry conversation and Julie smiles, watery, unsure where he’s going with this.

“I imagine she will.”

His face sharpens, attentive, commanding and she feels her heart quicken even as the hand on her waist keeps on its loving palming of her flesh, “You alright with that? With what she’ll think?”

She can’t imagine he doesn’t know yet- “I don’t care, Bucky, I really don’t care what, what anyone really, what anyone thinks but you.” she whispers.

Bucky merely nods his head nearer, warm and generous lips pressing to her brow and she feels a thrill at the fatherly caress, down to her very toes, she’s never been sat in a lap and asked about her future. “Don’t need to care what I think right now, Julie Jean,” he gently steers her, “just need to know what ya want, sweet girl.”

She pulls her head away to look him dead in the eye, this man who clawed out of a grave to be here for her, the answer is the same, “You Bucky.” she swears, “That’s all I want, you’re all I’ll ever want.” she’s never been so sure of anything in her life. She delivers her line with more conviction than any script, she means it this time, she can see forever spanning forever ahead and it’s him, it’s just him and she is going to have it.

She loses sight of him again and his mouth claims her, promising and rewarding and she moans into it, yearning too long deferred and the run and the late evening and the talks of forever making her desperate for some consummation to it all. He must feel it too, his kiss is not for the public and her moan makes his hand spasm on her waist, greedy and lewd. He pulls away with a hoarse gasp that is anything but restrained.

“You can have me.” he grants Julie the keys to the kingdom, and only the tiniest edge of caution remains, “But if we’re gonna give ourselves, we need to do it proper.” he tells her softly and wedding bands and sleepy priests and a midnight wedding dances in her mind and her head thuds in mild shock, “You need to cut that lilly livered coward of a fiancé off before I so much as get a finger up your sweet self, you hear me?”

In a daze Julie hears him, and like a child salivating for the proffered candy, she nods, frantic and wanton, she’d do anything to have any part of him tucked inside her. “I’d forgotten him.” she admits sheepishly and he barks out a laugh at that.

“I haven’t.” he replies and something about the gruff jealousy of that sentiment makes her heart soar.

She cranes her neck for a clock.

“Whatcha lookin’ for shorty?”

“The time.”

Bucky flashes his wrist watch toward the light in a move so elegant and well practiced that even that simple gesture is utterly erotic in her mind. The hands of the watch swim in front of her. “Quarter to three.” he pronounces.

That means it’s horribly late here. Lust and sleep deprivation make for strange incentives. “That means it’s morning in New York.” she realizes and Bucky's surprised face is utterly gratifying, “I can catch him before he goes out.”

Her man grins at her with a wild look in his sharp blue eyes, like he’s starting to believe this isn’t at all in theory, he looks mildly crazed and she wants him to take it out on her body. “You could.” he agrees.

“Is there a phone booth nearby?” She asks, loathe to make the call here with all the eavesdroppers and hooting friends, lovely as they are.

“Half a mile.” Bucky informs and he’s already scotting them both out of the booth, “I’ve got a bike. You can ride. Handlebars.”

Julie’s never been more excited to slink out of a party in all her life, she’s never been more excited for a date to pick her up as she is when Bucky and his bicycle that she has no reason to think is indeed his, serves as her noble carriage as he pedals them along the muddy lane in the pitch black of a early summers morning to the tiny, golden beacon of a telephone box.

The war is close to over, she realizes, as the booth’s happy bulb glows unabashed ahead of them in the inky countryside. The war is over and the lights are back on.

Bucky props the bike against the booth, lone wire sentinel on the destroyed landscape and there's a barrenness to these flatlands that give Julie Jean the creeps, like wandering out into the Oklahoma flatness as a child. Brings with it the fear of falling off the edge of the world.

Bucky opens the red and glass paned door for her, ever the gentleman, his expression one so serious she realizes he really needs this.

Julie tugs John into the tiny red phone booth by his tie. It must be done and his presence gives her determination. He’s a warm, solid, looming presence behind her, heating her up as she keeps her truthful cruelty terse and cold.

She dials the number, she endures the switchboard, she cajoles Vincent’s valet to interrupt his breakfast. She tells the man who’s hurt her it’s quite over. Utterly over.

It’s over. She’s cruel about it.

Exactly like Vincent is, exactly like he deserves. Now she knows what warmth is, she cannot possibly go back. She simply tells him it’s over, and when he asks why she says it once again and hangs up on his rebuttal of ownership.

She wonders if Egan has even fully heard what she’s said, she thinks he might think poorly of her if he did but he doesn’t seem to be aware at all. When she hangs up the receiver and turns round to him in the small space, his eyes have gone dark and the most alarming concentration paints his face.

There is a crackle between them that has nothing to do with the fuzzy phone line or the patter of falling rain on the glass panes around them, no lightning in the sky but her finger tips buzz and like magnets; they meet each other. A brutal, awful, needy kiss. Smashing their faces together without much finesse but pouring out an admittance of so much need it’s quite painful. She can feel Bucky tugging at her hair and forcing her face closer when his nose is already shoving aside her own and his lips are working desperately against hers and oh -he’s got such fire in him! He’s thrumming around her and she can hear herself squeaking like a choir girl at the way he helps himself to her body like he saw through her timidity all along, knows she is only shy to take what she wants. She hardly recognizes the crazed creature that meets him at every step with hunger and provocation, when his tongue gently dabs at her lip she swallows him whole, when his hand strays from her waist to her breast she finds herself expanding a breath to fully fill his palm, begging him to take take take.

“I want you so bad.” he hisses like he’s angry at her for being so intoxicating, for robbing him of the ability to breathe. Egan shakes her as he says it, jolts of her neck that fling her hair back with each jerk and her mouth goes dry at his brute strength just barely restrained.

“You’ve waited this long, can’t you be good?”she teases him only to provoke in hopes of being repaid with another snarl and a bonk of her head against the glass as he kisses her again.

Devours more like. She’s not sure why she teased, her nylons are soaked and her own kisses suggest how dire it’s all become for her, having him so near and potent. It’s only she’s not at all sure what she meant by it, what could possibly be finished in this open space. It’s a little fishbowl and the stormy night gives all the ambience to lull her into imagining it’s private but god knows what’s in the jet black night, looking on at the spectacle of the looming Major and his little floozy smashing faces and gripping shirts. She’d let him take her in a hedge at this rate, just not under the bare bulb hanging above them.

But oh, he looks so beautiful in this light.

And if ever anyone spelled need, in its rawest, basest, most flatteringly primal way, it’s John Egan pressing her to the red paned glass of a rural phone booth, an oddly calming smirk on his face and an unarguable thigh beginning to wedge its way between her legs. There could be anyone out there but somehow that doesn’t seem important anymore, not like his large hands do, tenderly cupping her cheeks. Or his belly pressing into hers with his next kiss, the way his lips have grown more insistent while regaining some measured dominance. She finds herself rocking against his strong leg without even thinking, following the instincts his passion raises in her.

She doesn’t know when she grabbed back ahold of his collar. Did she ever let go? She doesn’t know but she fists it all the same, dragging him down to her height as she pants and mewls into his mouth, heels slipping on the rough floor, grit sounding loudly at each scuff.

It’s flattering really, how pathetically wanton she has become under some heavy petting and deep kisses. His suspicions of being wanted are more than confirmed -it’s still a little astounding coming from an Angel like her, wanting a rake like him. But she’s a warm blooded girl with lush tits that seem to expand with each tortured gasp and her little clamshell that’s making a wet spot on his slacks. It’s not the rain, can’t be, there’s no leak.

“I’ll show you good, sweetheart.” He threatens in retaliation for her tease, tweaking a nipple through the soft rayon of her dress, hand wedged beneath her/his jacket once again.

“Don’t, don’t be awful, I can’t breathe.” she begs and he draws away from her lush lips in mild concern.

She splays her hands against his chest to keep them apart as she gulps in air, not phased by the way his hands are groping her. He watches her squint her eyes up at the bulb above them before she shakes her head as if to clear it. When her eyes drift back to his they are startlingly clear and terribly dark. “I’ve got to get out of these nylons.” she whines and suddenly she is reaching under her swishy rayon skirt and yanking at the clips and the hosiery.

His gentlemanly instincts kick in a beat late yet still he offers his hand to balance her -only late due to the prospect of her bare and the possibly imagined musk thats suddenly pervading the air as she shimmies them down her thighs and wobbles on one heel, and then the other, before pulling the nylons out like squid legs between her own. He can see her fingers flutter to drop them.

A tragedy waiting to happen. He’s dreamed about using those for all sorts of-. “No!”

She startles and he hastily snatches them from her pretty hand before she can discard them on the dirty floor. He leans against her before bringing them to his face, closing his eyes and breathing deep. She sounds like a wounded cat and it makes him smirk, some wet smear catching his upper lip and he dares stick out his tongue, dabbing at the traces of her excitement caught in his mustache.

“Your belt.” she doesn’t ask him, she informs, and her hands have gone to his buckle, undoing the flat metal with more ease than he’d like, it nearly makes him jealous of who she’s perfected the movement on, only it’s him she’s pantsing right now and he’s not sure he’s even got condoms with him. He swings the panty hose round his neck and does his best to assist. “I-I-need, I need-“ she’s angrily begging as she wrestles the material down and exposes the pristine white of his briefs and sturdy pale flesh bracketing them. She swings a leg back over his own and suddenly the sweet flowy little skirt is bunched up and Bucky registers a warm, wet quim sliding against his thigh. “I need-this.” she sounds satisfied and begins a grind in earnest, his muscles dragging against her and the tickle of leg hair making her jerk.

“Filthy, you’re goddamn filthy.” he praises, voice gone to hell and raspy as anything. He squeezes her jaw so tight she winces and kisses her again, egging her on with harsh grips on her waist and sweet nips to her lips. “You gonna get off like this? Hmm? Like an alley cat? Rubbin’ on the first fella who bought you a drink over the channel?”

Her look is venomous and she releases her grip on his shoulder to squeeze his face in return. “I just canned my fiancé for you.” she tries to put every bit of what this means into words for him, to remind him how very much even this depravity means to her. “You.” she slurs as a flash of anger crosses his face at the rebuttal, at being made to be serious, even as his grip on her is deathly possessive. “I’m getting off on you, Major.” she leans her head back against the glass and shuts her eyes, the better to concentrate on the thick feel of him against her and the ragged sound of his own breathing. “Please cooperate.” she sighs, lips tugging up in a smirk, already anticipating the temper she’s stoked.

“Call me Bucky.” he asks, a little desperate but he’d never admit that.

“You’re lucky I’m so close, Bucky.” she warns.

“Then let me in you.” he cajoles and she can hear his own smirk in his tone, hot and breathy against her ear.

“No, no this will do just fine.” she gasps, almost there as it is, “Besides, I don’t trust you not to blow.”

“I-don’t have condoms.” he admits, eyes glued to the wet streak visible on his upper thigh every time she slides towards his knee.

“I know.” she laughs, merry and wise.

“How?” he’s outraged but he’s laughing, and her eyes are happy little slits when she opens them to watch him smile.

“I saw you patting your pockets, the minute you saw me across the way at the pub.”

“Well, well that was -shit.” he concedes after a minute of open mouthed deliberation on his next lie but it falls short, her heavy breathing and pinched brows suggesting a crisis at hand. “Lemme rub you though it.“ he begs, wheedling in a strangely attractive way for a grown man and his fingers are dancing over her hips.

“No, this, this is doing it just fine. You just -just be, be all big and strong for me.” She pants, her eyes rolling about the closer she gets and he buries his face into her throat, licking and nibbling at her jaw, letting her rake her nails down his neck as fire shoots along his spine and lodges in an ever growing ache between his legs. He might be dribbling himself at this rate, her breathy mewls so near and her desperation so satisfyingly resonate with his own. “Bucky!” she searches for him desperately as she nears and he pulls his head up from her shoulder and finds a face, one that’s been like a beacon to him this whole long war, staring up at him in adoration as she shakes apart in his arms.

“Tell me some of those nice things again, please Bucky.” she begs him and she can see him wet his lips, his forehead pressed hers, their movements becoming in tandem. “Some of those nice things you used to write me.”

What he’d write to her, before she met him and learned he was about as dangerously volatile as a lit fuse and every bit as addictive as danger.

“Nice things?” he ponders, grinning smile flashing white in the dull light, “Like- what a doll you are? How I’ve spent every night for two years pretending you're mine?”

“Yes, yes.” she chants and he doesn’t know if it’s from the nearness of her climax or in reaction to his words. Maybe it’s all the same for girls, if he was inside her he could no doubt feel the reaction each little praise had on her fiery hole. They were marvels that way.

“And your prissy fiancé’s a fuckin’ idiot under-appreciatin’ you like he does-“ it’s from the heart but he seems to have misfired, she shakes her head and moans,

“No, don’t bring him up right now. Not now.”

Bucky digs his forehead against hers, belligerent of the order, “I think I should talk about him,” he decides, “so I’m gonna. He’s a goddamn pansy if he can’t even get himself a real war job then cuts yours down. He should shut up or man up. Bet he whines about everything you do, doesn’t he?”

“I- mayb- oh, oh gosh!” the rock of his body against hers, wipes her mind of anything except his own brand of niceness, that happens to be tearing down her old beau and cranking his thigh between her legs.

“Bet he was always complainin’,” Bucky surmises she’s close by the gasping, wordless flutter of her eyes, “stupid sunnuvabitch, anybody who’s got you oughta be proud as anythin.”

“You proud of me?” she chokes out, begging for it and she watches as his caddish grin melts into some recognition of her need and he peppers her face with little pecks before taking an earlobe between his teeth, schmoozing her with,

“Course I’m proud of you.” his voice is husky and low this statement is followed by a nip of his sharp teeth, “You know I think you’re the swellest dame that ever walked the earth and all my friends know I think so, too.” he bites his own lip as her movements become frantic and the heat they’ve built up between them has the place steaming, his hair gone jet black and her nose shiny, “I’m proud of all the work you do, all the money you’ve raised and for cannin’ that useless sunnuvabitch and I’m proud of you for havin’ such pretty yams -a bold choice, ya know that, don’t ya Jeanie? Bold choice to carry around knockers this size, can’t order these up and plan on being’ discreet all your life. No sir. You like that? Huh? Yeah? Mm, well I like most how you ain’t ashamed to ride a leg when you need it. And I bet you need it, stupid whiny fucker probably got cramp every time, right as it got good, didn’t he?”

“Oh god Bucky, oh god.” she never expected the spewing of compliments and insults and such prejudiced loyalty to herself to send her flying but it did, his jumbled, idiotic stream of love flying out of his panting mouth the same way it flew from his pen. “Oh God, Bucky!”

She’s not sure she’s ever felt this much want in her life. Satisfaction rips through her white hot to the very tips of her ears and soles of her feet and all the while it’s not enough. His hands are clasping her own and she white knuckles her grip on them. She chomps at his kisses angrily, wanting to eat him alive and thank him all at once. It doesn’t seem to end, the buzzing shocks and he seems to sense it too, how she’s too chicken to make herself mad with the pleasure. She feels Egan’s hands disentangle and descend on her hips, engulfing them in his large palms, fingers dug into her backside, forcefully jerking her against him, his leg moving in an angry tandem until she’s writhing from the overwhelming feel of it.

The phone booth creaks from the force of something besides the gale outside and the horribleness of their animalistic indulgence only makes her clench harder and grin wider at his own ravenous face.

