#actually no 5/5 the other one was a broken elbow

[thecherrygod]

if i had polls id be making a "guess who fell on the stairs today" and the answers would be "me" "both of us (sorry)" one to announce that i did in fact slip on the stairs and managed to catch myself before going more steps down but still fell in there

[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[prael]

c'est la vie - Kim Minju

Part 3 of folie à deux.

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male reader smut. (ft. a sprinkle of Wonyoung)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Masterlist word count: 10,553

c'est la vie - that's life

"I'm so fucked."

Fists clenched and eyes scrunched, you’re venting out loud to no one in particular. You repeat it, "I'm so fucked." Louder this time—to the sky. Well, more accurately, to the plastered ceiling of this little hole-in-the-wall. Either way, the solution isn't there.

It isn't at the bottom of a bottle either, but you're determined to find that out the hard way.

"Is there a friend I can call for you?" The woman behind the bar has stopped polishing off the glasses; interrupted by what she would say are the ramblings of a madman.

"There's no coming back from this." You throw your head forward, catching it in your now open hands, elbows resting on the wooden bar top.

"Sir? I'm going to call you a—"

"I don't need a cab." You draw your head from your hands and open your eyes—allowing the light to pour onto you from one of those little round lights above you. The drink sits in front of you, unfinished. Hard liquor in a tumbler just waiting to be thrown back like the three before it—a plea you can’t ignore. The large ice cube rests against your nose as you pour every last drop onto your tongue and swallow. "I do need another drink."

With the glass set back down, your body slouches and sinks. Eyes stare down at the empty glass and your face is cold to the world, cold to the woman across from you. You must reek of self-pity, the smell thick in the air. 

Let’s be honest, you've had far better days.

She's got her delicate fingers around the neck of the bottle, pouring you a fresh drink and placing it on a napkin, "you know, you're not the first person to stumble into this bar wearing a face like that."

You slide your eyes over to the glass and reach for it. "I highly doubt it."

"But, few of them show up this early, even if it is a Friday." She has a point: you’re propping up the bar alone and drowning your sorrows solo. In fact, there are only two other people in this whole place, sitting together at a table. "So what’s your story?"

"Does there have to be one?" You grip the glass in your hand, giving the stranger the best smile you can fake.

She steps back and brushes her hand on her trousers as she laughs, "I've seen many broken men and women sit at this bar and spend too many hours drinking their life savings, with hearts broken, dreams smashed and most of all, mistakes they regretted. But you seem different."

"Oh really, why's that?" Your eyes stare into your drink. It stares right back at you.

"You're still young."

"Does being broken have an age requirement?"

She shifts and reaches for something, something you can't quite make out, being locked in the most intimate of stares with your drink. It’s the sound of her placing down another fresh glass that gives it away. "Actually, yes. Because you've still got time to work with."

"That's the irony. All I have left is time."

“Then you have to believe in yourself to make the most of that time.” Her words are heavy, like their meaning holds weight within her too.

She lets you dwell on it for a moment while she pours her own drink. She settles herself against the bar top, across from you, resting her head in one open hand. Her gaze burns into you like sitting in the sun. You can feel something else too, a soft vibration in your pocket.

You finally break away from your staring contest with your drink—one you lost anyway—to fish your phone out of your pocket. The screen alights with Gaeul’s name and is followed by the words ‘1 new message’.

After a swipe, it reads, ‘wtf where are you? what happened?’ but the thought of sending a reply never crosses your mind. And, just in case, you switch it over to silent.

“Is that her?” The woman gently waves a slender finger towards your phone as you put it back where you found it. “The reason you’re here?”

"Do you press all your customers like this?"

“Only the interesting ones,” she returns her hand to her glass, taking a sip of it before continuing, “and there’s sadly so few of those.”

"And if I'm not as interesting as you think?"

"Then I'll buy you a drink.” She tilts her glass at you. "For the trouble."

"And if I'm fascinating?"

"I'll still buy you a drink." Another sip from her glass as her lip gloss stains the rim, "maybe two."

"Then no, it wasn't her." And here's the thing, you don't know who to blame. Yourself? Probably. Wonyoung? Maybe. The mystery cameraman who got it all on video? Almost definitely. 

“But it is another woman, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not exactly rushed off my feet here.”

You sigh, unsure exactly where to begin with this whole mess. The complete story is a long one. You could tell her about your family—the trouble at home and why you had to leave—but that’s not for anyone to know.

"I transferred here. Moved here with my brother. He's at work right now, and he will be late into the evening." You pause to take another drink. Another burning sensation. "To keep food on our table and keep me in college." 

Even saying so little it weighs on you, the feelings of regret and the feeling that you're saying too much. You bite your tongue and hesitate.

"So why are you here and… you know... not at college?" She pushes you for more. She flicks a finger towards you with her free hand and then brings her glass to her lips.

You drag your eyes up for the first time and finally inspect the woman across from you.

She's your age, roughly—if you had to guess. She's pretty, and that part you're more confident about. She wears her long brunette hair over one shoulder, running in a loose wave, over her slate black blazer, which sits over a small black tee, cropped at the waist. She smiles when your eyes meet hers. And maybe she had no idea, and perhaps it's all subconscious, but the tips of her slender fingers squeeze slightly against the glass now that you're paying her some attention.

"I never got your name," you say with curiosity laden in your voice.

"Minju."

"And why is a young woman like you working here on a Friday afternoon?"

"Were you not the one telling me about your troubles?" She follows her words with a soft laugh.

"Call it quid pro quo. You answer and then I’ll tell you all about it," you say.

"Fine." She stands back upright, adjusting her blouse with a few gentle touches. The way her finger glides across the collar and tugs at it slightly. It's more than a little distracting. She cuts a sleek hourglass shape out of the shelves of bottled booze behind her. "I'm between gigs right now."

"Gigs?"

"Ah." She waves a finger. "My turn."

Minju tilts her head and then rests her palm against the bar—leaning toward you and eyes focused. It’s like an inspection and you instinctively sit up straighter.

"So why are you here?" she asks.

"Expelled. About..." You bring up your wristwatch into view. "About an hour ago."

Her brows go up a fraction and her eyes narrow on you again, almost as if to accuse you of lying to her. But her expression softens almost instantly. You would never notice if not for watching every second in painstaking detail. Her widening eyes reveal to you the thoughts passing through her mind as she racks her brain for a reason you would be expelled.

"You said that you're between gigs, so what is it you do?" you say, shifting the focus back away from yourself.

"I sing. I dance. I model. I act." She pauses with a bitter look. "However, right now, I serve drinks." You get it; she looks the part. That much is clear. She's far too gorgeous to be spending her time polishing glasses and serving screwdrivers to burnouts at happy hour. She looks every bit like a woman who should be so much more, but this isn't Hollywood, and the storybook tale of the waitress who makes it is so cliché.