“Bucky!”

Bucky looks down at her with the face of a man well satisfied with himself and utterly enamored with her, “That’s it, scream it, scream my name, sweetheart. This ride ain’t slowin’ till you do.”

“Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!”

At her screams, Egan honest to god laughs, loud and merciless, the laugh of a man who knows how to wring the best out of life. “You don’t want me to use my hands?” he taunts through gritted teeth, “Ok then. Don’t need ‘em. Look at you.”

“Johnny!” once more and the one his mama gave him, higher in pitch and she’s not sure when she stopped being in charge of this endeavor and instead became his little ragdoll.

“That an sos?” he chuckles.

“Yes, gosh yes, I can’t anymore! Don’t make me anymore!”

“Alright, alright, shhh, shh, that’s a good girl, shh.”

He ruffles her hair at the nape of her neck like he’s calming a puppy and, face planted into his chest as she is, shaking and quaking at the residual aftershocks, she doesn’t even think to take offense. He’s warm and solid and loving and she sags against him, the mess she made of his bare thigh not yet cooling.

Finally it lessens, the madness calms only to be filled by heavy intent. And still, Bucky delights in her pleasure and despite the way he handled her to get her over the finish line, his hand is nothing but tender as it pushes her hair out of her eyes and his nose nuzzles her own as she pants the stars out of her vision.

“How’s that feel, huh?”

“Good,” she sighs, hopelessly fond, “just like you promised.”

“Good? Good? Good my ass, you're crosseyed and my leg’s soaked.” he goads her and she’d smack him for being so insufferably arrogant but he’s turned her limbs to putty and after what he’d been through he deserved to be smug after a job well done.

“Did you mean it?” she asks instead, green eyes looking like fragile little ponds apiece, one word of his, no, a lack of word, an expression, a micro expression and they become a whirlpool, tears spilling over and years worth of longing returned to sender.

He takes pains to tuck a falling strand behind her ear, those starched victory rolls of hers beginning to flag, his thumb lingering, caressing her cheek once the job is done. “Every word.” he swears with quiet vehemence and can feel the answering sag of relief from the woman in his arms, “From the very start. Every word.”

“Knew it.” she sighs in relief, a smug look of joy taking the place of wariness and she gloats in his love, a drunken, pacified little thing as she clasps his own face again and kisses him soundly. “I knew you were a good man.” she mumbles into his plush mouth, hands yanking on ebony hair, misted and curling from the drizzle outside. Could he be any more delectable? His hands were large as paws around her waist and the scorching weight of them makes her dizzy with speculation. “Told all my friends you were worth every sleepless night.”

“Can’t believe you cared that much.” he moans in appreciation, the horrid years of incarnation no less dull a memory for all the grand to-do’s and peacetime jubilance of the present. The war was almost over but he wasn’t sure he’d get a full night’s unhaunted sleep for the next decade.

“I’ve never cared about anybody the way I care for you.” Jeanie looks at him then, as earnest as Buck in her devotion and John swallows hard, something alarmingly wet and stinging beginning to collect in his eyes and if he were a crying man he’d very much fear they were tears. “Silly man, couldn’t you tell?” she whispers mournfully.

“I-I guess I hoped.” he acknowledged, biting his savagely until the mist clears from his vision, he cleared his throat loudly to begin afresh, making a racket in the small space and it’s pattering curtain of rain, “But it was just that -a hope.”

“Mmm.” she understands, cocking her head to the side before gently circling one of his wrists with her hand and slowly bringing it off her waist and higher, to the plush swell of those assists that began it all. “Do these feel like hope?” she asks, smile broadening as the hip pressed against him feels a jerk in the inseam of his trousers at the contact.

“Feel like heaven, more like.” he grunts, eyes squinted in a vain attempt to recall the trajectory of the conversation.

“But not ephemeral, intangible, hope?” she presses.

His hand squeezes her just shy of painful and he smirks at her gasp, “I think I’ve got to test ‘em to make sure they stand up, don’t vanish on me, but yeah, I’m inclined to agree, they’re pretty tangible.”

“I’ll give you tangible, Major.” she’s suddenly determined, a foreign and entirely odd desire rising in her as she gives him one last parting kiss and slides to her knees in front of him. Pebbles and grit dig into her poor kneecaps and the squalid little floor provides hardly enough room for this, but the look on his face! Oh it was worth every little discomfort as her hand travels up his inner thigh, bare and sticky from her wantonness earlier, and palms over the large swell of him in the hammock of his white briefs.

“Oh Jeanie,” he breaths as if he couldn’t credit his eyes, “you don’t have to, you really don’t!”

“I want to.” she is surprised to hear herself say it, but here was no movie producer or oil heir or hotel owner, it was just a young man who had gone through hell and back for her and thought himself well repaid by her kisses sent over the phone and a racy photograph or three. She wanted to thank him and she wanted to wipe that ever so maddening smirk off John Egan’s face. So far just being at eye level with his crotch had achieved the latter. “I want to -to suck you.”

-To suck you off.

She couldn’t say the whole of it, and she trailed off on the end of her aborted sentence as it was, yet the sentiment came through as did the darling innocence still lingering under years of man-eating under the pimpish guidance of Metro Goldwyn Meyer.

“Well, ok.” John decides after shaking his head, like trying to make the words rattle a little clearer in his ears. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Good.” he admits his doubt of walking back the surge of flaming hot need that’s coursing beneath his collar at the sight of her so willing, so fresh, so bundled in his jacket. Ruby red lips blurred by his kisses and the tip of a pink tongue too near to where he’s close to taking matters in his own rough palm. “But stand up a minute, sweetheart.” he tugs her to her feet and it’s a sign of her trust in him that she’s only puzzled and hasn’t stopped grinning all the while.

“What’ve you got planned?” Her voice is hushed as he begins to unbutton his jacket, the cloth falling apart at his chest with each buttonhole slipped, dark shirt and tan tie coming into view and a chest so broad she could float on it at sea.

“Something for yer knees, m’lady.” he jokes with crinkled eyes and the sweetest smile as he squats and lays his jacket on the filthy little square that serves as a floor in this phone booth. “There.” he sniffs, satisfied with his preliminary courtesy and Jeanie just about bursts at the gesture.

“You’re too good to be true, Johnny Egan.” she moans into another kiss she forces on him as he laughs off her praise.

“I can be quite awful if you’ll let me.” he warns, “Ask Buck. Or make me wait any longer for that promised blowjo-“

“Shh, Shh!” she blushes at the threatened vulgarity and slips to her knees as if the act is somehow more elevated than any talk of it.

“There you go.” he pats the top of her shiny hair affectionately as she takes her place kneeling again, her hands tiny and delicate against his strong thighs, enjoying the flex of them beneath her palms as she slides them higher and slips a finger into his waistband.

He’s riled and ready when she lets him out of his constraint, flushed and glistening in the dull light of the single bare bulb, much like his bitten lips above her. Daunted and hungry all at once she finds herself falling back on old Mister Selznick’s corny script language, laughing lightly as she watches the hefty length of him bob against the beautiful plane of his lower belly. “Well, I see the little Major is at attention.”

He snorts above her, heartily amused but he pushes her face away briefly just as she begins to pucker her lips, nothing strong, just a firm little press against her forehead with his fingers.

“Just a minute now,” he stalls her, sounding almost pleading except for the explanatory tone he uses as he flicks the dangling curls at her neck back over her shoulder, out of harm’s way, “if I’m gonna get blown by The Lana Tierney, I wanna do it right. Call me picky, just wanna do it perfect, like -perfect like you.”

“Well,” she smiles indulgently up at him without a clue as to what he means, “show me then. Have at it Major, I’m down here for you, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah you are, aren’t ya?” he marvels, cocky and awed all at once and then she watches him heave in a breath and widen his stance with a calculated shuffle of his feet and his pulled down slacks. It makes her blush furiously to realize he’s getting himself a braced, strong stance so he can move his hips freely. “There we go.” he sounds pleased as he leans over her, his strong arm flung out to brace himself on the glass wall opposite, looming over her like a deity sheltering her under his shadow.

Jeanie wonders what it looks like from the pitch black of outside, this tiny, foggy, glowing haven in the storm with her worshipful pose and his imposing figure inching nearer and nearer until she can duck her chin just that little bit and press her lips to the salty head of him.

John’s loud groan fogs up the glass he has his forehead pressed to and he swallows hard at the initial feel of her timidly breaking her jaw wide apart to fit him further, more, he feeds it into her mouth with one hand at the curly thatched base, down, almost halfway, red painted nails digging into his hip and making him twitch on her tongue. “Yes, yes, hell yes.” it feels so good it breaks his heart and Bucky feels sweat roll down his temple as his blood pounds and his brain begins to fuzz. The fingers of his left hand twitch uselessly at his side before gently resting on her shoulder, squeezing in rhythm as she chokes herself in her eagerness to please. “Shh, shh, it’s perfect, you’re perfect.” he calms her with a voice shot to hell and dipping a full octave below that of the man who’d kissed her knuckles in greeting earlier that evening.

Jeanie wishes she had more expertise, some ability to dislocate her lower jaw from her palette and take him down all the way but she hopes he’ll give her time to learn.

In a hotel room. In the back seat of her car at the drive in theater. On the bench of the gazebo at the Nantucket country club. A million and one places she wants to learn him.

That’s for the future.

For now she loosens her desperate grip on his flexing hips to work the length of him with her hands, that part she can’t lathe with her tongue. That’s a lot of it, she realizes with some discouragement and not a little admiration. He goes on for ages, large enough around it takes both her hands to surround him and it’s a long slide root to tip, the feeling of a large ridge protecting the underside and its vital vein making her thumbs glide along it like a track, tacky and wet from her spit and his dripping excitement. She works what she cannot suck and she can hear him gasp above her in appreciation as he finally gets the friction he needs.

“Julie, oh Julie baby!” he praises so loudly she finds herself aflame at the idea of them being overheard on this quiet country lane.

She peers up at him as he stares her down with brilliant white teeth gritted in delight, his dark hair tumbling in a sweaty cascade of curls into his sharp eyes, his cheeks painted in a high blush as his arousal stampedes away from him. She can’t seem to go fast enough with her mouth too wide, her tongue hampered by the sheer impossible weight of him, the stretch of her lips that gives little room for finesse, and so his hips begin to buck and chase her suction without thought. She ends up sputtering at one disjointed thrust as she goes to breathe.

She pulls off him with an obscene pop and with lips shiny and a chin slick she gives him the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever seen. “John, don’t hold back.” she gives him permission with hands folded in her lap and her face tilted back for his use.

She can see the relief clear on his face, his thanks too. “I’m close.” he assures and she shrugs, not caring except to make him happy, she hopes it ruins her. His roguish face quickly morphs to a look of faux sympathy followed by a smirk that suggests she should run for her life. Too late, the thrill of his shuffling near again seizes her as he gently cups both her ears, getting himself a nice little swirl of her hair over each of his palms. Her pretty stage-perfect hair is destroyed and when he slides in, deep enough for a flash of panic to widen her big blue eyes, he gives her a quirk of his eyebrow which says all that needs to be said -you did offer, Jeanie.

Frantically she nods in agreement, feeling filthy and wanted as he uses his grip on her hair to pull her back down on him and back to the tip and down and back, a horrible, debauched chorus of wet, slurping, groaning pleasure steaming up the quaint little booth. “Angel face.” Bucky grunts down to her, his thumbs leaving her temples to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes to the hollow of her powdered cheekbones.

When he lets go it’s a combination of rigidity and fluidity, he shakes out a leg like he’s bracing for a punch and slaps repeatedly at the glass by his head, rattling it and cursing as molten pleasure overtakes, a fistful of her hair in his other hand as a lifetime of desire melts out of him and into her warm mouth.

There’s so much of it. She wonders in a breathless, half gagged malaise if it’s a war’s worth of desire flooding her tongue and mouth and down her throat as plentiful as the drinks earlier tonight. When he sees her swallow him without protest his face crumples in the soft afterglow of release and he grinds his hips a last few times, puffy cockhead raking along her palette, grief stricken by how utterly she accepts it. His breathing sounds ragged as a beast, and for those few quiet moments before he regains himself, and after he has spent his ferocity down her throat, Julie basks in her softening mouthful and the heave of his belly above her and the height of his shoulders far ahead of her and the face that’s looking down on her with such adoration as the fog clears that she realizes she never has seen it before in a man after they’ve used her up.

Bucky is more enamored after he’s surrendered his potency to her tongue. Even when the lust clears he is blatantly, unashamedly, gloriously in love. It twitches on her tongue and it floods her nostrils and it scratches her scalp and it beams down at her with watering blue eyes.

She’s never been looked at like this before, not after the sex, not ever, she doesn’t think.

She will wait until he pulls out. She will make him understand this is all she wants to do, as long as they both live, she wants to make him love her. She wants to love on him.

Slightly softened, his girth grants her enough room to finally wiggle her tongue against him, playfully swiping along the thinning underside and he grunts, sensitive and amused. With a grin on his face Bucky takes the hand once snarled in her hair and strokes her still hollowed cheek, petting its calloused way down to her lax lips, the corners of which are collecting with sticky, pink tinged spunk from his release and the residue of her lipstick. He collects all around the ring of it, swiping and nudging his fingers alongside his cock into her mouth, making her suck to bring it further in, and he has to fight to stay on top of the sensitivity that brings him, she can tell, but he seems adamant in keeping himself in the warm haven of her mouth and she copes with his fingers and the salty tang of what he collects and pushes in to be properly discarded into her belly, along with the rest.

No one has ever played with her this long, after the fact. She thinks she might drip all her primarily female organs straight to the floor with wanting him like this. And then Bucky has the sweet gall to say, “What happens next, sweet thing, requires a bed and a half a dozen pillows.”

It takes them a full ten minutes to leave the phone booth, giggling and clutching and kissing, they do their best to straighten each other out but it’s quite useless and when Bucky tells her there’s no other place for a man to know his woman properly except back upstairs at the pub, she gives a hopeless little giggle, pure girlish nervousness coursing through her at the realization she looks quite loved up and will have to wade through all her new friends on her journey upstairs to be further used up.

With love. Suddenly the concept is utterly delightful.

For once the walk of shame excites her. And the throb between her legs and the incessant need to touch him always and the hot smothering heat of his jacket still around her prompts her acquiescence as Bucky lifts her once more into his handlebars and takes off into the chilly night. He stops halfway back, a sudden breaking and a dissatisfied grunt, it almost pitches her headlong into the mud.

“You’re too far away.” he’s reaching forward and patting her hips, making her hop off, backing her round the handle bars, patting his own thighs. “C’mere doll, c’mere, we’ll just have ya close and you’ll hang on.”

It’s everything she was feeling too. It’s terribly precarious and if he were a smaller man it mightn’t work, but that’s the thing -he isn’t. He’s Bucky and all the things that wouldn’t work otherwise, wouldn’t please and wouldn’t captivate her, now do. And so she slings her arms around his neck, spreads her legs achingly wide to anchor around his waist and lays her head on his shoulder so he still has a view of the road. He’s got the smell of her perfumed hair and his stinking sheepskin in his nose as he shoves off the pavement and pushes down again on the pedals. The bike only wobbles a little with its new uneven load but he rights it easy as flying, and she can feel his legs working strong and forceful beneath her own and it’s thrilling, as thrilling as the feeling of his sweaty neck against her lips.

“There we go.” he proclaims it good, once they’ve got the wheels going again, and Julie Jean is drowsy with the safety of his decisions being her own wants.

The atmosphere inside the pub upon their return had only gotten thicker, hazier, chummier; haggard ex-jail birds and fresh flyboys fall over their tables and games and catch themselves on each other’s shoulders like the distinction between the two groups wasn’t a matter worthy of throwing punches just a few hours ago. They’ve got a song going, Bucky doesn’t recall Brady ever playing the piano before but he is now, and it’s passably the best sounding thing amongst the accompanying raucous of all occupants trying out the lyrics to Anything Goes. Gale and Marge aren’t to be found, and Bucky would pursue that very intriguing development if he hadn’t better things to do, tucked into his side, tiny white palm clutched in his, stockings with their soaked gusset in his pocket.

“Donald, I’m gonna need that key, after all.” Bucky leans over the bar and tries his best at a discreet stage whisper over the caterwauling songbirds. Julie shrinks so far behind him her forehead is buried in the sleeve of his jacket, a pressure to the back of his arm, just above his elbow. Like a bunny hiding their face and trusting it’ll make the rest of themselves invisible. She deserves the Ritz and a secret tunnel to get her there but this is all they’ve got. At least everyone didn’t notice when they came back in.

Donald is strangely respectful when he hands over the little golden key and it’s familiar, thick oaken fob. No wink and no rabald comment, Bucky wonders if the camp has made him so obviously pathetic that even moments before getting laid he is still an object of pity. The way Donald’s eyes skitter to the young darling behind Bucky, a respectful little nod of acknowledgement to her, dissuades him.

“Night Major, night miss.”

“Good night Donald.” Julie warbles soft as anything while Bucky tugs her gently towards the stairs.

They have to hedge around the outskirts of the partners gathered in their path. Bucky turns Doug’s shoulder with a gentle hand to get past a table and there ended all their peace, when Doug’s drunken eyes beheld who had returned he vocalized his joy loud and ecstatic. His rambunctious response bringing the attention of all the young soldier boys as they parade their Major and his gal.

Bucky feels Julie’s hold on his arm tighten, the sleeve of his jacket being pulled down. He’s afraid for a moment that the sentimentality of his boys will have her convincing him to stay down here with them — despite the fact that he’s been stuck in a worn down shit hell hole with half these boys for over a year and the tip of his cock weeps with the need of Julie’s tender flesh and warmth. But when he looks down her eyes have grown dark, impatient, and she rubs her thighs together, the only tell tale sign of her desire, urging him to get them out of there.

“Alright, boys,” he adds bass to his voice, the way he would from the cockpit leading a mission or telling them to quiet down when the Colonel was speaking. Julie shivers beside him and he knows their clock is ticking. “Gotta excuse your Major tonight, gonna get my girl somewhere warm and comfortable.”

There’s more whistling and cheers to follow, hands clapping him on his back and shoulder and he moves Julie Jean to walk in front of him and finish leading the way. Suggestive comments and shrewd gesticulation are sent his way and Bucky’s only happy Julie Jean walks ahead and doesn’t look back, unaware of the actions of his boys. If she’d see she would get flush faced and shy and Bucky doesn’t want to take the time to reprimand or punch one of the men for making her uncomfortable.

“Oi, Bucky!” It’s Blakley running to catch up with him again, hand in the air and Bucky extends his own to accept the slap from his friend. “That's all I could scrounge up for you on such short notice. Make it worth it.” And then with a wink he backs off, joining the rest of the boys at the bar.

When Bucky looks down there’s a gold tin foil package in his palm. He coughs, smiles, sliding it into his pocket. Bucky turns back to Julie who waits patiently, squeezing at her tiny waist to slightly lift her from the ground in his sudden haste.

Julie giggles, having only been in his presence for a couple of hours but she’s spent more time in his arms and his embrace than she had on the ground and she loved every second of it. “I love you,” she reminds, because she can and he’s in front of her and not an ocean away. There’s a tug on her heartstrings, her body, mind, and soul used to missing him and uttering the words into empty rooms.

This time Bucky is there and he is quick to respond, “And I love you, doll,” with a kiss to seal his oath.

They finally get inside, tripping over one another’s feet as they refuse to disentangle their limbs. Julie only had two glasses of rum and coke but he’s ninety percent sure she’s drunk on the essence of him. A lightweight when it comes to true love. She can still taste him in her mouth, salty and musky, no sweetness, but it’s delicious and she’s thirsty for more. She wants to see more of the lipstick stains she left on his cock. Wants to see him naked like she promised herself a million times, so that when she tries again, she can watch every little movement he makes.

“You promised me I could try again,” she whines into his mouth, “I can try until I can take all of you in my mouth,” and she’s swiping her tongue against his, licking stripes into his open mouth and a wet saliva string connects the two of them even when she leans away to talk.

And John’s never been so hard in his life, never had an innocent yet sexy gal like Jean Julie Jean be so nasty and so innocent at the same time. Wanting to practice gulping on big cocks and massaging balls when every man in her life before has only used her as disposable.

“They were so big,” she’s still trying to get words in between his kisses, “dark and hanging -“ foggy, he realizes she’s describing his ball sack, or what she was able to make out in the dark of the phone booth.

John shudders, trying to imagine a world where golden haired angels wax poetic about ballsacks the way he does on her tits. I mean, he’s justified- look at them! Actually, that’s an idea, he should ask if he can look at them. Fucking finally.

“Wanna see you.” he mumbles into her mouth, a clack of teeth as they time it wrong, it doesn’t matter, every point of contact makes his body thrum. He runs his hands along her sides, along the sweet cello curve of hips and waist and tits, squeezing emphatically at the fleshy swells that make a good showing in filling his giant palms.

Julie giggles, “I was thinking the same. About you.”

“Agh, nothin’ to see with me.” he dissuades, pulling away far enough to note the sheen of sweat that has broken the barrier of her immaculate powder, rose gold blush in the dim light of the humble room.

She seems to notice the place at the same time, attentive eyes scan and flit, arms still interlocked with his own and he prefers to stare at the sweeping dance of coal dark lashes as she surveys the place than look around at a stuffy old room he’s a little ashamed to admit he’s crashed in one too many nights black out drunk and wishing the old hound that always came in under the sheet at three am was her.

“It’s so quaint.” she murmurs, like someone who doesn’t get laid out in scratchy sheets and lumpy mattresses very often. It fits, he hasn’t got anything to offer besides this anyway, at home or here.

Quaint. God, how long will quaint be enough?

“Bucky?” she asks. The lashes are lifted, fanned out beneath tiny arched brows, spider fringe to guileless baby blues.

Releasing his lip from between his lip he lets out a small scoff that sounds more winded than he hoped. “Hey shorty.” he should take her to bed, he should kiss her again, he should tell her every dream he’s ever had is in his arms and he doesn’t know what do with that, can’t kiss without keeping his eyes open to watch the next shoe drop, save them from it crushing in their skulls.

“I’m -I find I’m a bit -nervous.” she whispers.

Fuck, this is why they work, and with her blushing, looking up at him so hopeful it’s enough for him to close his eyes and let this work. “Was thinkin’ the same.” he rasps, admittance that sinks soothing into her timid heart.

Julie lets out another giggle that John is starting to learn hides the same feeling his scoffs do. “Isn’t that silly of us?”

“Mhmm.” He agrees, fingers trailing to brush her hair back.

“Guess it’s just- just we’ve built this up and all and-“

“It’s gonna be.” he tells her firmly, hands and voice and heart, “Everything we’ve dreamt of. Gonna be that and more. Cause it’s us. S’finally us. Just us..”

“Yeah?” she begs.

Bucky smashes his lips tight and determined. “Yeah.”

Their lips lock again, going somewhere this time, headed towards the cliff, arm in arm, necks craned to get there first. It’s close to flying, it’s such a thrill. He drags his hand up her ribs and to her shoulder, snaking under the stifling weight of his jacket still encompassing her little frame. Bucky’s got a glint in his eye as he takes in the top of her breasts that are so generously popping out of her dress. Thanking God for whoever took her measurements and decided to always go smaller in the brassiere area. He can’t help it when he leans down and sucks on the top of what part of her port breast is available. He reaches to drop the shoulders of the jacket off her again when she finally seems to sober up, lips pouty and eyes hazy, taking in how she’s stained his face and his mustache is glistening with their mixed saliva.

His hand lifts under the collar, lifting, shirking it off her neck, one sleeve down her arm, aiming to get it off her and her dress after and her garters and her-

Julie snatches the jacket back onto her shoulder.

Blink and its back on.

Like Bucky hadn’t just slipped it off very intentionally. No, it’s back on alright and she clutches it instead of him suddenly, chest heaving and eyes a little too wide.

“Baby doll?” he asks, at a loss but feeling wrong.

“This, this is-“ she whispers, vacant and vague and her eyes are scanning the room unseeing, “this jacket is, it’s very special to me, it stays, it belongs to a man who loves me and it- it stays. I won’t take it off. He loves me and it’s all I’ve got -I won’t. Won’t take it off.”

Bucky blinks, grit and film in his bleary eyes adding an exhausted filter to this duty consecutive breakdown of the night. Goddamn it; -about breaks his heart to think his old ratty sheepskin was all she had. “You’ve got me now.” he clasps her cheeks, careful but warm and solid and alive; her eyes focus. “Real deal, I’m here, baby. Better than any jacket, warmer at least.” he cracks a smile and her own wavers into being.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah baby?”

“You’re gonna make love to me?”

“That’s the idea, sugar.”

“Ok.” Julie takes a bracing breath and lets her arms fall, lifts a shoulder and allows one heavy, leather sleeve to slip down. Her heart melts when Bucky helps it fall with a cautious finger, the backs of his roughened knuckles sanding against the ivory her arm as he drags it to her wrist and off, his eyes locked on her own. He has the tenderest expression crinkling around his eyes and it keeps her panic at bay as the other arm slips out and the heavy fall of the jacket gets caught by his deft hand.

John tosses the precious garment on the bed. “You’d like it with ya, maybe?” he offers and she nods violently, eager to smell it and him while at their pleasure.

“Might get messy.” his grin is primal, wolfish.

She presses her lips to his again, hand anchored on his bent neck, “I want it too.” she nibbles along his jaw, “I want it to smell like you. I’ve rubbed myself on it, must’ve been a hundred times. I want it to smell like both of us.”

“Goddamn.” he articulates in appreciation, “Goddamn! Filthy, my baby is filthy.”

His cock aches with need at the imagery fo her pretty pink oussy rubbing itself raw on his sheepskin, it’s pressing against his skivvies, trousers tight and making him uncomfortable but first Bucky’s aware it won’t be right until he is sure Julie has gotten it into her pretty little head that his jacket wasn’t something she had to cling onto anymore. It would be hers for as long as she wanted, forever if she so wished — but he’d be damned if he bed her and continued to let his woman think every single line he had written in every letter had been anything but the truth. She had asked for his honesty and he had taken it seriously, jotting down every thought to send to her no matter how filthy or grand anyone thought it to be.

Bucky takes her small hand in his, noting another size difference between them as her entire hand fits in his palm, his fingers outstretched to cover her tiny fists. He untucks his shirt, the buttons having been ripped open courtesy of his ravenous woman.

“Gimme this,” he grunts, opening her fist to press her palm flat against his chest. Over his heart. A tear falls and Julie lets it, the strong thump of his heart in tandem with the beat of hers. Reminding her that he was real, he was alive, he was breathing. “I’m real, Julie Jean. You got me now, baby, it’s all fucking yours.”

Somehow, John Egan was hers. Life was giving her something good, something pure that loved her for who she truly was, that fought to keep her safe and survived hell to get to her. Millions had posters with her face taped on their walls, waited outside her home and studio for photos, but only one person in the whole world had told her he loves her and meant it.

Bucky’s skin is burning underneath her hand, slick with sweat, and she lets her hand tighten against wiry, chest hairs that clump together against his heat and perspiration.

“I love you,” she swears, words venomous with her truth and passion. “I’ll die if you ever even think of leaving me, John Egan. Or I might just kill you if you attempt it.”

The smile that threatens to split his face is blinding in the dark of their room but Julie vows in that moment to make him smile like that every day. And if being smothered to death with threats from love was what it took, well then good thing Julie had a few more roaming around in her head.

Bucky has no business ripping the buttons off the only dress Julie Jean had up here in this room, but that was tomorrow's problem and he trusts Marge for that. By the way Julie Jean moans at this disrespect for her tailoring -he’d say they’re tracking.

“Off, off, off!” her breathy command is as dainty and insistent as silver bells, little hands tugging open his slacks and pawing off his shirt while forgetting the tie until it half strangles him. “Off, I need you.” she pants.

He throws her to the bed. No great distance, but from the height of his arms it makes her bounce and the creamy jiggle of skin as she lands makes his masculine brain sizzle from the sight. It’s obscene and it’s holy and she is his and he lays himself atop her like he needs to make her a part of him.

Julie spreads her legs to accommodate him and finds it unnecessarily thrilling how wide she must stretch just to cradle his hips, John is broad in every way, and laying on top of her the disparity in size between them is only magnified, and she feels a girlish thrill at how helpless she is. How much of a man is now wanting her, spread on top of her, nestled where she’s most needy and vulnerable. She wonders if he can feel the dribbling mess between her spread thighs. She tilts her hips to chase his own and he groans, loud and appreciative. It sends gooseflesh down her arms. The heat of her jacket is under her arms, soft shearling and a stray zipper digging into her back.

She is surrounded by Bucky. And no one can take this away.

And he is staring down at her, her face and her breasts, what’s started it all. He lets a noise out, in the back of his throat, caught in his lungs, like he got punched, but it's such a monumental moment for him.

“Christ! These.” he grunts as he mouths at her breast, kneading and abusing with his huge hand the one he is not suckling. “Can’t even fit one in m’mouth.” he tries anyway, most valiantly, Julie thinks. Sloppy and worshipful. Just like she imagined when he wrote about them. She feels herself tingle and clench, every nerve alight. The room smells of his sweat and his saliva is coating her boob and his mustache tickles against her skin and he’s a furnace against her and already a soreness is setting in the spread of her hips —

“Bucky I’m almost-“it seems absurd as soon as she voices it but she’s sure of it, she has gone demented with sensation and heat and the earthy smell of him all around, his finger on her ripe nipple and his mouth clamped like a babe at the tit and the sweat of his hair sliding through her fingers “-almost…there.” she melts with it, a coil that’s been alive all evening, that wound tighter in the phone booth even when the pleasure snaps, it melts and pools now and she gasps out her breathless delight.

And Bucky continues on as is, speeding the pad of his pointer finger against the bud of her hard nipple, allowing his teeth to pinch the one in his mouth and suddenly Julie finds her hole clenching around nothing, legs spasming but pinned by the weight of him on top of her. She sighs, content.

That was new. So is his sharp grin when he pulls away to stare up at her, chin pillowed by her glistening breast, his calloused hand snaking down her belly to explore the mess he coaxed into being.

His touch makes her jolt, even though the others pad of his finger swiping through her is a slimed, easy glide. One of his fingers is enough to span the entire breadth of her inner petals. If her poor pussy wasn’t so flutteringly distressed by its current emptiness, Julie might dread the burn of those large digits plunging in. As is, she nods eagerly, “Please, please I’m going mad up here.” she tells him and doesn’t miss the roguish look of satisfaction that flashes across his face.