You swill the last of your drink around in the glass, watching the little tidal pattern inside. The way the ice cube moves with the current, it hypnotises, entrances. You speak, looking down into the amber-hued ocean within your glass.

"And you have the talent to back up the looks?"

"So they tell me." There's no joy in the words or the tone. No pride or smug sense of achievement. If anything, it's dismissive. “It’s just a slow period. That’s life.”

“C’est la vie.” You catch her gaze as you utter the phrase under your breath.

Minju continues despite you, “but things will turn around soon enough. I'm going places."

"Every actor who is going places never seems to get there." Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's because, right now, you hate this city and everyone in it, but everything that comes out of your mouth is uncharacteristically curt.

And look, you regret it as soon as it leaves your mouth but that doesn't change the way you just dismissed her. It wasn't meant personally, but it's hard to stop your thoughts from curdling into words right now.

Minju is quiet, and the air becomes heavy. You swallow deep and finally look her in the eyes again. There's something there, some little flicker of emotion untold that gives her away for a moment. She is a woman told repeatedly that she has the world at her feet, but the hard truth of it is that she's here, working away behind the bar because, in fact, life is a lot more cruel.

Absorbed by her vulnerability, you feel the need to backtrack, "that's not—"

"So what, you look at me and see nothing but a girl who couldn't cut it?" There's a flash of fire in her eyes. A burn. A spark that sets the sky alight. A very attractive spark.

The way she fires it back. The passion in her words. The tension building between you as your eyes linger on each other.

You can't explain the attraction, but you can certainly feel it.

"No," you fire back without hesitation, leaning towards her, "what I see is a woman working two jobs just to afford a place to live." Your confidence rises with the alcohol pumping its way through your system and you do your damnedest to rescue the situation. "What I see is a girl with stars in her eyes and a dream that somehow she still keeps alive where so many more have given up. I'm not judging."

Silence.

Sudden, silent, and slightly sinister.

"Yeah, you were," Minju's eyebrows arch in amusement, "but that's fine, I'll take my turn now."

As she leans forward, there are words on her tongue. She looks ready to bite back, but she's looking over you, across the room, watching the only other two people in the bar leave. And for a minute, everything is held in suspense, you are locked together in silence, the clap of their shoes echoing through it. Then the sound of the door, and the brief exposure to the outside world, it's the rain pouring and the cars passing by and then it's the slam shut. It's just you and her, Minju, alone under the dim of the lights.

"So what was it?" she finally breaks the silence.

"Hm?"

"What got you expelled?"

You could lie. There's an opportunity for that. But what's the point? Even though she's a stranger, it doesn't feel like there's a risk if you just come clean and spill your dirty little secret, besides, you owe her one now.

"I got caught fucking in the library." The truth comes out plain and simple. It’s a brazen statement to make in the middle of the afternoon to a stranger. Her gaze shoots down at you. Whatever she expected, it wasn't that.

"I’m sorry, you were caught fucking in the library?" She repeats it out quizzically as if she’s taking time to process. Minju has this way of talking—a lilt in her voice. She has a tone and a pitch that rises and falls with each word. She's amused, that much is clear, by the slight smirk that has curled a corner of her mouth to accompany her sound.

"We were alone, or at least we thought we were, and it’s not like we hadn’t done it before, but apparently, there's evidence." You gesture your empty glass at her, a secondary conversation, unspoken but clear that you need another drink before you tell her anything else.

In doing so you see how she tenses her lips together, holding in her laughter at the thought. She’s holding and you’re watching until she finally cracks, her grin wide and laughter loud.

"Now I am the one judging you. You made fun of me for trying while you're too busy swinging your cock around to even try. So, you tell me, who is the stupid one here?"

"Alright I deserved that one." Your hand had been holding the empty glass to her but now you bring it to rest against the bar top. "In my defence, it's not like I had much of a choice. That girl..."

"Here we go. Let's see how you justify this one." She finally takes your empty glass and when the edge of her fingers brushes across the back of your hand, they linger for far too long. And when she draws back, dragging away those long, delicate fingers from your own, you find yourself suddenly cold.

"It's not like I could turn her down if I wanted to. Also I would never have done it in the library if she didn't make me."

"She 'made' you. Go on." There's scepticism in the words. Her mocking tone teasing you as you watch her turn to the shelves behind her, eyes scanning the possibilities.

"No one says no to her. Never."

"Wow, sounds like quite a woman," she says, ever more playful, as she reaches for the top shelf. Her blazer is pulled up now, ever so slightly exposing her back above the waist of her trousers. Trousers hugging the subtle swell of her hips. Her small, tight, round ass is defined through the fitted fabric. You can't look away.

"Everything comes easily for her. There are literally men fighting for her affections. They would die for her," the words tumble from your mouth, as your gaze lingers.

You must have been lost in the daze and absent-mindedly following the contours of her thighs because by the time you shift focus to her face, she's peering at you from over her shoulder. Eyes sharp as daggers, as if to say it’s a little too obvious.

"Wow she sounds like a real piece of work. I know someone like that too. " Minju turns with bottle in hand, hair swirling around her as she does so. She's graceful. Unbothered and unhurried by anything. "This one is perfect. This bottle is older than me."

She pours two fresh drinks with more ice in each.

"Am I going to regret this in the morning?" you question as the weight of the glass finds your hand.

"You might. But at this moment? No."

You trust her, somehow, inexplicably; you do.

She asks, “so, what will you do now?” it’s a question as funny as it is difficult to answer. 

The truth is that you haven’t got the slightest clue. You tell her as much and try to explain it as best you can, and her eyes soften as you share the details. It’s supposed to be a back-and-forth—quid pro quo—but she’s pressing you with question after question: how long have you known her? Is she pretty? Where does she see you in all of this?

“You and her. Still a thing?”

Minju is on your side of the bar now, sitting by your side with little caution about personal space; there’s not an inch of space between you. Her thigh presses against you and her upper arm is flush with your own.

"Me and Wonyoung were never a thing, not really."

Minju stops dead and chokes, holding her throat, and forcing the drink down. Her whole body shifts. She nearly falls off the bar stool and, after steadying herself, she stares blankly forwards.

"Wonyoung? Jang Wonyoung?"

"Yeah, her." The new drink meets your lips and its taste is a hell of a lot richer than the cheap stuff you were pouring down. It’s laden with a smoky taste over sweet tones.

There's a silence even after you finish taking a drink. Something untold hangs in the air. You know it. She knows it. She's here on the verge of telling you something, but what? And you sit here and wait, despite the racing of your heartbeat.

"I should have known." Minju shakes her head, laughing, but without a smile.

"Should've known what?"

"You're Wonyoung's new toy. I should have guessed as soon as I saw you, she has this effect on people."