There is enough of him -everywhere- that she is gifted a kiss on the mouth the same time that she feels his finger circle her pearl, slow and lazy. The combination feels so right, the care and the savoring, the way he licks all the way to her molars while his finger swirls down the slope of her entrance, roughened finger tips sending sparks along her spine.

“I love you.” he tells her again, because he can.

She tightens her fingers around a fistful of curly black hair, longish and sweaty, utterly real: because she can. “I love you.”

Everything is that. Each kiss, each nuzzle and clasping of flesh. He breaches her mid giggle, for even their laughs say the same: I love you, I love you, I’ve loved you so long let me love you.

Bucky bites his lip as he gently sounds her cunt with a single finger, palm upwards, callous tickling inside like he’s searching for the root of her desire along the silky walls. Julie can feel when she clenches around ole thick knuckle.

“Can barely fit a finger in here, Shorty,” Bucky teases her, gravely cautionary yet not meaning it

one bit, “and you’re begging for my whole cock?”

“Yes!” Julie Jean begs back without pause and it makes Bucky’s heart flip again, its been doing that all night but then again, she doesn’t stop wanting him, “You can teach me. You can stretch me please. Johnny- I’ve waited so long.”

Bucky slips his second finger in there, obligingly, and tries to scissor her, an attempt to stretch her out until Jeanie is clamping her thighs together and trapping his arm -he finally finds it, that spongy spot inside her that has her going pale white and screaming, “YES YES — oh Jo-Johnny YES!”

Lovingly cruel he fits a third finger in there right before she comes, “Give it to me, Jeanie, give me all of it.”

Her thighs release his forearm but his torture isn’t over, a raspy groan shaking her belly as he writhes his way down her belly until his face is in between her thighs where he slurps at her like he’s still got that straw of hers he carries around on his tongue.

“I can’t - Johnny please - SWEET MAN HAVE MERCY ON ME - oh - oh, oh, OH!.” the sounds of her ecstasy and the feeling her hands clawing at his shoulders spur him on, drunk off the feline smell of her, the slippery wet feel of her on his cheeks and chin, tongue dipping into the honeywell- nothing could be further from that vile camp and its harsh starkness of human flesh. Here is humanity in all its warm, wet vibrancy, buzzing and twitching beneath him. This he’s good at, he knows, learned it a long time ago and something clicked, the enjoyment of giving and having to hide it as taking somewhere along the way, so that nobody would guess what a goddamn wretch he was for some praise.

The kind that spills from Julie’s lips like it’s the only song she ever wants to sing again, only tune she’s got left.

He feels her pushing at his shoulder to get away but he’s got an iron tight grip around her hips, while Julie knows she's trapped his head between her spanking thighs until she can hear ringing in her ears and sees spots as he sucks on her clit through the orgasm. When she comes to, he’s pressing kisses to her belly, her breasts, her face, smeared with the taste and smell of her but she welcomes them nonetheless.

“Now can I have you? Please.” she is pleased with herself for managing to remain polite despite her jittery quakes and the terrible craving she feels remaining.

And he laughs, Bucky laughs, because she’s still asking for cock, after all that. She’s still asking.

With a mustache sopping wet and teeth that sparkle like a wolf’s, he kisses her, splat on the mouth, smile to smile.

“You’re sticky.” she giggles, breathless

“That’s you, Jeanie.”

She licks his chin because she suspects he’ll like it, being met with unabashed enjoyment of the dirty communion they’re sharing. She was right,it gets him going, something frantic creeping back into his worshipful enjoyment. He tries to get up to get that condom that’s somewhere in his slacks but she refuses to let him get off of her, holding his weight down on top even though he’s twice her size; not that he’s trying to fight her off.

“I- goddamn, i- baby- i, need-“ he gets between bitten lips and clacks of teeth, “need to grab the condom, Shorty.”

Those are the magic words that allow her to release him but not before she says “hurry make it quick!” in so breathless a way he halfway thinks of trusting his rather shit pull out game than chance leaving her bosom. But Ev Blakley didn’t give up his pro-kit for such negligence, so -Bucky tumbles out of bed like a lumbering god out of his element of white crisp sheets and Julie lays back biting her thumb, enjoying the chance to watch him in the lamplight. She watches him as he quickly searches for his slacks, broad white back bending over, large thighs with their shadow of hair stippling, the soft swell of his thigh creases and the dark cleft of his backside where hair grows and spreads to the barely discernible outline of his sack hanging between. He’s shaking out the drab olive; a tiny little plop sounds in the quiet room. He picks it up.

Foil packet between his teeth, Bucky turns back to her, tosses the pants once more, they litter some new space on the floor, and Julie’s heart bounds in her throat at the look of him. This, watching this, watching him, this is what she promised herself. But she never got it quite right, he wasn’t so big in her dreams, not so pale either, with ribs as defined as hia sinews, bruise mottled clavicles and a Lowe belly that has a slight dome. His glittering eyes, those she imagined though, in fevered dreams about actually being wanted by somebody good and brave and willing to give this whole business of loving a real try.

She watches him slip on the condom, enjoying the way his magenta-angry and bulging veined cock is smothered by the thin, clear rubber. It looks painful as she watches him slither it on. Bucky makes sure to pump himself a few times, kneeling in front of her spread legs, grin in place and she mewls, hand coming to her clit as it pulses between her lips with a heartbeat of its own.

“Ready, dearest?” John asks, forehead pressed to hers, a hand beside her cheek and another between her thighs, holding the massive, blunt tip of him to her aching core.

It makes her eyes water: the reference to their many letters and she pulls him down to kiss at him in response, the head at her entrance has her tensing, feeling thick and fat compared to her small hole. He is going to destroy her, change her utterly, there’s only the Lana Turner of before and this Julie Jean after. This is Bucky’s effect, this is Bucky’s creation, this happy, trembling, heartbrokenly happy girl tensing at an act she’s done a hundred times before.

“It’s us,” he whispers lovingly, “relax.” He presses a kiss to the side of her head as he traces the skin of her hip, “You’re in charge here.*

Julie knows if it hurts he’ll stop but she doesn’t want him to, that’s the catch, so she gives him a daring little look, “I want all of you.” because she’s determined, legs locking around his hips to cage him in. “You won’t deny me, will you, Johnny?”

As for Bucky, he’s so fucking in love as he looks in her eyes, “Never, Jeanie. Whatever you want, it's yours.” as he slides another inch in, a groan escaping from deep in his chest while her legs twitch around him “Every part of me is yours, dearest, even the fucked up parts that i don’t want you to see.”

At his confession, she relaxes enough that he’s able to slide more than half of his cock inside her before her body’s tightening and locking him out. Her mouth holds in that sexy shape of an ‘o’ he imagined a million times as she lets out a silent gasp at the intrusion, stopping right before his hips meet the cradle of her thighs, the base of him thick and pulsing with the threat of finality.

Her sounds of joy grow from gasps to genuine little cries, the shock of his size untenable despite the gentleness with which he introduced it.

“-and if this is all you can take, Jeanie,” he declares, sliding an inch out only to slide it back in, like all her panicked thoughts have been a conversation they’ve been sharing all this time, “if this is all, then we can make it work, baby. it’ll be enough.”

He kisses away the tears that are escaping down her cheeks but she still shakes her head, “No, John. I want all of you.”

Yet Bucky is aware of their size difference and even though he wants more than anything to give her whatever she wants, he’d never hurt her. So he refuses her this for now, refuses to move his hips, nuzzling his nose along her tear stained cheeks and pecking at her still parted, mewling lips -as if opening up there will help her down there, it makes him smile. Like showing a baby to how open their mouth for a bite. He runs his obviously along her dampened hairline, platinum strands fanned out in a golden halo. She leans her face into his touch, her belly heaving beneath his in a desperate struggle still, her lips pressing to his wrist.

“I missed you every fucking second,” he’s says into her temple, “every minute of every day was hell without you, Jeanie. And I fought it, I survived, for you - all of it so my dreams with you can come true. I love you. I love you so goddamn much. You’re it for me.”

All his sweet talking has her becoming pliant and relaxed under him until, suddenly, he’s plunged all the way in deep. Her eyes spring wide and her hand flies to her throat, sure she can feel the tip of him there. “oh - OH JO- it hurts, oh yes, oh god, john, john, oh-oh, goodness sweet man -YOU’VE BROKEN ME!”

Bucky’s tender heart lurches in worry at his reckless instinct to thrust, to go far, too far, all the way, as she pushes back against his shoulder in primal defense from the pain. But Julie refuses to unlock her legs or let go of the grip she has on his hair, shaking uncontrollably and stuttering over her screams, like his cock takes up too much space for her to get in a breath.

“Baby, babydoll shh, shh s’alright, it's alright.” He tries to soothe but he isn’t even sure she can hear or see him, her face turned into his wrist by her head, her grip on his neck turning his own into her shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” she says instead, “don’t leave me, don’t move, don’t leave me.” she repeats as she clutches at him, pain and pleasure mixing like they never have before, he stays still as she shakes and comes apart for an estimated three minutes on his part. Pilot to the last, one eye on the gauge while the rest is pure gut instinct of performance. He feels it though, when suddenly her hips open and she’s releasing a large sigh like her body has finally accepted the intrusion. He lifts his head and her eyes are clear and bright, looking up at him, “Don’t you dare slip out,” she warns with an irrepressible grin, “We’ve worked too hard to lose our progress.”

His Julie Jean is a trooper, a damn brave soldier if he’s ever seen one, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at her, so in love he thinks it’s gonna burst out his chest. The things this woman wouldn’t do for him are nonexistent it appears.

Bucky guffaws, loud in his relief, “You’re so drippin’ wet, I’m liable to slide out with any movement.” he returns, not exactly joking

“Nuhuh, I’ll die.” she warns him again, “Don’t move.” and he kisses her, just to show her he’s teasing and because he can.

“This’ll do, Shorty.” he promises, and there’s no sliding out as he thrusts his hips deeper into her, humping Julie into the mattress to get his friction. “This’ll do for me.”

“Always?” she begs.

“Always.”

“Always.”

“Yeah.”

He humps her like she’s a part of the mattress, the motion nothing like the mechanical, horizontal slide of anatomies she’s used to. Instead she feels him buried somewhere further than her womb while each flix of his solid hips stretches down where she’s most feminine and torn apart to accommodate his manhood. She can feel his coarse pubic hairs against her clit, becoming sticky with the mix of them, her hole becoming fiery with excitement.

“You’re are a dream, John Egan, you are unreal.” she fears she's slurring, eyes rolling back and sensation becoming preeminent, “I’m so lucky. The luckiest woman alive, I'm sure. Oh, I’ve waited my whole life for you, John. You’re perfect. You love me perfectly.”

He keeps it up for a couple more minutes, grunting, muttering how good she is and how brave and that they’ve broken her in. But throughout Julie remains aware it isn’t enough for him, can’t be with such little friction, that he’s gonna need to actually move to get what he needs and be able to come, but he’s a sweet man and he can see she’s in pain and he wouldn’t ever hurt her. She knows that. Not even if she asked. She knows she has to take it into her own hands. She grasps his hip and slightly pushes him away. Then she pulls, the message clear: deeper. Go deeper.

“No,” Bucky is emphatic, “Not if it’s gonna hurt you.”

“It won’t!” It’s an asinine thing to promise with the way she can barely cope with his mild shifts inside her. But she knows she’s got to play this up if she wants to get her way. She pinches a nipple, watches as his eyes fall to it, and uses her free hand to guide his face there. If he’s focused on his precious knockers he won’t focus on her face and the winces she is sure she won’t be able to hide.

Like she assumed, Bucky takes her nipple in between his teeth, humming and creating a vibration she feels right to her core, “Oh John, you’re so wonderful to me.” she tells him and means it, trying to focus on the pleasure his sucking is bringing and not the pain as he slides out “We were made for each other. I'm sure of it. it has to work the way God intended.” and then he’s pushing back in and she’s gasping, loudly, pushing his face deeper into her breast so he stays lost in his pleasure.

“Yes, right there,” she moans, even as tears slip out the side of her eye, this part she is well practiced in, the repetition of a gasping: “more, more please … keep going please, ah, please more!”

The pain is stronger than the pleasure but she doesn’t want him to stop, she wants him to find his release, wants to keep feeling him spread out on top of her, sweat dripping on her, thighs burning from the width of his lower back. He's been so generous with her the entire night, she wants to feel his body shudder inside hers. But Bucky is no blind fool, he isn’t a stupid man, and she never thought him so, so when he pulls away from her breast with a knowing look, eyes accusatory as he takes in her tear stained cheeks, she knows she’s met her match, and failed him all at once.

His voice is terribly low, raspy in a way that shakes her somewhere molten in her belly when he speaks up, “This ain’t good for me if you aren’t creaming around me, Jean.” he tells her, fully sitting back on his haunches while reaching for a pillow and using one arm to lift her and stuff it underneath her. “You want all of me? That's fine but we’ll find our pleasure together.”

The pillow beneath her helps, the angle elevating slightly where it feels more pleasurable than it had before, he teases her hole before reentry. Slow, purposeful. The weight of his heavy cockhead against the easy glide her pussy allows him. She’s so wet that the sounds of him wiggling himself against her sweetness are similar to those of kids jumping in rain puddles. The grin on his face is akin to it as well. He continues at it until she thinks he will go mad, and when he does, every slide deeper skims along a million happy nerves and she forgets the painful bump when he knocks on some inner wall deep inside, as far as he can go, sounding her shallows. “Yeah?” he asks, taking in the way her brow smooths her belly softens from its braced rigidness.

Julie just about beams up at him, stretching beneath him like a well pleased cat, coloring over the notion he has more experience than her. “Oh!-my man works wonders - yes, yes, miracles. Lord Johnny- oh you’re an angel! -a gift! oh! yes right there! yes!”

She meets his thrusts with abandon that can only signify a genuine enjoyment and he feels that at last he’s free to grab at the headboard and pound into her because he knows she’s no longer faking it. Her legs kick up to rest against his chest, sparkly done toes barely reaching his shoulders and he takes it upon himself to take one into his mouth. Sucking on the fat little pad as her mouth goes slack and her eyes roll dangerously. He can see the ripple his cock makes under the pale skin of her naval, it drives him insane to see his intrusion from the outside. The way his rhythm makes her flesh jiggle obscenely and her ever adored breasts go round and round in a hypnotic swirl of feminine allure punctuated by pinpoint dots of pebbled cherry nipples. His orgasm feels like it’s building behind his eyes and at the base of his neck as much as it is at his spine and in his sack.

He powers though the first time she clenches around his cock in a death grip while shrieking his name to the heavens, he does so by biting his cheek so hard he tastes blood. It’s worth it for her shocked terror as he doesn’t stop, pummeling and bully another peak out of her poor pussy by sheer size and will power, finesse gone as his malnourished hulk of a body remembers some nostalgic pride in this pursuit, in making a girl lose her goddamn mind from being throughly and properly fucked.

By the third he loses his own faculties, she is clawing at his back and digging her nails into his ass and her breasts are knocking his chin and he’s got to glaze those things one day but for now he simply feels too much. Feels the tacky softness in the cradle of her thighs, the knuckle of her toe on his tongue, the feel of her tit in his palm, the way her vagina hasn’t stopped milking him for minutes in her state of overstimulated state. It’s all these things but more so the promise of collapsing on a soft pair of homemade jugs that undoes him; he shudders and lurches, driving in harder than he should but he can’t help it, he jams himself deep and squeezes every muscle that can possibly force out another drop of ejaculate- and lets go. Spilling into the condom and feeling the warmth of her plush walls milking him dry.