You stiffen at that. It's always the truth that hurts the most and the fact is you really were just a toy. A convenient dildo.

"You know what you need right now?" She twists on the stool, and suddenly, you've got Minju looking straight at you. Eyes locking with you. Right there. Looking up at you. So close. Right there, leaning back ever so slightly so her chest arches towards you, accentuating her small breasts, straining against her shirt.

"Drinking helps," you reply, raising your glass.

"Yes, but so does fucking."

That’s a line. It’s one that shouldn’t come as a surprise because a girl like this probably has a lot of experience in being wanted, so who is to say she can’t turn the table for once? But in one breath you’re giddy, taken out of yourself and feeling drunker by the moment. Not on the booze, but her. She is intoxicating.

It takes you a few seconds to notice but her free hand slips on your leg, rubbing and caressing as it snakes further and further up.

"What?" You ask as if it needs confirmation and in those long few moments, you think you must have imagined it. And the same way a nervous laughter rises, the laughter spilling out of your throat, she is quick to quench the growing dread inside of you by sliding her palm across your bulge.

"Wait here." Something has switched inside her. You don’t know what, but either way, it's got her standing up and strutting towards the door. With each step, she opens her body language. A growing swagger, letting you see the sway of her hips. Left and right. Just enough to catch the eye. And oh boy, does your eye get caught. You couldn't pull your gaze away now if you wanted to.

She's swiping hands at the door now and flicking the locks. Then she's pulling the blinds shut. A giggle comes from Minju as she spins back to face you. She runs her bottom lip through her teeth and stares right into you.

You feel exposed but, strangely, comfortable. It's so very odd; with no clue as to what happens next. It has your heart pounding out of your chest.

"I thought you were alone tonight because you were upset, but no, I understand it now. You're frustrated. Angry. Stressed. She used you and got away with it."

She kicks off her heels, loses a few centimetres in height, and is walking barefoot across the floor - toward you. Her shoulder rolls to one side and then to the other as her body rises and falls, sashays with the pace of her hips. She can see that you're stuck. You’re rooted to the seat with a dumb look on your face, and yet she saunters ever closer.

“I am a little confused,” you finally say. She's so close that all your senses are lost to the approach of Minju's swaying frame. Her curves, her body, her gentle steps, the way her perfume smells—it's consuming you.

She ignores you and continues, "I’m frustrated too. I'm so frustrated that I'm wasting time in this damn bar. I'm angry at all the auditions that ended up with producers rejecting me. I know exactly what you're feeling. You're angry at the world and everyone in it." Her tone grows raspier. More raw and less stable. "You feel alone. Hung out to dry and in need of attention."

"And you feel the same?"

"Yes, and I'm hungry. Starved of any real satisfaction. You told me I’m going nowhere and I guess it means I need a little attention, too."

You watch her eyes flittering as she looks you up and down. The sultry grin she wears shows she likes what she sees.

"So what are you going to do about it, Minju? What is the solution?" You drop a look down to the soft and slender flesh of her neck.

"No strings. We get this all out of our system." Minju leans in. Lips so close to yours. She stays there. It's torture. "You let all that shit out. Take out your pent-up stress, frustration, anger."

"On you?"

"Exactly. You'll feel better. I will too. Because right now…" Her nose presses against the side of your own. Soft skin. Gentle pressure. "I need it rough."

Her hand lands on your thigh again, rubbing down the denim of your jeans.

The offer is enticing. It has your head swimming with dirty images of everything the two of you could do together, and your cock? Well, that's already twitching in your underwear.

"This isn’t going to help, it will just make things worse."

"Can they really get any worse?"

Minju brings your hand, hers and yours, to her waist. Your thumb feels the soft material of her shirt, and your fingers touch that small patch of skin below it.

"Are we prepared to find out?" Your lips graze gently against hers. The thrill. The electricity in the air.

"I’m ready. More than ready. Just this once, do what you want to do and make me the star of your fantasy. Use me. Make me everything you need." She plants her lips firmly on yours. You both go quiet, muffled by a kiss.

Nothing to do but feel.

Minju's grip tightens on your leg, and yours on her waist. The other hand slides up to her chest, finding her breast, cupping it and feeling her. She opens her mouth. And you follow. Your tongues are colliding and sweeping across one another, eager and desperate.

So you push, guiding the two of you to stand. Minju staggers back, and you're with her every step of the way. Stumbling through a kiss. Hands everywhere. Uncertain. Lost, confused, and passionate. It's an incoherent tumble that takes you both crashing through chairs, pushing them aside until you hit something sturdy. Minju's ass slams against the pool table and she grunts into your mouth.

Her lips drag away and she smiles. "Fuck me."

You grab her by the hips, lifting her onto the pool table.

"I need to see the big cock that’s got Wony all worked up. She wouldn’t settle for anything disappointing." She's fumbling at your waist, struggling with the buckle of your jeans.

"This what you want?" Your words vibrate through her. And when you take a handful of her hair and tug, there's a long, soft, desperate sigh from Minju's parted lips.

"Use me. Abuse me." Her fumbling finally succeeds and the waist of your trousers slackens. "I know how I look, but don't worry, you're not going to break me."

She's pushing at your trousers, your boxers, and when that stiff dick pops out, her smile spreads into a big, stupid grin. It's not an unattractive expression—not really. It just tells the truth. She is excited. 

It’s as clear as day that you are too. You’re rock hard, stiff as hell, ready to fuck, and this, this will give you the chance to let it all out. All of it.

"Perfect." Minju grabs your cock in both hands, still warm, throbbing, and strong. "Just look at this thing."

You pull on her hair again, harder, until she breaks away from you, until she gives way—losing the grip on your cock and falling back on the table. And now you slow as if to savour the moment as you’re sliding your fingers under the waist of her trousers. Not often you get afforded a measure of control.

"C’mon, please, don't be gentle," Minju moans out through gritted teeth. The desperation is painted on her face and that’s the difference here: while a girl like Wonyoung wouldn’t let you go slow, Minju is the type of girl who makes you not want to go slow.

So you pull at the trousers of the girl sprawling out in front of you, tearing the button from the fabric, yanking them open and pulling them down those long, slender legs. The flesh is soft. And to touch, so smooth and light. Minju's breathing picks up—becoming shorter and deeper with each touch to her sensitive skin.

"I might leave marks."

Minju stares you down, hands already massaging over her panties. "I hope you will."

The thought is intoxicating, so much more so than the alcohol in your blood, as your hands paw over her legs; you knead soft skin with a kind of aggression you haven't felt before.

Minju is a rare girl.

Beautiful. And by definition, beautiful women have seen it all before.

But her?

The look she gives? Like no man has ever fully satisfied the itch within her. It's deep-set hunger. The kind that she chases endlessly for.

This hunger makes people behave stupidly, careless and forgetful of the consequences. And maybe you know that all too well but even still it's a risk worth taking. Every choice has led you here and maybe that is your solace, that it's not all downhill from here.

And as your hands reach her small satin panties, the warmth embraces you, and the urge within you grows. You hook your fingers inside and draw the panties aside to expose the tight pink flesh of Minju's cunt.

Not that you would expect anything else, but she is clean-shaven. So smooth. Not a single blemish. This is a girl who kept herself neat and pristine, and yet from her mouth spills utter filth, "just look at how wet this pussy is for you."

She's running her fingers between her lips, showing you everything she has to offer between her legs, showing you where she expects you dick will get put to use.

"This tight fucking cunt can take everything your thick cock has to give."

"Minju, you’re so..." You're standing over her, her legs spread wide beside you, blazer falling from her shoulders leaving nothing covering her but that low-cut top.

Minju stares right at you, eyes fixed, wide and eager, her chest heaves with every deepening breath she takes in. She's wild, reaching for you with one hand, stretching to hold you and then pulling at your shirt to draw you in.

"I'm so needy. Please fuck me." She's whining through closed lips as her other hand slips away from her pussy and glides over her taut abs and leaving her cunt ready to be used. She wants it, desperately, and you're drawing it out. Making it build inside her, and you hold your cock in your hand.

You're stroking, and she's watching. And for all her strain to pull at your shirt, to pull you into her, you hold back. You hold just long enough. Enough for her arm to fall limp. Enough for her to almost give in. "Please..." she trails off with a whimper.

You push the head of your stiff cock against her cunt—against her clit. Your hips roll as you run the entire underside of your cock between her lips. She gasps and breathes deeply. She's holding it all the while. All the time it takes for you to draw your cock back, so the tip is right there. Ready.

She let's go as you do. The air escapes her lungs with a sharp squeal. You let your cock sink in. Slow but persistent, you push further and further, feeling her tensing. Then the clench and tightness overwhelms. She gasps and squirms, wriggles beneath you and her nails scratch at the fabric of the table beneath her.

You push again, sinking your cock as far as you can through her wet hole.

There's a loud snap and squeal from Minju. Pretty girl broke a nail. It flew off somewhere across the room, such is her grip onto the table. "Fuck. So fucking full," she manages, barely. It's more the noise you force from her than any actual communication.

You draw your hips back and she's quick to encourage you, "again," she says.

Your hips are driving forward again, pushing every last centimetre back through her.

Minju whimpers. There's this short, sweet purr from deep within her. You feel her stretch, she moves a little, adjusting herself atop the pool table. There's a warmth that swells, tightens, and pulsates. And you feel the breath come easier. It leaves her as though her body has settled to a kind of ease and pleasure, some form of satisfaction.

You refuse to let her rest. It's not what she would want.

It's not what you want.

You run your hands along her inner thighs, past her knees until you finally reach her ankles and pull them together and hold them aloft. You lift and pull her ass up slightly from the table. She's suspended now while you fuck into her.

The shake of her small frame is completely erotic. Watching her ass and thighs jiggle as you fuck into her. That plump little ass taking slap after slap from your hips.

Her perfect skin reddens as her moans louden the longer you last. There are high-pitched squeals and low and gritty growls. They bounce around the empty bar, reverberating and multiplying—echoing back louder than before.

"Harder." She thinks she can take more. Look, Wonyoung was demanding, she wanted to control everything and push your limits, but Minju? Minju is whole different type of demanding. She's welcoming everything you have with every fibre of her being. Her pussy so eagerly taking it all, and it just seems like no matter what limit you push past, or the more Minju takes, the more she craves.

You pull her legs to you, calves on your shoulders, feet in the air, and your hands move firmly onto her hips. You steady her—ready her. Your grip bruises the tender skin (hey, it's what she wants) and then you fuck her like your life depends on it. Your cock pumping inside with reckless abandon.

"Keep going! Just like that! Fuck!" her voice rises over the rhythm of your low grunts, and the crack of your hips slapping against her ass.

Minju's face twists, red and flushed. She's so tense. Muscles tight around the neck and her teeth buried in the soft flesh of her lower lip. Her voice is low and raw, growling, as she pleads for more with words you can't pretend to understand. It's not eloquent or graceful... In fact, it's that incoherence that makes this all the better—so utterly unbothered, unconcerned with anything other than being thoroughly used, fucked and defiled.

She has that hungry glaze in her eyes when you look down upon her, a girl being exactly the kind of filthy thing she promised to be. And those eyes only draw you in, you're pushing over her, folding her legs further against her body until she's truly helpless. Pinned to the table. Bent in two. No ability, nor want, to stop you from dominating her.

"I'm gonna—" she tries to speak until you press down, right into her. She squeezes your cock inside that tight, creaming hole. Then she whines, loud.

So loud.

Her back would arch high if it could. But she can't break free. You have her completely immobilized with your upper bodyweight. And fuck does she love every second of it. She's got handfuls of her shirt, pulling it, clutching, writhing. Ecstasy courses through her and eyes roll.

And now she's rolling, you're turning her. Ankles in your hands, you have pulled out and you're flipping her onto her front, face down into the table. She’s just… accepting it. Not an ounce of fight in her. Not even a word. Just a throaty moan.

"Be a good girl for me, won’t you?” you’re ordering, “give me your hands.” 

She reaches her arms back over her subdued body and lets you take her delicate wrists.

She submits.

Just lying there prone, her delicate body against the table, with that tight little ass perched on the edge of it, and that skimpy underwear still pushed aside for her throbbing cunt. Those slender legs left hanging either side of you. And go on, you're allowed to think it in the simplest of terms; Minju is sexy. In a word, that's it. Sexy. And yet, the reality is there's so much more you can say. Every soft curve of her toned body is alluring, she is magnetic and inviting, and that cute face peering over her shoulder, long hair spilled all behind it. All the words in the world couldn't do justice to describe her—couldn't properly capture the image.

"What are you going to do to me, daddy?" Oh, she says it so seamlessly, slips it in like it's been on her lips for a while - floating in the atmosphere since you took control. And now that it's finally landed, you feel its weight. It has her voice different; smokey and dripping with sex. And it hits you straight between your legs. 

She licks her lips and tests it out again, just for good measure: "what does daddy think I deserve?" 

One hand holding her wrists against the small of her back, another gripping her hip. Her legs sway lazily, unable to reach the floor. Helplessly dangling, waiting for her fate. And you're not a man to disappoint a girl like Minju.

"I'm going to use the needy little slut in front of me," you say as the head of your stiff cock probes at her cunt, slipping between her wet lips and sliding against her swollen clit. Teasing her. 

You draw it back up again and pushing apart her ass cheeks with the length of your cock. Slipping under the thin fabric of her soaked panties.