When he collapses, there is a lush pair beneath his sweaty cheek and the beat of a faithful heart beneath, jackrabbiting in time with his own as she catches her breath from the best damn love making she’s ever known. It’s Julie, and he clings to her after, feeling himself shake apart in something close to weeping but without the tears.

Oddly, he somehow feels his body more in this moment of shaking lethargy than he did during the sex, each muscle tremoring and his heartbeat resounding places it shouldn’t and he knows for certain it wasn’t the drink, as his mind runs a rapid catalogue of his ailments and their possible causes -that is not impaired. Instead he is left with the crude likelihood of his body giving out, not enough food, not enough medicine, bones not put back right, emotions on fucking lockdown, last reserves of grit used up on that march. Now he can’t fuck his girl without shaking like he’s got some real special sorta weakness afterwards.

The only comfort is: he can feel Julie’s thigh still jumping beneath his hip, a mimicry of his shaken self.

Julie Jean can feel the shift. When the ear ringing daydream slowly ebbs into sticky bodies and labored breaths, boneless, sated flesh melded to each other, and for once there is no disgust or yearning for more to be found in her heart. This too, is perfect, just like the feeling of him striking deep inside and fast as violence at the end, just like the feel of his ass clenching beneath her ankle, just like the tickle of his mustache to her cheek as he buzzed her ear with the most gratifying groan she had ever heard. She finds herself wanting this part to last, too. And it does, he goes from boneless climax to shuddering atop her and she finds herself rubbing his broad, slick back on instinct. Like she would any creature needing her comforting, his jacket a soggy softness behind her and his weight a blanket atop. She pets him like she would Spangles, and the thought makes her smile.

“Shh sweet man, you’re alright. We’re going to patch you up just fine.” she whispers, and feels something suspiciously like tears or drool hit her collarbone, “A regimen of eggs and bacon and copious love making. We’ll have to crack a window, this room traps the smell like a cork. That’s the prescription. Doctors orders, don’t even try to wheedle your way out of it.” When she can feel his laugh vibrate her belly where his chest is pressed, she knows she’s winning against whatever dark place he’d gone. It makes her feel triumphant and giddy and- needed, really.

Which is a thrill: being needed after sex. Usually it’s a bundling up and out the door after her hole served its use. Usually it’s a tossed wet cloth if she’s lucky or a reminder that she’s welcome to the guest bed. But her hole has been utilized, has been ripped open and milked every drop her man had to offer her even if spilled into a condom and still he lays over her, face in her tits, and a hold that says he wishes they never have to let go.

Julie tightens her legs around Bucky, freeing her toe from his hold and wiggling it in amusement over his having put it in his mouth. It didn't seem strange at the time, but then again, none of Bucky’s expressions of desire ever did. And that’s why she knew they belonged together. “You’re going to be cooperative, yes?” she probes, a little breathless from his weight and her exertions but managing to poke at his ticklish side.

John for his part does his best to pull his act together. He never meant to lay the full weight of himself over Julie’s petite frame but it’s as if his bones have given in on him this time with his elbows refusing to bend, hips refusing to thrust, nerves that won’t stop their fucking shaking.

He shakes the way he did in the stalag, on that sorry excuse of a mattress with a thin blanket and an even thinner pillow. That one night it was negative degrees; the chattering of all their teeth keeping them up for the whole night until finally Bucky had had enough, ordering the men to heap together in groups of three or even four to increase body temperature. Gale and Bucky forcing a stubborn John Brady in between them because he was a hell of a pilot and a tough son of a bitch but a scrawny one at that.

Bucky thinks of letters he wrote to the luscious gal beneath him, with her glorious blondeness and her lush lips and perky tits now soft beneath his cheek, allowing him the privacy as he sniffles in between them. Thrown back to conversations with Buck, when Bucky had been aware he would never be who he was again and who he was now would be no use to any woman, let alone one as marvelous as Julie Jean who continued to believe the Major John Egan who wrote her existed somewhere in the skeletal remains of what the war had spit back.

“Useless,” is what he mutters into her heated skin instead, his eyes tracing the splotches on her chest. A year ago he would have made sure she was quivering beneath him, legs spasming around his hips and although Julie’s hole was pulsing around him still in aftershocks and every once in a while he felt her clit pulse against his pelvis, he was the one being wrapped around and held to her chest like a mother holding a newborn to her tit. “W‘kind of man am I if I can’t even be well enough to give my woman a good pounding?” He continues on, losing himself in the comparison he continues to draw in between the promises he made in the letters and his actions of the night.

Julie tightens her hold on him, pressing his face further into her bosom in the process and causing one of his nostrils to slide deeper, cutting off air supply but feeling confounded that Bucky thought she hadn’t been absolutely loved on, devoured, and destroyed in the best way under his touch tonight.

“ … will be of no fucking use to you, Jean. No fucking better than that coward of a fiancee you just cut off - ” she means to interject somewhere, to stop this farce and show him how wrong he is about himself but Julie’s been in the pit of these demons before. Knows the beliefs flow deeper than the words of anyone else and she feels her eyes burn as she withholds her tears, remembering how many nights she spent uttering words on how she would be no good, never enough for the likes of a man as brilliant and wonderful as John Egan. Only for him to be here now, his breath hot against her skin, tears drying on her breasts, and his shakes jolting her thinking those same thoughts about himself.

She’s never been more certain he is the one. Has never craved so deeply in her heart than in this moment to have Bucky’s love forever, to be held by him until God deems it to be time for her last breath.

She’s never prayed that she could outlive him before but she does now because she is certain she will never be able to live without him.

John Clarence Egan is her mind, her breath, her soul: for now and all eternity she will be of his belonging.

“To have these gems here, fuck Julie - these,” he runs his tongue alongside the swell of her breast, grunting as he dives his face between them. “ ‘kind of man am I, huh, to not be sliding in between this sweet pair right now? What’d I write to them huh? What did I promise them I’d do?” His hips thrust now but it’s weak and Julie thinks it involuntary but still it works in drawing a whimper from her.

“They’re yours sweet man,” she releases a watery laugh, a tear running down her cheek in protest at being withheld for so long. “Your knockers now, baby. They ain’t going anywhere.”

“They’re so fucking good to me. Been so good for me,” his desire is earnest now, awakening, she feels the swelling and hardening of him inside her. It’s still no easy feat for her body to adjust to the size of him hard again, her thighs spasming around him once more.

“Johnnnn,” she whines, can’t help herself, her body trying to mold itself to adjust to his large self inside her. “Yes, oh - fuck, yes.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” he warns, humping down into the mattress again but with no real tenacity, his body protesting against any and all of it even as his cock pulses and weeps for friction inside its safe, warm new home. “We’ve got tomorrow. We’ve got forever,” he complains, hips twitching even as his mind protests. He’s got to get up and get rid of the condom, he’s got to clean them up and make sure Julie Jean still has mobility but his mind and body protest action even as his penis betrays them and begs for more.

John curses, a fist coming down on the mattress.

“It’s okay, darling,” she consoles, a hand petting his hair back, “it’s - oh - we can rest now, baby.”

“Fuck,” he roars, feeling no more found than he was lost minutes ago. Desire heats his underbelly, hungry, but there’s no will he can find to chase it.

Julie’s at war herself, attempting to calm him even as she flutters and tightens around him. Her body not used to the size or girth but recognizing the love entering inside.

“We got so much time now, Bucky. So much to do.” Her mind races with ideas on how to relax him as he shakes on top of her, hands clenching her waist as his body refuses his need to take, take, take her. “Tell me about your mama, baby, and your sisters. Tell me what it’s going to be like when I meet them.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about them right now,” he warns, a sweaty, spasming mess on top of this beautiful, voluptuous girl who’s naked beneath him. With the jiggliest, softest pair he’s ever encountered pillowed beneath his head, the tightest hole fluttering around him and the prettiest whimpers filling his ears even as she tries to calm him. “Fuck, they’re gonna love you Julie Jean. Gonna see the way I worship you and thank you for bringing me home to them.”

She moans loudly, unable to help herself with the love and desire he showers her with. At a war between his body and mind because he can’t fathom not taking her, fresh out a prison camp and winning a war.

“I’m going to take you home to them, John. Going to go with you so we can make a home,” she bites her lip as he gives an unexpected hump, knowing her desire only fuels him, “but first, we have much work to do, my darling man. I’m gonna fill your stomach with only the best East Anglia has to offer, even if that means I got to ship it in,” she remembers their letters now, how he’d bow to her wishes and preen at her demands, always in charge but never any less eager to please her. Always willing to give her anything she asked for because that was the man he was and continued to be. “Going to force you to sleep for a month straight and only wake you for meal times and your favorite pastime.“

He moans again, mind straight to the gutter.

“Baseball. Isn’t that right?” She playfully hums, scratching her nails against his clammy skin.

Bucky folds like a kid, lurching and showing his face; which was smiling if beet red, much to her relief. “Course, ma’am.” he tries on a show of respect while still balls deep inside her with an erect penis and a gumming condom he really oughta dispose of. “Orders are orders.”

That made Julie Jean tingle in happiness. “And we both agreed that I’m the boss here. So my orders go.” She phased it like a question and Bucky bit his lip in renewed arousal, concession apparent in his general expression but rebellion brewing in his sharp eyes.

“Sure. You’re the boss then, shorty.” he agreed, dragging a finger along her neck, gentle and contemplative before his eyes flicked up, mirthful and wicked, “But I’m your daddy.”

Julie let out a gasping cry, shock and reprimand on her face and he didn’t need telling why, he felt when her little pussy spasmed around him, as shocking to her as it was to him. “Bucky!” she squealed, winded, “You can’t just- just go saying stuff like that I-i oh, dash it, now I’m horny again. Move please, baby move in me, this is your fault!”

Bucky cackled at her petulant little wiggle beneath him. “Baby I only got the one.” he referred to the condom, propping up to pull out and do some tidying of the scene.

“And yet you got me flustered. Now you won’t fix me. How’s that for taking orders?”

Bucky froze and stared down at her arch expression, her face more Lana at the moment than Julie with her playacting displeasure, but damn if it didn’t get him going all the same. “I- sure doll. Whatever you say doll.” he muttered, “What about-“

“We appreciate your conscientiousness, Major Egan,” she raised one hand to her face and began inspecting her nails, a tactic of dismissiveness he knew, and yet it had his cock swelling back up like it was half its length and belonging to a far healthier man, “and we recommend you continue it. We only need a little maintenance, please be so good as to dispose of that horrid little rubber and wipe yourself and come back. I said I only needed a little movement,” her grin broke wider, “and when that’s satisfactorily met, you can put it between these to finish-“ Julie pressed her milk white tits together and every connection in John’s brain fried and fizzled for a brief moment before reconnecting and he bounced out of the bed to set in action her game plan.

He yanked the condom off, more forcefully than his smarts might suggest -what with the way it snapped on his sensitive and hardening shaft and flung spunk along the wall above the waste basket. The stalag-man in him forgot to care for poor Donald and his housekeeper and ran instead to the small sink in the corner of the room by the closeted privy and grabbed at the hand towel and wet it before scrubbing himself vigorously like his spattered seed was a rash of fire ants. The rough treatment made him hiss but did nothing to dissuade his filling member and when he turned and stalked back towards the bed, it was with a face so darkened and determined that Julie felt a quake of desirable fear shoot through her.

It was magnified when he stopped at the end of the bed and instead of climbing atop her again, reached out and grabbed at her ankle instead, yanking her down the expanse of sheets until her legs dangled off the mattress and their hips collided. He was so tall above her like this, even with their most private places aligned and she shuddered as she realized she’d actually asked for him to take her again after such rough usage and such a desperate first attempt to even get him inside. They’d have to keep at it, keep her open and work to make her used to him. She supposed frequency was key and spread her legs again in defiance of the scared little voice that told her riding telephone poles wasn’t a pastime to over indulge in on the first night.

Damn fear. She spread her legs. Damn fear and damn all thought entirely, when he fucked back into her in practiced, measured pumps that sank him deeper each time and rubbed at the need that had built so suddenly at his words earlier. “You sounded- you sounded like your letters.” she tried to gasp out an explanation as Bucky put his standing leverage into his thrusts and smiled down at her from his height, hair hanging over his forehead, lookin’ like a dreamy novel cover.

“Ya sounded like yours.” he rasped back, the proof of it drilling her into the bed right now as he plunged again and again into her clenching belly and tugged apart her abused little hole.

When she came it was sudden and hard, and lest he torture he through it to another like last time, and lest he forget himself and let himself go inside her, she shoved him back with a foot to his sternum when the satisfaction had been fully wrung out, and this time he staggered back agreeably.

“Now for your reward.” she recalled as Bucky stood there, breathing raggedly himself and with his massive cock drooping in a bobbing wave, untended and without a haven, too heavy to curve up to his belly when standing. God it was impressive looking there in its lonesome glory, as impressive as the owner of the tool looked lost and dazed like a boy who needed to be led back home.

At the sight of her tits pressed together he seemed to recall himself. His face lit up and his eyes regained their sharp intelligence and he took a step forward before pausing and wheeling back to the sink. “Washcloth.” he explained, he hadn’t any intention or anticipation of being able to get back up to clean them both after this round. His body felt like it was operating on borrowed time as is. “Scootch up for daddy.” he tugged gently at her wrist until she was back in her proper spot in the center of the bed. “That’s it, that’s my good lil girl.” he murmured before carefully climbing over her, like a beast from the fairytale where to cherish his beauty in this way, all lumbering tenderness and brute strength restrained for her sake.

John’s thick thighs bracketed either side of her tiny rib cage, the ghost of his weight felt along her sternum as he kept himself off her, the burning heat emitting from the most sheltered place of his body.

“That’s it dearest, push ‘em together, nice and tight f’me. Goddamn, that’s it, baby, jus’like that. Uhuh.”

She had wanted to give him this since he wanted it so dearly, and asked for it so worshipfully, and came up with an entire darling acronym for the act, but she hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. The crowded, loomed over, helpless little joy of Bucky Egan crouched above her heart, gripping the throbbing base of his cock and poking his length through the tunnel of her breasts.

That she hadn’t anticipated. It made her moan as loudly as he did at the first give of her butter-soft flesh.

When he pushed out the other side of her little tunnel, his goey plum tip tapped her chin and she giggled in delight, feeling the cool wake of his sputter on her chin when he withdrew, then thrust back and there it was again- a tap to her chin. She was ready on the third thrust, when his leaking tip breached through the other side, she dipped her chin and stuck her tongue out, getting a good lick at the salty precum that gushed from his deep slit.

She had been ready but Bucky had not, he had stared at this dream scene when he first slid between them, but then the sight combined with the sensation grew too strong and he threw his head back, eyes screwed shut and lungs close to collapsing, so that he no warning when he felt her clever tongue dip into his sensitive slit and lap at his oozing tip.

It undid him, quicker than even he expected and with a hoarse cry that mingled praise and apology for what was about to occur, Bucky painted her pretty face in ropes of sticky hot ejacuculate, the last reserve of his body, looking like ticker tape streamers of celebration, landing in shiny streaks across her nose and eyes, scrunched in celebratory delight. The puff of pleased shock her shiny lips let out was the final pop of merrymaking, chased by the visual of her eyes tight shut to keep out his salty spend but her wild tongue chased the dripping mess running down on her cheeks, eager for a final taste of him. He wanted to laugh at the thought that she was chasing the last bitter, year old stores of a ill fed prisoner, that he’d have better and sweeter and more fitting cream to give in the morning. But for now…

Welcome Fucking Back, Bucky Egan.