She bites her lower lip and whimpers through her teeth. The head of your wet cock slides against her tight asshole, and her hips twitch back. "Whatever you need, take it from me." She means that. There's yearning in every word. The hunger and desire in her voice growing thicker.

You push against her, cock sandwiched between her cheeks, pushing your weight down and pressing her against the table. Her eyes close for a moment, her fingers curl into her palms.

"Yes. Fuck," Minju's desperate encouragement spills through clenched teeth.

You pull back your cock and replace it with your thumb, sliding your hand over her ass and slipping it against her puckered hole.

"Please da—" You slip the tip of your thumb just inside her ass and hold it there while she holds her breath. 

Anticipation— 

Waiting— 

Knowing what's coming next. 

Minju is completely still as you drive your cock into her cunt again. Sinking yourself in so deep—balls deep. Her hands become tight fists and her whole body is shaking. You withdraw and plunge again, and she hisses, breathing from the bottom of her lungs, ragged and shallow, and fighting to speak.

"I'm a dirty, needy, little slut and you’re going to use me—"

You spit at her spread ass, right onto your thumb, and use it to dig a little deeper. "What are you?" your question provokes an instant answer,

"I'm a horny slut. I'm a fuck-hole. That's what I am."

As if it's a reward for her honesty, you fuck her a little harder. Push your thumb a little deeper. She smiles through a howl of ecstasy, the sound swelling into the room.

"Tell me again," you command with another pump of your hips, stretching her even more with your thumb.

Her words crackle, dying in her throat with each impact of your hips, "I'm just a dumb girl who needs to be full of cum."

No sane man would refuse it. Not you, not anyone. Definitely not you at all. You couldn't resist any part of her, but especially not that filthy demand. Especially not with how you felt watching those gorgeous fucking curves ripple every time your hips slapped against her ass.

It's all so easy, how you continue, keeping pace. Thumb deep in her ass. Balls smacking against her soaked pussy with every thrust. It's a pleasure all too overwhelming—a thrill, a sensation, a powerful sense of utter fucking satisfaction and all-consuming desire—an erotic overflow inundates, a swell, an ever-growing crest inside your balls.

"Minju. I'm. Gonna—"

"Cum in me? Please." She's the hallmark of innocence-gone-wrong; the way such words roll off her tongue with playful ease. And she knows all the right ones. The ones that she knows will bring all the right reactions. To speak to you on a primal level. She's at it again, cutting into you, "Inside— Inside me."

Cutting through you like the blade of a knife, right to your core and you obey—fuck.

"Daddy please."

You're incensed.

Dogged with the pounding you're giving her, you have lost control of just how deep you have your thumb in her ass. This is so Indecent. Obscene, even. For you, or for anyone, to just... enjoy something like this. Your body is roaring with lust as her ass and cunt both squeeze on you, clamping you as you drive yourself to the brink.

"I wanna... feel your hot load," her voice comes shaking through the unabated pounding you're inflicting. "Fill me please," she's begging and it sounds a little clearer now, stronger, a little louder, no doubt because she knows it's almost done.

You tug at her wrists, pulling her arms back and her body away from the table. Her head hangs forward beneath a wave of hair. Face covered by sweat streaks across those pretty sculpted features.

"Please, I'll be a good girl and take every drop. All the fucking cum that daddy has. Make me your stupid dirty little slut," she compels, then yelps with every new slam and stroke of the stiff cock being buried into her again and again.

That tight asshole, and that cock-hugging pussy. All the relentless slamming that you have done and will do. All the desires, with the pent-up frustration, the rage and anger and tension that has built up—you release it. Everything goes as you send your load rushing through your cock to paint her insides.

Pushing everything you have in. Pumping. Driving hard.

Her squeals are like music to the soul. Relief and rapture are overflowing. And fuck. What a ride. What a rush. You pump her full until she's gasping for air, struggling in your grasp and making sure to moan each and every dirty word into the atmosphere as she fights to hold on. What a thrill. And as the two of you hit the limits of physical exhaustion and exhilaration, you pull back. Letting the girl lay there, spent, and filled, on the pool table.

Used.

Satisfied.

Sullied.

Minju to you, today, is a feeling of freedom. Fulfilment. Absolution. As she lay limp, arms out, legs hanging, hair draped over her face and pooling on the table—a girl well fucked and on display. She is satisfaction. And she is dripping with your cum.

She slips her fingers under her panties. That shrivelled piece of fabric that clings, or struggles to. Now she pushes them off her hips and they tumble over her feet.

When this beautiful girl speaks her voice has the distinct scratch of someone whose lungs have had the oxygen stolen from them, her throat sore with moaning, "I need more."

She moves to her back and you can only watch in amazement as she turns to you with that flush face. One of her small, delicate hands falling between her legs and her dainty fingers tracing around her cunt—through her pink folds, and dousing them in your leaking cum.

There's a knock at the door. It rattles in the frame. "Open up!" It's the voice of the young man seeking an afternoon drink. You think that, luckily, hopefully, between the blinds, the posters and the neon lights in the windows along with the dim lighting, he can't see in.

"Fuck off!" Minju shouts. Her chest is heaving, and there are the gentle lulls of a giggle welling in her throat.

You notice she hasn't moved the fingers away from her swollen and sticky cunt. There's a building cackle, almost as if she is going to fall into hysterics.

"Let me in! You should be open!"

"I said fuck off!" Minju's climbing from the table with a wild smile on her face. Cum is trailing from her cunt, pooling, oozing, dripping down her thigh, down her leg. Her tongue slides over her lips, she's eying you up like a tiger.

"I want to ride your thick cock." She's breathing the words out heavy and finally pulling that shirt over her head. Small round breasts exposed. Stiff dark nipples. Hard and taught. That bare torso. Tight and tone. Firm and solid. Every muscle defined under glistening, sweaty skin.

She pushes herself against you until you push between a pair of stools and your ass plants against the bar. "You made me a dirty girl, and now I can't stop."

You find her strength a little unnerving, the way seems so unphased and determined. She's running on pure adrenaline. It's hot, sure, a kind of raw passion is certainly not without appeal, but also maybe a touch too overpowering. The way that she grabs at you, a touch forceful, and the way you come together is perhaps too rough and less than elegant.

So unkempt, un-romantic, yet so insanely gratifying as her soft skin finds yours.

You take her body in your arms, lips on one another, exploring mouths with tongues. Grasping the round cheek of her ass as she lifts her left thigh up to your waist. Hand trailing between the two of you and then grabbing a firm hold of your cock, guiding the thing back to her pussy—and not letting go.

This is it. This is where she belongs.

It’s all so natural for her to be on the end of your cock, so much so that she can casually pull away from the kiss to switch her focus to finding a drink on the bar behind you. She’s taking a drink of it now and some of it spills from the corner of her mouth.There is something undignified in that, but utterly perfect nonetheless.

She's grinding against you now, swirling her hips and cooing like a little kitten, as your hands move over her ass and that silken smooth back.

Minju sets the empty glass back down on the bar, and pulls back to meet your eyes. She presses a finger to her tongue, her eyes gleaming and focused solely on you, as she guides a small, playful trail of drool to run over her glistening tits. "Fuck," she breathes through a grin, taking both her hands and smoothing that drool over her chest.

Another knock at the door. Another fist pounded into its frame.

All these fucking interruptions.

"Ugh! Fuck this. Come on, follow me." And before you know it, she's guiding you across the room. "I'm going to ride you until I can't walk. Until I'm so sore that every step will remind me what it felt like to have you deep inside me."

Your phone rings, on the floor in the pocket of your trousers. Who would call right now? Just as one interruption finally concedes at the door, another emerges.

Minju bends to fish it out of your trousers. Her little ass, one cheek marred with a handprint from your grasp, is so close you could bend forward and eat it (any other time, you would.) but it's not that which intrigues you the most. When she rises, slowly, your phone is in her grasp, screen displaying Wonyoung's name.

"This should be fun," Minju chuckles to herself. She swipes the answer button and raises the device to her ear. "Hello?"

Minju reaches out to hold your hand and pulls you toward the staff only door. "Sorry, he's a little busy right now," she says as she walks through the door with you in tow. Her head pivots. Minju stares, eyes boring deep into yours. That sultry expression. The spark of desire igniting all over again.

Minju turns on her heel, letting you go and taking a step back. Thin fingers stroke over her cum-soaked thigh, up and along her wet lips, higher and past her flat stomach, sliding between her firm tits. "He is really busy."

She points at the couch in the break room, gesturing you to sit. You oblige, a little nervous about the turn of events. She's rubbing at her perky little tits as she speaks, "do you want me to take a message?"

"Minju..." you say with warning, ready to take the phone off her. But it's so hard to ignore how utterly sexy she is, and your hand starts to stroke along your shaft. She turns her body and poses, looking over her shoulder to you, and she grins. Minju affords you all the time you need to admire her while she listens to the ramblings of Wonyoung through your phone.

Minju steps toward you, looking down at you. "You need to speak to him?" She rests a hand on your shoulder, and then she clambers over you, straddles you. Her leaking cunt right above your cock. She licks her lips and rubs her slick pussy over your stiff dick, eyes focused on you, head tilted down. "Give me one second."

She holds the phone against her collar and shifts above you, resting the tip of your cock against her hole.

"Minju, let me—"

She sinks onto your cock. 

Inch by pleasurable inch, she takes you. Minju rocks forward and adjusts to settle on the length of your rod. Fully hilted and stuffed. She's a slick sheath of velvet on your stiff rod and you realise then just how perfectly she fits on you. You bite your tongue, trying to not make a noise so you don't alert the woman on the other end of the phone. Minju, however, is careless, and she lets out a soft moan as she shifts on you, readying herself.

Cum still seeps out of her cunt and down your shaft—your own and hers in some messy cocktail. The smell is sharp but unmistakable. It hangs in the air as the unmistakable evidence of what has happened and what will happen again. It’s so potent; invigorating and exciting. A reminder of everything and more, as if you would ever forget it—as if you could ever forget what she has become for you.

Minju draws the phone back to her face and, with a cocky smirk parting her lips, she speaks again, her voice breathy and full of lust. 

"He's in a bit of a tight spot right now." She throws you a wink and continues, "give him ten—wait, no—give him fifteen minutes and whatever is left of him is all yours."

There's the sound of a voice coming through the phone, so unmistakably Wonyoung's but you can't make a word of it out. There's another sound, one much dirtier, that fills the air between the two of you. The soft squelching as Minju rocks and rotates those full hips on you.

"Sorry, what was that?" Minju is stifling a giggle and not-really trying to keep the naughtiness of the situation in check. "Yeah, Wonyoung,you’re right. It's me, Minju," she purrs, biting her lip as her eyes fix on you. Then her tongue flits from her lips, sweeping from left to right.

‘It's me, Minju.’

Look, it’s not really a surprise that they know each other well. It was always a possibility that Minju had just heard of Wonyoung but had never really been acquainted. Thinking back, however, the strength of her reaction to the girl’s name should have told you everything. The truth is now ever so clear. 

Not that Minju is going to let you process it. She will not allow you to focus on anything other than the caress of her pussy over your sensitive cock. She's elegant with the movements of her hips—the motions subtle and slow. Her pace is sinful. She's running her tongue over her teeth and staring at you, enjoying the quiet grunts that rattle from your throat.

"He showed up in—" Her breath hitches and she catches a moan in her throat before it escapes. "In the bar, drinking alone."

There's a gasp, then another as she strokes her hands through the locks of your hair. "Yeah. He was doing that." She's laughing under her breath and looking you up and down. "That thing with his hand, yeah, it's cute."

“What? No. I wouldn’t.” You’re getting half a conversation and none of it makes any sense.

She reaches out her hand to the side of your face, thumb brushing the line of your jaw and her body leaning in. "He's got a sexy jaw line," she admits and then picks up the speed of her movement. 

Her hand slides down your neck and presses into your collar. "His body?" Minju hums as her hips are churning; her body is rolling and her abs are flexing. "Yeah, I think so too."

Minju's back arches and her tiny tits bounce as her movement changes, bouncing rhythmically on your cock. She's adjusting and getting more comfortable on you. As the seconds pass, she's getting rougher and moving ever faster. 

Fuck.

"Well, he's drunk, so it's no surprise."

It's been no end of strange situations over the past couple of months, but this may well be the strangest yet. The girls are having a friendly conversation, but one is on top of a cock that's dripping with her mess.You're still trying to piece it together. They're friends—that much is clear. But there's still so many questions unasked: How? Since when? And why are they having their catch up right fucking now?

Her delicate frame moves fast now and the rise and fall of her chest growing sharper leading to short breaths.

"Mhm," she utters, keeping her voice low and words at a premium. "N—No we aren't." To give her credit, she's actually very good at sounding natural. In some twisted way, it's one hell of an audition for how talented of actress she can actually be. 

But that image comes crumbling down before your eyes.

Just for a moment, the picture freezes. Her mouth is half-open, eyes wide. She bites down on her lip, silencing herself, and then she drops her hand from her ear. She's hitting her fist, clenched around the phone, against her thigh repeatedly as she fights against her own body. There's another choked grunt as she is being pushed ever so close to the edge.

She draws the phone to her face again, breathing in deep and staring at you with those glossy eyes scanning all across your body, and she swallows. 