He collapsed to the side and smacked at the bedside table in a blind grab until he found the washcloth, rolling over on his belly and hissing as he did so at the scratch of sheets against his raw cock. “C’mere, lemme clean up my baby doll. Hell Julie, that was-“ he didn’t have words for it, she deserved them but he didn’t, not really. “-have to write you about it sometime.” he realized and she giggled, eyes opening as he wiped away his sticky glaze, and when he did, they met his: blue and dazzling and trusting that he would.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Johnny Egan.” she murmured. “But you won’t need postage. You’ll be right in the other room.”

Bucky squeezed her cheeks together emphatically in one hand, pressing his lips to hers as their worn out bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces in the churned sheets, “No postage,” he agreed soberly, his nose still brushing hers, “cause I’ll write it on your thighs.”

[tinythebunni]

thinking about dexter who takes you on one of his “hunts” and lets you see who he is fully! lets you see his dark passenger!

🍭🫧🩷🐬

“you can’t make a noise bun. i get you think this is fun but it’s not a game. this urge i have, i do this so i can control it. do you understand me?”

you nod, biting ur lip and batting ur pretty mink lashes. you’re barely listening by da time he’s finished his speile and honestly you’re so horny by how demanding he sound you can’t even fully process it!

you guys met almost a year ago, being introduced by Angel! you went to school with his sister and she loved you so much she took you on her babysitting trips! he came home to you letting Harrison, or H.R as you call him, paint your nails and giggle about girls at school!

Dexter was mesmerized by you. the glossy hair, your brown skin, the dark gleam in your eye paired with the innocence you seemed to possess. he couldn’t get enough.

“i need words. not nods, words. ‘m already taking a risk with you even knowing. you gotta tell me this is okay.” he whispered, his left thumb and forefinger pinching your chin.

“mhm Dex! this is perfectly fine! i’ll be quiet! like a mouse!! won’t even know m here. i pinky promise on my perky tits!” you beamed up at him.

he doubted you could even keep quiet for ten minutes, but the excited expression you wore made it hard to say no.

an hour later and a whole lot of plastic later, you were sat on a counter swinging your legs while Dex circled his next victim, waiting for him to wake up.

he felt the anticipation under his skin, paired with the slight annoyance from hearing your nails click-clack on your phone. your bedazzled phone might he add, that he bought for you after he broke your old one stalking someone. how sweet of him!

eventually the loser woke up and the ritual began. Dex cutting his cheek for the blood slide, showing the killer his victims, and then the kill.

with the knife pointed above his victim and the dark gleam in his eye, he got ready to end his life. but then, the slight whimper that left your mouth mad whim pause. he glanced over at you and saw your thighs clenched and eyes hazy.

wait, were you getting off on this? he smiled a little bit. it was nice. someone you could deal with his dark passenger and his facade. he wanted to take care of you, to make his babydoll feel good. but he had to take care of this man. this scum of the earth.

he was gaining movement in his legs again, so dexter had to act fast. “not so fast doc.” he growled out, still looking at you.

he plunged the knife into his chest and watched as your hands clung to the counter and you bit your lip. holy shit, you really were horny from him killing someone.

his perfect girl. he was so, so grateful for you.

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Thirty Two: Merry Fucking Christmas SS: 17 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 6.8K Content Warnings: Minyun fluffiness, sex talk, lots of graphic sex details, thoughts of relapse, implied sex Previous Next Masterlist

The living room is a cosy chaos of mismatched wrapping paper, soft pyjamas, and the warm glow of the Christmas tree. Minho is lounging on the couch, his arm casually draped over Hayun’s waist as she sits sideways on his lap. She’s clutching a steaming mug of coffee, her hair tied in a loose bun, looking completely at ease.

Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung are sprawled out on the floor and other seats, surrounded by their piles of gifts, laughing and bantering as they dig through their stockings and presents.

Hayun glances at the clock and sighs. “Hold up,” she says, setting her coffee on the table. She untangles herself from Minho’s lap, much to his displeasure, and heads to the kitchen. “I need to preheat the oven. If the roast isn’t perfect, I’ll cry.”

Minho stretches, watching her leave with a small smile. “You’d cry over a roast, but not a death threat? Makes sense.”

“Priorities, Minho,” Hayun calls back with a laugh.

When she returns, she’s immediately pulled back into Minho’s lap. He wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re not allowed to move again,” he says, mock-serious.

“Possessive much?” she teases, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Damn right,” Minho replies, smirking.

Felix claps his hands together, his face lighting up. “Okay, who’s first? Let’s fucking do this.”

“Let Felix open his shit first,” Jisung says, nudging him with his foot. “We know he’s gonna have the best reactions.”

Felix grins, grabbing the first box with his name scrawled messily on it in Jisung’s handwriting. He rips the wrapping open to reveal a pair of sparkling Swarovski earrings. His jaw drops. “No fucking way!” he exclaims, holding them up to the light. “Jisung, you absolute legend.”

Jisung winks. “Knew you’d love them. You’ve been eyeing that shit for months. Figured it was time to treat you so you'll stop drooling on your laptop screen.”

Felix tackles him in a hug, nearly knocking over Jisung’s coffee. “You’re the best, dude. Seriously.”

Next, Felix grabs a neat, perfectly wrapped package with Jeongin’s name on it. “Wow, the wrapping alone screams not Jisung,” Felix jokes as he opens it. Inside are two hoodies he’s been obsessing over online. “Jeongin, what the fuck? These are the exact ones I wanted!”

Jeongin shrugs, a sly grin on his face. “I pay attention. Sometimes. Merry Christmas.”

Felix beams, hugging Jeongin tightly before moving on to Hayun’s gift. The wrapping is pristine, complete with a glittering bow. “I already know this is going to be amazing,” Felix says as he carefully unwraps it. Inside is a complete baking set, from high-end mixing bowls to silicone spatulas and cookie cutters. “Hayun! Holy shit! This is perfect.”

Hayun smiles. “I figured you’d put it to good use.”

“I’m baking for the rest of my life because of this,” Felix declares, hugging her tightly. He finally grabs Minho’s gift: a gaming store card. “Classic Minho,” Felix teases. “But honestly? Love it. Thanks, man.”

Minho smirks. “Knew you’d prefer that over me trying to guess what game you want.”

Jisung tears into his first gift, a sleek new laptop from Felix. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “This is- Felix, you didn’t have to-”

“Shut up,” Felix interrupts, grinning. “You needed it for editing. Merry Christmas.”

Next, Jisung opens Hayun’s present: a pair of high-quality headphones. “Hayun, these are fucking perfect,” he says, pulling them out of the box. “I’ve been needing new ones for, like, years.”

“Well, now you don’t have an excuse to complain about bad sound anymore,” Hayun teases.

When Jisung opens Minho’s gift, he bursts into laughter. It’s a book titled How to Ask Out Your Crush for Dummies. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Jisung says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Minho high-fives him. “Merry Christmas, loser.”

Jeongin’s gift is a new microphone, sleek and professional. “This is for me as much as it is you,” Jeongin says, rolling his eyes. “I’m tired of editing podcast episodes and having you rerecord lines because your fucking mic is a heap of shit. Felix and Hayun picked good mics. You picked a shit one. So, you’re welcome.”

Jisung mock-glares. “I hate you, but thank you.”

Jeongin’s turn comes, and everyone bursts out laughing as he opens his gifts. A stack of gift vouchers from every single person because he is notoriously picky about his gifts. “Fucking predictable,” he mutters, but there’s a small smile on his face. “You guys know me too well.”

Minho’s first gift is from Jisung: another copy of How to Ask Out Your Crush for Dummies. They high-five again, both cackling. “We’re assholes,” Jisung says proudly.

From Hayun, Minho opens a sleek silver watch, his eyes widening. “Hayun, this is fucking stunning,” he says, slipping it onto his wrist.

“You deserve it,” Hayun says simply, her smile soft.

Felix’s gift to Minho is a British recipe cookbook. “You’re welcome,” Felix says with a grin.

Minho nods approvingly. “Fair enough. I’ll master this shit.”

Jeongin’s gift is an Aristocats sweater. Minho laughs out loud, immediately pulling it over his head. “Okay, this? I love it,” he says.

Finally, it’s Hayun’s turn. She opens Jisung’s gift first: a self-defence key ring with multiple tools. “This is actually really thoughtful,” Hayun says, her voice soft.

Jisung grins. “Gotta keep you safe, Mrs. Claus. Speaking of-” He hands her another gift, and she pulls out a sleeveless red dress with white fur trim. “You’re wearing that today,” Jisung says firmly. “Go full Mrs. Claus or I’ll riot.”

Hayun laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous, but fine.”

Felix’s gift is a pair of new AirPods. “Perfect,” Hayun says, hugging him. “You’re the best, Lix.”

Jeongin’s gift is a paid-for spa day for two. “You need to relax,” Jeongin says simply.

“Thank you, Innie. This is amazing,” Hayun says, hugging him.

Finally, Minho hands her a small, elegantly wrapped box. She opens it carefully, revealing a silver ring with an aquamarine stone. Her breath catches. “Minho,” she says softly, looking up at him.

“It’s your birthstone,” he says, his voice low. “I figured it’d suit you.”

Hayun slides the ring onto her finger. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

The morning winds down as Hayun checks her phone. “Chan and the others will be here at twelve,” she announces. “We should all get ready. It’s all hands on deck for the Christmas roast.”

Jisung groans. “Hyunjin wanted to know if there’ll be any Korean food today?”

“For lunch, it’s the roast,” Hayun says, glancing at Minho. “And Minho’s making Korean food tonight, right?”

Minho nods. “Tteok guk, sweet potato noodles, beef bulgogi, japchae—the works.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jisung says, fist-pumping.

Hayun smiles warmly as she sips her coffee. “Merry Fucking Christmas, guys.”

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” everyone echoes, laughter and warmth filling the room.

Hayun and Minho step into her room, the soft morning light filtering through her curtains, casting a warm glow over the space. Her vanity is cluttered but organized, an array of makeup brushes, palettes, and skincare products arranged in neat chaos. Minho flops onto her bed, still in Jeongin’s Aristocats sweater, grinning at her as she settles into the vanity chair.

Hayun grabs a cleansing wipe, running it over her face. “You sticking with the sweater?” she teases, glancing at him through the mirror.

“Damn right,” Minho replies, tugging at the hem of it. “This shit’s amazing. But I’m not wearing pyjama pants all day. I have standards.”

Hayun chuckles, tossing the used wipe into the trash before reaching for her foundation. “Standards? You? In that sweater?”

Minho props himself up on his elbows, watching as she dabs foundation onto her skin. “Don’t knock it, princess. I look good in this. Besides, you should be grateful. I’m tolerating all this holiday chaos for you.”

She smirks, blending her makeup. “Oh, so noble of you. Truly, a martyr.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” Minho quips, stretching out on her bed.

Hayun moves onto her eyeliner, leaning closer to the mirror as she carefully draws a sharp wing. “You’re doing a great job, Min,” she says dryly.

Minho sits up, grinning. “Damn right, I am. Now hurry up, I want to see this Mrs Claus dress Jisung got you”

Hayun rolls her eyes but finishes her makeup quickly, applying silver and white eyeshadow with precise strokes. A coat of mascara follows, her lashes curling up perfectly. She dusts on a bit of highlighter and lip gloss, then swivels in her chair to face him. “Ta-da.”

“Beautiful,” Minho says simply, his tone softening. Then he smirks. “But let’s see the dress.”

Hayun stands, slipping off her silk robe, revealing her white lace bra and underwear. Minho’s gaze immediately sharpens, his smirk growing. “Well, Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

“Shut up,” Hayun says as she grabs the dress. She pulls it over her head, the sleeveless red fabric fitting snugly, the white fur trim brushing against her shoulders and thighs. She adjusts the black belt with the oversized buckle, smoothing the fabric over her hips.

Minho whistles low. “You’re actually pulling off the Mrs. Claus look. Impressive.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Hayun laughs, bending over to rummage through her sock drawer.

Minho’s eyes flick to her and then quickly away. “Hayun,” he says, his voice taking on a teasing edge.

She turns, a pair of white fluffy socks in her hand, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Minho is holding a sprig of mistletoe above his head, grinning. “Let me kiss my girlfriend under the mistletoe.”

Hayun’s eyes narrow playfully. “Girlfriend? You still haven’t watched Harry Potter.”

“I will,” Minho counters, his grin widening. “You know I will.”

“Then ask me properly,” Hayun challenges, crossing her arms.

Minho scoffs, but his tone is light. “Me giving you that expensive-ass ring that’s sitting on your finger wasn’t enough?”

Hayun leans back in her chair, tilting her head. “I don’t recall you actually asking.”

Minho groans, clearly dramatic for effect. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Jang Hayun, I’m just a guy, standing before a girl-”

“Are you being serious?” Hayun interrupts, laughing.

Minho laughs too, lowering the mistletoe. “Okay, okay. Seriously this time.” He takes a breath, his expression softening as he looks at her. “Jang Hayun, will you be my girlfriend?”

Hayun tilts her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm... let me think about it.”

“Seriously?” Minho exclaims, his voice rising an octave.

She smiles, leaning forward, and Minho takes the opportunity to kiss her, holding the mistletoe above their heads. The kiss is soft but lingering, his free hand resting on her waist as he pulls her closer. When they break apart, he rests his forehead against hers, smirking. “So, is that a yes?”

“Obviously,” Hayun murmurs, her voice light and full of warmth.

Minho pulls back slightly, his expression shifting to something more mischievous. “You need to wear safety shorts with that dress, though.”

“What?” Hayun asks, confused.

“You bent over, and-” Minho gestures vaguely, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Hayun groans, rolling her eyes as she grabs a pair of hotpants from her drawer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m practical,” Minho says, leaning back against her bedframe. “Actually, you probably just shouldn’t bend over at all.”

“Noted,” Hayun mutters, pulling on the hotpants under her dress.

Minho watches her, a smug grin on his face. “Good. Crisis averted.”

She shakes her head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you fucking love it,” Minho counters, standing and adjusting his sweater. He swaps his pyjama pants for black cargos, then holds out a hand to her. “Come on, Mrs. Claus. Let’s go play host.”

Hayun takes his hand, her smile warm and genuine. “Let’s go, Grinch.”

The living room is filled with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, the table groaning under the weight of the Christmas roast. Hayun flits between the kitchen and the dining area, making sure everything is perfect.

Plates are piled high with turkey, chicken, beef, gammon, and an assortment of perfectly roasted vegetables. The gravy boats sit strategically placed among bowls of stuffing, cranberry sauce, and Yorkshire puddings.

Changbin takes one look at the spread and practically moans. “This,” he declares, waving a fork dramatically, “is fucking heaven. Hayun, thank god for your Western influence.”

Hayun laughs as she takes her seat, raising her wine glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to Etta. May she thrive in hell and entertain Satan.”

Jisung cackles, raising his glass as well. “Oh, I miss Etta. She was your best foster parent, hands down.”

“She was a hot fucking mess,” Hayun agrees, clinking her glass against Jisung’s. “But she knew how to roast a chicken.”