"We aren't fucking," Minju denies, as your hands creep up from her slender thighs, sliding over those beautiful taut hips, gripping tight and helping pull her back and forth. It's clear, from the way she bites down on her bottom lip, the subtle trembling of her chin, she's hanging on by a thread, ready to lose it at any second.

"No. Don't—" Minju holds the phone out, and she’s looking at it—you can see it too—Wonyoung has just ended the call. "Ah fuck it." Minju throws the phone down on the couch.

She looks at you with a face that's a little lost in thought, considering things unknown to you. All while her body is on auto-pilot, still fucking down onto you. 

After a moment, her face changes, an expression of indifference, of calmness. She smiles a little and rests both of her hands on your shoulders. Staring deep into your eyes, she grows ever more serious with a tinge of intent. She shifts from auto-pilot to manual, tightening the grip with her legs and slowing the pace, but fucking you harder.

Minju rides the ridge of your cock. Your whole length is dragged up and down her insides, setting every inch of you on fire. She moans every time she slams onto you. 

Every time. 

She's falling further apart in front of you—coming completely undone. Eyes rolling and biting that lip again. Hips shifting in all kinds of directions. A cacophony of beautiful grunting sounds that flood the room.

Minju is a woman derailed by pleasure.

"God. Your cock— Your cock is—" She's struggling now and you're only going to make it worse. Using the hands on her hips, you buck yourself up into her, bringing yourself a fraction closer each time. 

"The things this cock— the things you— fuck." Minju has no power to string any kind of sentences together, no matter how many words you force from her. They grow less and less like words you can understand until all that remains are these loud and unashamed gasps. 

Gasp after sharp and unstoppable gasp.

The rush of exhilaration courses through her, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She feels it. All over. It's written on her face, in the way that she moves and in the look in her eyes. A look like that is a hard thing to fake, even for her—there's nothing else like it. Minju is cumming all over your cock and every bit of it is evident in every tense muscle, the quiver in the corner of her mouth, the sheen across her brow, the mist in her eyes as she blinks lazily and tries not to be overcome, overawed, with emotion and all the intense sensations, one wave after another, rippling through her.

You're just about there again too. You try to warn her, but you're fucking up into her with so much energy that you're not sure if the words ever left your mouth. But she knows it, somehow, because she has renewed aggression in her. Even through her orgasm, she's bouncing on your cock with such ferocity. Minju takes hold of your head and draws you into her. Nose to nose. Foreheads touch. "Cum in me again."

They're four of the best words she could have said.

She rides you faster still as you pump rope after hot rope into her cunt, your entire length filling her already overflowing cunt. You cum so hard inside her that the world seems to distort, twist, and wane.

"Yes! Yes!" she shouts in a whisper—her voice stolen by pleasure. "Fill my little pussy."

And with every last ounce of strength you have, you continue. Bucking into her, driving deeper with the last throes of your second load. It's too much. It's beyond pleasure and into pain now, as you have nothing left to give her.

You squeeze at her hips and waist, holding her down and doing everything you can to stop her fucking you.

You're panting. Tired. Done.

Done.

Minju raises herself just enough to slip that ruined and swollen cockhead from the depth of her. You watch as your combined fluids flow out of her onto your leg.

All that filth, a dirty combination of the two of you. Two loads of your cum drained into that one pretty pussy.

Minju is stroking a hand up your stomach, your chest, along your neck and jawline. Across your face and to your chin, so slowly, as if memorising your features.

You watch her body, so fucking perfect, flexing and trembling still and her breasts heave beneath sweat and exertion. Her breath is so ragged that a chuckle emerges between the hard, deep inhales and exhales. She's sweating, perspiration painting her body and strands of long hair matted to her head. So beautiful. Always so fucking beautiful.

She looks into your eyes, studying, thinking. "You feel better now," her voice has returned to the softness of before, low and sultry. "Don't you?"

With a smile, your hands move again, wandering further up. They snake their way around her slender waist. There's something strange, something new, about how they explore her—before, you were quick to set them and demand control. But not now. Now, it's tender and grateful and you have a slow, searching rhythm to the touches that skim the skin across her skin. 

"Yeah." It's honest. You do. She has done her magic, she has restored the balance, and the release has cleared a space within the self, within the mind. You stare back into her gaze, "thank you."

"No." Minju brings her head forward, her face almost colliding with yours. "Thank you. This is exactly what I needed, I really—" She bites down on her lips and hesitates. She pauses for a second before she begins to move herself off you. Standing up straight, wobbling for a moment on the spot before stepping off and the sticky remains of your fucking cling to her inner thighs, glistening on the flesh, thick and trailing down from her hole.

She stares at you for a moment in some profound silence. You sit on the couch, on that musty old fabric, fully spent and staring. She's searching for something, eyes drifting over the room until it catches her eye, and she heads right for it.

You find the strength to stand and as you do, you’re still watching the sway of her body—noticing each bounce of her perfectly formed butt. Your eyes linger, appreciating the body that was given to you, enjoyed by you, and that gave so much to you. Your strength slowly builds from within, your legs are sore, your stomach and core are aching, your lungs feel crushed.

She's fumbling around on the table for something, she's leaning over slightly, her thighs pressed together. She wears sex like a crown—the pride, confidence, and accomplishment manifesting in her natural glow. Minju radiates. There's always something so electric about a woman in the post coital haze.

"You smoke?" she asks.

"No."

"You should," she says as she turns, fishing one out of the pack and perching herself on the edge of the table, crossing over her legs. "Makes you less nervous. You might need it."

There's an elegance in the way she slips the filter between her lips. An attractiveness in the casual way that she places the box down. With practiced poise, she flicks her wrist with lighter in hand so it flips open and her thumb runs against the sparkwheel. Once, twice, and on the third go the light takes and the flame holds steady. Minju lights the end of the cigarette and leans in, taking a deep draw and holding it.

It's mesmerising to watch. The way her mouth closes around the stick, how the soft glow dances upon her features. A darkness in the hollows of her cheeks as the smoke fills within, while she flicks the lighter back closed and slides it on the table.

Minju tilts her head back as her lungs empty, billows and tendrils escape into the room.

In the silence, you've had some realisation.

Minju is cool.

Like— really cool.

So you stand naked, facing her, in the breakroom of the bar she... works in? Owns? Hell, you don't even know that. Doesn't matter. And you finally ask her, "how do you know Wonyoung?"

For a long moment she just smiles, blowing smoke towards you, teasing with silence.

"We go way back," she says, and that is hardly the complete answer that you've hoped for. 

Eventually, she offers more. "High school. We were friends." Minju studies the cigarette, eyeing the burning stub. "Guess you could say we were closer than that. Fuck. If not for—"

Silence.

And yet you wait.

"Well, there was this boy," she continues eventually, offering a soft and resigned smile. "My crush, and then my boyfriend. He was my first. First kiss, first date. First—" Minju looks over to the wall and inhales hard on the cigarette again. She breathes in slowly and you watch the small ember dance, the edges turning amber and glowing bright before she brings the cigarette down and flicks ash in the tray.