“Roast a chicken?” Minho repeats, smirking. “I feel like she could roast a soul.”

“She probably did,” Felix chimes in, pouring himself another glass of wine. “But at least the food was good.”

As everyone digs into the feast, the atmosphere becomes warm and relaxed. Hyunjin is delicately slicing his turkey while Jisung is halfway through his second helping of gammon. Jeongin is buttering his fourth roll when Chan leans back in his chair with a mischievous grin.

“Alright,” Chan says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Let’s spice things up. Who has the most embarrassing sex story?”

There’s a beat of silence, then Felix snickers. “Oh, this is about to get wild.”

Jisung doesn’t even hesitate, raising his hand like a student in class. “Okay, okay, I’ll go first. So, I was giving this guy head, right? Things are going great, he’s about to come, and then- Bam! He fucking cums in my eye. I’m stumbling around half-blind, tears streaming down my face, trying not to scream.”

The table erupts into laughter. Hayun nearly chokes on her wine, and Hyunjin is laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach.

“That’s horrifying,” Seungmin manages to get out between laughs. “Did it, like, burn?”

“Like acid,” Jisung says dramatically. “I swear I saw god for a second.”

Hyunjin wipes his eyes, grinning. “Alright, my turn. I hooked up with this guy, super hot, right? But halfway through, he fucking farts. Loud as hell. And I didn’t stop him. I just held my nose and let him keep going.”

Jeongin groans, burying his face in his hands. “Hyunjin, no.”

“Yes!” Hyunjin says, throwing his hands up. “Because I’m a fucking trooper.”

The laughter only gets louder. Felix shakes his head, raising his hand. “Okay, okay, I have one. So, I’m in this threesome, guy, girl, you know the vibe. The girl’s on her back, and the guy’s railing me in doggy style. But the girl starts queefing, and guess who has to fix it? Me. I’m fingering the air out of her while getting railed. It was like a fucking symphony.”

Everyone loses it. Jisung actually falls off his chair, wheezing. Hayun is covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face, and Minho just shakes his head, laughing. “Felix, what the fuck.”

Felix grins, completely unbothered. “Hey, I was multitasking. That’s talent.”

“Alright, my turn,” Chan cuts in, raising his glass. “So, a guy was sucking me off, right? And he gagged so hard he nearly vomited.”

There’s a collective gasp of horror, and everyone’s eyes immediately snap to Jeongin, who takes a long sip of his wine. “I struggled to relax my throat that day,” Jeongin admits, deadpan.

Chan pats his shoulder, laughing. “It’s alright, Innie. If you’d actually vomited, then it would’ve been awkward.”

“Fucking hell,” Changbin mutters, shaking his head. “That’s brutal.”

Seungmin clears his throat. “Okay, my turn. I was with this girl, and she kept trying to wear a tail butt plug in bed. Like, a fox tail or some shit. I didn’t know what to do when I saw her with it in.”

“Did you pull it out?” Hyunjin asks, wide-eyed.

“No,” Seungmin says, his tone dry. “I just stared at it for, like, a solid minute before pretending I didn’t see anything.”

Jisung turns to Hayun, grinning wickedly. “Oh, Yunnieee. Your turn.”

Hayun immediately starts reading the wine label in her hand, avoiding his gaze. Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, come on, Yunnie,” Jisung presses. “Tell them the handcuff story.”

“Handcuffs?” Minho repeats, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Hayun.

Jisung smirks, leaning back in his chair. “So, once upon a time, our dear Yunnie brought home a guy from the club. Ugly as fuck, but hey, who am I to judge? Anyway, they get freaky, and then I hear her shouting for me. I grab my bat because I think this guy’s hurting her. Felix comes out with a deodorant and a lighter, and Jeongin’s holding a brick.”

Felix nods, laughing. “True story.”

“We burst in,” Jisung continues, “only to find Yunnie handcuffed to the headboard. The guy fucking lost the key. So, there we are, on our hands and knees, trying to find this damn key.”

“It was hilarious,” Felix adds, grinning.

Minho looks at Hayun, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Princess, you’ve got layers. Handcuffs?”

Hayun drains her wine glass, glaring at Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin. “We swore to forget that, assholes.”

Changbin chuckles, raising his hand. “Alright, I’ve got one. I was with this guy, and he asked me to pick him up mid-fuck. So, I did. Then I got a cramp and dropped him.”

The laughter is deafening. Felix is clutching his sides, tears streaming down his face. “Oh my god, Changbin, no!”

Finally, everyone looks at Minho. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I was with this girl, and we decided to try anal. She farted during the prep, and I couldn’t get hard around her ever again.”

The room erupts. Even Hayun is laughing, her cheeks red as she leans against Minho. “Oh my god, Min,” she says, giggling. “That’s awful.”

“Tell me about it,” Minho mutters, pouring himself another glass of wine.

By unanimous vote, Felix is declared the winner. Everyone raises their glasses, grinning. “To Felix,” Chan announces. “King of awkward fucking sex.”

Felix lifts his glass with a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. It’s a hard crown to wear, but someone’s gotta do it.”

Plates are steadily being emptied, though Felix is still eyeing a second helping of gammon while Changbin holds court over the mashed potatoes. Minho sits beside Hayun, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair as they sip from their wine glasses.

“So, Princess,” Minho starts, his voice dripping with amusement, “handcuffs, huh? Should I be worried, or is that your way of hinting at something for our next date?”

Hayun, ever composed, smiles sweetly and looks up at him through her lashes. “Why, Minho,” she says, her tone innocent and lilting, “are you saying you’re interested in tying me up?”

Minho groans softly, covering his face for a moment as laughter erupts around the table. “Don’t do that,” he mutters, his voice low and strained. “That fucking look. It’s criminal.”

“What look?” Hayun teases, feigning ignorance as she takes a delicate sip of her wine. “I’m just sitting here, minding my business.”

“Bullshit,” Minho counters, narrowing his eyes at her. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Jesus, Hayun. Do you have to be this much of a menace?”

Hayun tilts her head, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Min,” she starts, her tone dripping with faux-curiosity, “do you have a corruption kink?”

The table collectively groans with laughter, and Jisung practically wheezes as he smacks the table. “Oh, she’s got you, dude. Fucking checkmate.”

Minho hums, taking a long sip of his wine as he considers her. “You know what? Maybe I do. Wanna test it?”

Hayun giggles into her glass, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head, but there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.

“You love it,” Minho shoots back, smirking. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur just for her. “And for the record, if I’m the one using the handcuffs, you’re not calling for Jisung to save you.”

Hayun nearly chokes on her wine, laughing as she bats at his chest. “Minho, you can’t just say shit like that!”

“Can and will,” he replies, grinning. “You should know that by now.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the table is deep in a new round of teasing. Jisung, emboldened by wine and chaos, is zeroed in on Hyunjin. “So, let me get this straight,” Jisung says, leaning his chin on his hand. “Guy farts during sex, and your response is to just keep going like nothing happened? That’s commitment.”

Hyunjin flushes, rolling his eyes as he stabs at a piece of turkey. “What was I supposed to do, stop? It’s not like there’s a manual for that situation.”

“Stop?” Jisung repeats, feigning horror. “Yes, Hyunjin, stopping is exactly what you do when someone farts mid-fuck. You’re not a goddamn priest absolving him of his sins.”

Hyunjin glares at Jisung, though there’s no heat behind it. “Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Jizz-in-the-Eye.”

The table erupts again, Chan nearly spilling his drink as he doubles over in laughter. “Alright, big guy,” Jisung locks in on Chan, his grin returning. “Let’s hear about your perfect sex life. What’s it like being the patron saint of blowjobs?”

Chan leans back, smirking as he rests an arm on the back of Jeongin’s chair. “Ask Innie,” he says smoothly, earning a loud, disbelieving laugh from the rest of the group.

Jeongin groans, covering his face with one hand. “Why do you insist on dragging me into this?” he mutters, though the corners of his lips twitch upward.

“You dragged yourself in when you didn’t relax your throat,” Chan teases, nudging Jeongin playfully. “It’s a team effort, baby.”

Jeongin sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Fine, I’ll work on my form. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Chan says, his grin widening.

Seungmin, who’s been quietly sipping his wine, raises an eyebrow at the exchange. “You two are disgusting,” he says dryly. “And that’s coming from someone who once had to pretend a fox tail wasn’t a giant red flag.”

Hayun laughs, leaning into Minho’s side. “This table is chaos,” she says softly, shaking her head.

“And you love it,” Minho murmurs, kissing the top of her head.

Jisung, ever the instigator, turns his attention back to Hayun and Minho. “Alright, lovebirds. You’ve been weirdly quiet. Something you wanna share?”

“Not a thing,” Hayun says quickly, her cheeks turning pink.

Minho smirks, glancing down at her. “Oh, we’ve got plenty to share,” he teases. “But I don’t think you’re ready for it.”

“Fucking spill,” Jisung demands, leaning forward eagerly.

“Maybe later,” Minho says smoothly, raising his glass in a mock toast. “For now, let’s focus on what’s important: Hyunjin’s inability to stop mid-fart.”

“Fuck you, Minho,” Hyunjin groans, though he’s laughing as he flips him off.

Felix frowns and glances around the room. “Hold up,” he says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Everyone’s here, right? That makes nine of us.”

“Yeah, why?” Changbin asks, raising an eyebrow.

Felix points toward the hallway. “So who the fuck just knocked on the door?”

The room falls quiet, and Hayun stands, smoothing her dress. “I’ll check. Probably just a neighbour or something,” she says lightly, leaving the dining room.

She heads down the hall to the front door, the soft hum of conversation picking back up behind her. When she opens the door, there’s no one there.

Just a small package sitting neatly on the welcome mat. Her name is written in neat, cursive handwriting across the top. A chill runs down her spine, and she glances up and down the quiet street before picking it up.

Back in the kitchen, Hayun sets the package on the counter and grabs a knife to cut it open. Inside, there’s a small note resting on top of a smaller box. She unfolds the note, her heart sinking as she reads:

Happy Christmas, from a friend x

Hayun’s hands tremble as she opens the box inside. Two bottles of oxycodone sit nestled within. Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s tilting.

“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath, staring at the pills. It’s been over a month since Minho helped her get clean, but the sight of the pills stirs something deep and ugly inside her. She clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fights the urge.

The kitchen door swings open, and Chan steps in. He freezes when he sees the look on her face. “Hayun? What’s going on?”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and glassy. Wordlessly, she gestures toward the open box. Chan steps closer and peers inside, his jaw tightening. He sucks in a sharp breath, then quickly wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mutters, closing the box and holding it tightly. “Hayun, who sent this? Did you-”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice shaking. “But I nearly did. I was just... I don’t know, Chan. After the doll at the college, and now this... I can’t—” She cuts herself off, taking a deep, shaky breath.

Chan squeezes her shoulder gently. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll deal with this. But we’re not telling anyone else right now. They’ll freak, and it’s Christmas. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

Hayun nods, biting her lip. She pulls open a drawer and takes out a pack of cigarettes. Chan raises an eyebrow. “You smoke?” he asks, his voice laced with surprise.

Hayun shrugs, already pulling one out and lighting it. “Only when I’m really fucking stressed,” she says, taking a deep drag. She opens the kitchen window and perches on the counter, blowing smoke out into the cold air. “Like right now.”

From the dining room, Jisung’s voice carries through dramatically. “Hayun! Did you burn the crumble? Is that why you’re smoking?”

Hayun leans back, exhaling a stream of smoke. “No, Ji! Just needed a cigarette.”

That sets off a chorus of voices from the dining room. Changbin’s incredulous tone cuts through first. “You smoke?”

Hyunjin is right behind him. “Since when?”

Seungmin’s dry voice adds, “I thought she was too pretty for that.”

Minho steps into the kitchen just as Chan discreetly grabs the box and shoves it into his backpack. “Gimme one, Princess,” he says, his smirk lazy but warm. “Guess it’s time to come clean. I’ve been hiding my vice from you. I spray air freshener in my car every time I pick you up.”

Hayun laughs softly, tossing him the pack and her lighter. “Should’ve known you weren’t perfect,” she teases.

Minho catches them easily, lighting a cigarette. He takes a long drag, exhaling with a sigh. “Nope. Just very, very close.”

Hayun rolls her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

Chan shakes his head, glancing between them. “You two are unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

Minho smirks, leaning closer to Hayun. “So, Princess, what else are you hiding? Got any other surprises up your sleeve?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Hayun replies, her tone light despite the storm still brewing in her chest. She takes another drag, blowing the smoke out the window as the faint sounds of laughter drift in from the dining room.

Minho and Hayun flick their cigarette stubs out the window, the glowing embers disappearing into the night. Minho turns back to her, leaning against the counter with a mischievous smirk. His eyes trace the red dress, the fur trim framing her shoulders and neckline, his gaze simmering with something unspoken.

“You in this dress,” Minho murmurs, stepping forward until he’s standing between her legs. His hands rest on either side of her hips, his presence warm and electric.

Hayun tilts her head, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Do you actually have a corruption kink?” she asks, her voice light but curious.

Minho nods without hesitation, his eyes darkening slightly. “You have no idea, Princess. I wanna do things to you that’ll earn us a permanent spot on the naughty list.”

Hayun giggles, her cheeks flushing as she playfully nudges his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not joking,” Minho counters, his voice dropping lower, the smirk on his lips replaced by something more intense. “I’m serious, Hayun. You’re fucking stunning in this dress, and it’s killing me.”

Her laughter softens, replaced by a warmth in her chest she doesn’t quite know how to describe. Before she can respond, Jisung’s voice echoes loudly from the dining room. “Where’s the crumble?!”

Hayun sighs, rolling her eyes as she gently pushes Minho back. “Duty calls,” she says, hopping down from the counter. “Pull the crumble out of the oven for me?”

Minho groans theatrically but obliges, grabbing an oven mitt and retrieving the bubbling apple crumble. The warm, sweet scent fills the kitchen as he sets it down on the counter. Meanwhile, Hayun pulls out a saucepan and starts whisking eggs, sugar, and milk together to make custard from scratch.

As she works, Minho grabs a bowl and starts whipping cream with a whisk, his arm moving rhythmically. “A sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar?” he asks, glancing at her for confirmation.

“Exactly,” Hayun replies, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

Minho smirks, sprinkling the ingredients into the cream and continuing to whip. “What if we saved some of this cream for later?” he asks, his tone laced with suggestion.

“Oh?” Hayun hums, not looking up from the custard. “What for?”

Minho leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Princess?”

Hayun laughs, shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

Minho dips his finger into the cream, gathering a dollop before swiping it lightly across Hayun’s lips. “You missed a spot,” he murmurs before leaning in and kissing her, his lips warm and soft against hers, the sweetness of the cream lingering between them.

Hayun smiles into the kiss, letting it linger before she pulls back slightly. “You’re trouble,” she says softly, her eyes glinting.

“Only for you,” Minho replies, brushing his nose against hers with a grin.

The moment is abruptly interrupted as Jisung barges into the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Ewwwwww!” he exclaims dramatically, pointing at them like a kid catching their parents kissing. “Guys, they’re making out!”

Minho pulls back reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah? So?”

Jisung scowls, scrunching his nose. “It’s gross! Don’t do that where we eat!”

Minho smirks, turning back to Hayun. “I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”

Jisung freezes, his jaw dropping. “Girlfriend?! Oh fucking finally!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Took you two long enough!”

Hayun giggles, her cheeks flushing as she stirs the custard. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “Oh, it was. You two have been eye-fucking each other for months and doing all this Georgian Courting bullshit. The sexual tension was unbearable.”

Minho chuckles, leaning back against the counter. “You’re just mad it didn’t happen on your schedule, Ji.”

“Damn right I am,” Jisung huffs. “But seriously, congrats. Now get back to work; we’re all hungry as fuck out there.” He points dramatically at the crumble. “And don’t ruin the dessert with your horny vibes.”

Hayun laughs, shooing him out of the kitchen. “We’re almost done! Go sit down.”

Jisung leaves with a grumble, and Minho leans closer to Hayun again, a grin tugging at his lips. “You know, I don’t think we should let him off so easy. What do you say we feed him last?”

Hayun rolls her eyes playfully. “Be nice. It’s Christmas.”

Minho sighs dramatically, grabbing the whipped cream and placing it next to the crumble. “Fine. But only because it’s you, Princess.”

The evening settles into chaos as Minho takes over the kitchen, his usual teasing smirk replaced by an intense, no-nonsense demeanour. Pots clatter, and the savoury aromas of tteok guk, japchae, and manduguk waft through the house, but it’s hard to enjoy the mouthwatering scents over the constant barrage of Minho’s booming voice.

“Hyunjin, that’s fucking raw! Do I look like I want to kill everyone with undercooked meat?!” Minho shouts, his voice echoing through the house. "Chan what the fuck is that?!"

"How is this my fault?!”

“Because you’re holding the fucking knife, you idiot!” Minho snaps back.

From the safety of the living room, Hayun, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin sit curled up with glasses of wine, laughing as they listen to the chaos. Hayun takes a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You three should probably go save your boyfriends.”

The statement lands like a grenade. Jisung chokes on his drink, Felix nearly spills his wine, and Jeongin gapes at her, wide-eyed.

“Hyunjin isn’t-” Jisung starts.

“Changbin isn’t-” Felix stammers.

“Chan isn’t-” Jeongin adds, his voice high-pitched.

Hayun grins, raising her glass. “But you all knew exactly who I meant for each of you.”

Jisung throws a hand in the air, indignant. “She gets a boyfriend and suddenly thinks she’s better than us.”

“Hyunjin, if you don’t stop fucking up those noodles, I’m going to strangle you with them! Chan, where’s the sesame oil?! Oh my god, Changbin, are you sautéing onions or murdering them?!”

Hyunjin’s voice cracks as he cries out, “Hayun, please help us!”

There’s a pause, and then Chan joins in. “Hayun, suck his dick or something! He might calm down!”

Changbin chimes in with a desperate edge, “Yes, please! Let him fuck you! Do whatever it takes to save us!”

Hayun sets her wine down and calls out sweetly, “Minho!”

A moment later, Minho pokes his head into the living room, his hair slightly mussed and his expression darkly amused. “Yes, Princess?”

Hayun gives him a mock serious look. “We’d prefer not to taste Hyunjin’s tears in our food, so maybe tone it down?”

Minho sighs dramatically, nodding. “Got it.” He ducks back into the kitchen and yells, “Hyunjin, stop fucking crying!”

Hayun shakes her head with a grin. “I tried.”

From the kitchen, Chan’s voice bellows, “No, you fucking didn’t! Suck his dick!”

Hayun rolls her eyes. “Minho, be nice!”

Minho’s tone turns mockingly gentle. “Oh, Hyunjin, you poor thing, don’t cry”

“Hayun, marry me!” A loud smack echoes through the kitchen, followed by Hyunjin’s dramatic whining. “He hit me!”

Changbin’s voice rises above the chaos. “Hayun, for fuck’s sake, help us!”

Hayun sighs dramatically but can’t help the smile playing on her lips. “Alright, alright, I’m coming to rescue you poor souls.”

She walks into the kitchen, her dress swishing slightly as she moves. The sight of Minho standing like a general in the middle of the culinary battlefield is almost comical. Seungmin calmly stirs a pot, looking entirely unbothered as Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin appear moments away from mutiny.

Minho spots Hayun immediately, and his gaze softens slightly, though he tries to maintain his no-nonsense demeanour. “You,” he says, pointing a wooden spoon at her, “do not touch anything. You may have mastered a roast, but you can’t even cook bibimbap without setting something on fire.”

Hayun smiles sweetly. “I didn’t come to cook, Min. I came to see you.”

Minho’s scowl fades completely, replaced by a smile. The shift is so sudden and drastic that Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin all exchange incredulous glances. Without a word, they drop to their knees in unison and begin bowing dramatically toward Hayun.

“Thank you!” Hyunjin cries, his voice filled with mock reverence. “Thank you for saving us!”

Chan presses his forehead to the floor. “She’s a miracle worker. A goddess among mortals.”

Changbin mutters under his breath as he bows. “We’re not worthy.”

Hayun laughs, the sound bright and light as she sets her glass on the counter. She steps closer to Minho, her hand trailing from his waist up to his chest, where she lets it rest. “Min,” she says softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “can you play nice? If you do-”

She leans in to whisper something into his ear. Whatever she says is too quiet for anyone else to hear, but the effect is immediate. Minho’s lips curve into a smirk, and his eyes darken with amusement.

Hyunjin, still kneeling, squints at them. “She’s gonna let him handcuff her or something, isn’t she?”

Chan waves a hand without looking up. “Shhhh, don’t ruin it. It’s working.”

Changbin leans toward Hyunjin and whispers, “She’s gonna be Mrs. Claus, and Minho’s gonna be Santa. I’m calling it now. Look at that fucking dress.”

Minho glances down at Hayun, his smirk widening. “Oh really?” he asks, his tone laced with teasing disbelief.

Hayun leans up to whisper something else, and this time, whatever she says has Minho chuckling lowly. He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, if that’s what you’re offering, Princess, how could I not be nice to them?”

Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin bow even lower, their foreheads practically touching the floor now. “Thank you, Hayun!” they chorus, their voices filled with exaggerated gratitude.

Hayun steps back, picking up her wine glass again with a grin. “You’re welcome. I’m going to be on the naughty list for life because of this.”

The trio lifts their heads enough to thank her again, their voices earnest despite the ridiculousness of the scene. Minho pulls Hayun close and presses a kiss to her temple before turning back to the stove.

As Hayun walks back to the living room, Minho’s voice takes on an overly kind tone. “Chan, you’re doing great with the beef. Hyunjin, fantastic work on those noodles. Changbin, that onion slicing is top-tier. Keep it up, guys.”

Hayun flops onto the couch with her wine in hand. Jisung looks at her suspiciously. “What did you say to him?”

Hayun shrugs, her expression innocent. “Just gave him incentive to be nice.”

From the kitchen, Minho’s voice calls out. “Hyunjin, don’t cry. You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

The living room explodes into laughter as Jisung shakes his head. “I don’t know what kind of voodoo you have over him, but I’m glad it worked.”

The living room is filled with the aroma of Minho’s cooking as he, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin bring in the dishes one by one, placing them on the coffee table and the makeshift tables Jisung hastily assembled from a few cardboard boxes. 

Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin immediately turn to Hayun, bowing deeply in her direction. “Our saviour!” Hyunjin exclaims dramatically. “Our goddess!”

Chan nods solemnly, playing along. “We owe you our lives.”

Changbin smirks. “If you ever need soldiers in your inevitable world takeover, call us.”

“You’re all ridiculous,”

As everyone settles on the floor or the couches, chopsticks in hand, Hyunjin fixes Hayun with an inquisitive look. “Alright, spill. What did you say to him? There’s no way you calmed the storm that fast without some kind of wizardry.”

Minho smirks from his spot beside Hayun, leaning back on his hand. “I don’t know if your virgin ears can handle this.”

Hyunjin flips him off without missing a beat. “Fuck off. Just tell me.”

“If you must know-” Minho starts, but Hayun interrupts by grabbing a dumpling and shoving it into his mouth.

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. 

Minho chews exaggeratedly, his smirk undeterred. “Fine,” he says after swallowing, “but you just wait until later.”

Everyone groans, throwing small bits of food or napkins at Minho, who dodges effortlessly. As the meal continues, everyone digs into the feast with enthusiasm. Jisung moans dramatically after taking a bite of tteok guk.

“Holy shit, Minho, you’re wasted on Hayun. Open a restaurant already.”

Hayun swats at Jisung’s shoulder. “Hey! He’s not wasted on me.”

“You’re hogging him!” Jisung accuses with a grin. “I want weekly tteok guk deliveries.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, his tone deadpan. “You'll have to pay me.”

After everyone has eaten enough to be comfortably full, Minho stands and grabs Hayun’s hand, tugging her gently toward the stairs. “Come on, Princess,” he says with a smirk.

Hayun giggles as she follows, but the group’s attention is immediately piqued. Hyunjin leans forward, whispering, “Where the fuck are they going?”

The living room collectively peeks around the corner in time to see Minho scoop Hayun into his arms. She lets out a small laugh, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carries her up the stairs. The door to her room slams shut, and silence falls over the group for a moment.

Jisung finally breaks it, shaking his head. “Alright, everyone ready to enjoy the fucking sex-a-thon we’re about to be subjected to?”

Felix groans, flopping onto his back. “Why couldn’t they go to his house? I don’t need to hear this.”

Chan, sipping his beer, shrugs. “At least we get free entertainment.”

Twenty minutes later, the entertainment begins in earnest. The rhythmic banging of Hayun’s headboard against the wall echoes down the stairs, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of her moaning and Minho’s grunts.

“My best friend is being corrupted by a man,” Jisung laments, though his grin betrays his amusement. “A horny, filthy man.”

Chan raises a hand, motioning for silence. “Wait,” he says, leaning closer toward the staircase. “His dirty talk is actually good. Let’s listen.”

The group falls silent, save for the clinking of glasses and the occasional stifled laugh. Minho’s voice filters down clearly, his tone low and commanding. “That’s it. Just like that. You take me so well. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Changbin’s jaw drops, his chopsticks frozen midair. “Holy shit. I’m writing this down.”

Seungmin looks over, unimpressed. “You’re disgusting.”

“Excuse me for appreciating quality material!” Changbin retorts, mock-offended. 

Hyunjin crosses his arms, leaning back on the couch. “You all are acting like this is normal. It’s not. They’re up there fucking and we’re down here. Eating. Listening. This is fucked.”

“You’re still listening, though,” Jisung points out, grinning.

Felix sprawls across the couch with a groan. “Someone sedate me.”

Chan, clearly enjoying the chaos, leans back with a grin. “You know, this might actually be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[melissa-titanium]

i probably look fucking crazy but. "kicked out of the nowhere" ln au .

SERA IF YOU SEE THIS HI MY FRIEND THANKUOU FOR LISTENING TO MY RAMBLE <3

both of them are like. late teenage years in this one. dw im not being weird about it i hate when aus do this shit for the sole purpose of making it romantic/weird. id say 15-16

six ; i think bcos shes taller and shit she couldn't exactly. wear the raincoat anymore. so somewhere along the line she and mono picked it apart and turned it into something else on her outfit -- pants? shirt? i dont know, but that's why her shorts are yellow. she kept her hair short like it is in canon because growing it out is uncomfortable and way too warm for her comfort. also sensory shit from having hair against the back of her neck. after leaving the nowhere she wears a big ass hoodie. it's more efficient than a raincoat because raincoats are LOUD AS HELL.!!!!!!! but still has a similar feeling to her raincoat AND has pockets :) crocs are. well. crocs. if you know me you know. i actually dont think they would be all that efficient when it comes to walking around but . idk. i think she would just carry them around for the purpose of walking around more safely if the ground is hard or something she's just as quiet as she usually is. over the years of living in the nowhere i think six has actually gone on to be the more physically adept of the two. we obviously know she's way faster than him, but his time in canon implies he's got more physical strength in his arms than her. i think this changes over time -- the reason she's so sickly & weak at the start of the game (not even fast enough to catch up to mono really!) is bcos of her lack of confidence and how long she spent in the cabin. the longer she stays with mono honing her skills she goes back to kicking ass. after a while, she can lift hammers with much more ease than mono can and she probably pokes fun at him for it. HOWEVER, he eventually gets that growth spurt which allows him to run faster thsn her (long legs. holy shit hes gangly) and he pokes fun at her for being short.

mono ; longer hair. he's got No Nutrients so his hair grows real slow so hes basically never cut it. he likes it longer bcos . opposite of six! he is Always Cold. like naturally cold but its still uncomfortable. SERA I SAID THIS 2 U ALSO but i think he's a walking relic. his only exposure to people, real people, is people on tvs. considering the sounds and general theme of all the stuff in the pale city/ads and stuff, i think its safe to say he only has reference of the real world from like. western 60's-90's. both him and six i imagine have severely poor language comprehension and grammar but if he DOES talk he probably talks like a kid trying to imitate their businessman father from the 70's. and as such; he dresses like his wardrobe is a time capsule. his outfits r still dark and cover his limbs but he looks like a total dork. fucking overalls and shit LOL. i don't have any ideas for face coverings at the moment but maybe he wears sunglasses & a face mask if he sees it necessary? i very genuinely feel like he'd be fine without face coverings. most people would think he's a cosplayer, seeing as he's kind of sickly looking (basement dweller appearance) with like eye contacts or some shit. idk

also funny thing id like 2 mention. their genders are Strange. when you live in the nowhere, "society" isnt exactly "pushing gender norms" onto you. chat what the fuck is a he/him? i only know Running From Monsters . in my previous notes for what they'd be like in the real world (seen below) i think this would be a very funny thing 2 explore . someone refers to six as maam and she completely ignores them (doesnt know what that means. six internal monologue voice All i am is Six so freaking call me Six) ((they're still little kids at heart i dont think they'd like to swear))

more notes here

[anqaspond]

oh my gooooddd oh nooo the cult survivor in the third world has more trauma than i do lets call up the fucking trauma police

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

one of my favorite things about zedaph is that on a server full of people that find strange and oft-overlooked minecraft mechanics or rare events and then see just how far they can push them in the name of spectacle or efficiency or world-breaking, zed is over here finding these mechanics in order to do the weirdest things he can think of in as entertaining a manner as possible

like i 100% have faith in zedaph's theoretical ability to be just as efficient or spectacular or world-breaking. if he wanted to do that stuff, i trust that he absolutely could. but thats so far from being his priority. instead, hes going to spend around a week of irl time focused entirely on eventually having the good luck to spawn in something insanely rare so that he can convert it into something even rarer, the result of which being something that 99% of the server reacts with complete and utter shock that it even exists in the first place, just because its zany and funny and he wanted to. and i love that

[wardingshout]

fast travel duck my beloved....

[starlitmeadows]

i don't know if someone brought this up already or if it's too obvious but can we talk about Loop's wish?

Loop (Siffrin) wished for someone (anyone) to help them (to help Siffrin) so that the loops would be over but the Universe's help was not to just yank Loop out of their timeline and throw into another Siffrin's as they said, no, that's not what happened

we know that Wish Craft doesn't grant wishes per se, it gives you something so that your wish can be fulfilled and this is exactly what happened

the Universe fulfilled Siffrin's wish, it helped Siffrin by giving them someone who can help them stop the loops and that brings us to the conclusion that Loop helped themselves and fulfilled their own wish

i'm just

this game's writing is truly unbelievable

[gazumirei]

the pressure fandom right now