"What happened?" you ask, taking a seat alongside her on the table, pushing a cup aside to make space. It's not exactly hygienic, but nothing the two of you just did was.

"Wonyoung happened. Right before we left school, he left me for her and he thought he had a chance, but, well, you know Wonyoung. She's unattainable."

"You blame her?"

"Fuck no. But it didn't exactly bring us closer. He left me for her, she rejected him. What a mess."

There is always something when Wonyoung is in the picture, a messy little tangled web, something hidden behind those silky smiles. She's the reason for many lost loves and many lonely nights. You take a pause to appreciate that fact—to see what's really at the core. She’s the common denominator. Wonyoung—the arrogant heartbreaker.

"So what was all that about? On the phone?" you ask, trying to make some sense of it all.

Minju laughs aloud, tilting her head back and blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. She holds her cigarette between her slim fingers and rests her other hand on your thigh. "I wanted to play with her a little. I wanted her to know. Because well, and no offense, but you’re one of her possessions. She basically owns you. Don't get me wrong, it's kinda hot, but I wanted to see how she would react."

"So you teased her."

"Pretty much."

She laughs a little. There is some spark in her eye, born out of childish fun.

"Don't think she cares," you shrug.

You both turn toward the door that leads back into the bar. You both heard it. Out there. The knock against the front door of the bar.

Minju turns to you, crushing her cigarette into the ashtray beside her. There's a smirk on her lips and amusement in her eyes. In that look alone, there's a lot to unpack; there's an air of knowing, a glimmer of deviousness, and something else lurking beneath the surface.

"Then why is she knocking on the door?"

Next Part

[lovebvni]

intuitive messages pac !!

THIS IS FROM 2023!! BE FOREWARNED

┈

│ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ...

╰─────────────────

[ 🖊 ] created ⋮ 7.31.23

[  ] published ⋮  7.31.23

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ✰ Arsyn   ⋆  ⁱˢ ᵗʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ··· ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•

┊       ⋆     welcome to my blog !

┊     °

hello earthlings, its been a while since i've done a pac, mainly because of MANY personal issues - but thats not important. i thought for a while and went back to my old pac's and i found an older one i made and i remembered, my intuition is just as powerful as ever - so why do i need tarot cards now?

today i'm just going to have 10 messages/sentences the universe wants you to hear. they can be specific or general.  remember, take everything can be taken with a grain of salt, and your future can be changed. you are in control.

now please, find your inner peace, connect to your soul.

understand these messages were meant to find you, and see what is left for you.

inhale, exhale, and pick a pile

Pile 1 - Watching

confirmation :

procrastinating, pushing things off, turning the other cheek, tumblr, the colour purple (show or the actual colour), spacing out, spirits, double meaning, two faced, gemini, hidden meanings/words, red eyes (tired, puffy), burnt out, music, 'good night, sleep tight, don't let the demons fight.', the letter s, sharks, 'the grass is greener'.

side note : the month of august (summer in general) be significant for your shifting/spiritual journey.

Your messages

1. Why would you wait when you could just grab at it? It's right there. Don't let it rot.

2. "Hello? Are you there, listening? Listen to me. I'm here to help. I promise." (this could be an inner voice or a spirit guide)

3. Be your own boss. Keep going.

4. Pass on to the next step (Death to life)

5. You know what's there, talk to it. "I wont hurt you."

6. Listen, don't speak.

7. Let it go. Be like Elsa, don't let it bother you anymore.

8. Mind, Body and Soul. You're in harmony. Use it to your advantage.

9. Advise and criticize. And use the same techniques on yourself.

10. Peace and love. You deserve it. You know you do. And you will find it, soon.

Pile 2 - Renew

conformation :

saiki k, giving up, letting go, leaving things behind, mental overload, 'Jesus fucking Christ', jealous, letting go of that person, shadow work, yellow, outlook, aries, the moon, big lips, 333, the number 3.

Your messages

1. Bite down. Let it flow into your veins, your soul, your spirit. Its part of you now.

2. Is it a real worry, or just something from your past you don't want to let go of?

3. Jail. Time to rest. Now.

4. Eat and care for your physical body. You can't idolize shifting. You're not getting anywhere doing that.

5. Look in the mirror - no. Not at the past. At who you are now. Who you've become.

6. You have the balls. Go fucking do it.

7. Don't accept the truth from other people, find and make your own. That's what they see, not what you know.

8. Her claws. Her teeth. She's manipulating you. Let her go. Rip away from her. She's wasting your time, energy and draining your soul.

9. "I  DO love you. That doesn't mean I'll let you hurt yourself."

10. I am watching. Always. In your good times and bad. I'm here for you. Just ask for help.

Pile 3 - Love

confirmation :

wrist and elbow, jumpscares/ being scared, saturn, planets, fnaf, cycles, broken cycles, love watch, soulmate reuniting, mha (lmao bro idek at this point), drawing, heartache, feeling lonely, barbie, hip dips, trios.

1. Wake up from that dream and make it a reality, you know what you have to do, so go do it.

2. "Beg for my mercy." - This had a VERY sexual undertone... Obviously from a dominant partner or something

3. 'Hello again, my friend! What do you have to tell me now?"

4. You know that thing you asked for? Yeah. It's coming. Keep your eyes pealed (for some I heard it's even coming tomorrow!)

5. Sit in silence, you know what it is. You hear the voices.

6. Pack your bags and go.

7. Grab on, I'll lead you to where you need to be.

8. Don't chase what you're attracting, that will only lead to disaster. (A manifestation you wanted is coming, this is basically saying don't overwork and beat yourself up over it. It's coming and nothing will stop it.)

9. Nature is your friend. Go out and ground yourself. Lay in the grass, smell the rain.

10. If you want to learn, you need the knowledge. Search for what you want to find. You can see it. Ask around. You'll find it. Look, look, look, search, look look, search, find.

I hope this pac resonated for everyone! remember, this will find you when you need it, take what relates, leave what doesnt. remember you are in charge of your future.

i love you. new things are coming.

dont give up.

1111

[cringe-but-proud]

"Shitty Free Pizza"

Hobie Brown x reader

Warnings: Reader gets broken up with, swearing, crying

A/n: ALRIGHT, FREAKS. I WROTE THE PART 2. Requests are open 😗✌️

"I'm going on break."

That was all you said to your four coworkers before grabbing your jacket and walking outside. You walked to the side of the building and sat on the curb.

Your boyfriend had just broken up with you. Over text. While you were at work. You didn't know what to do, how to react.

You pulled out your phone and read over the message he'd sent you. And then you read it again, and again, and again.

He'd made two typos. The asshole breaks up with you over text and he can't even be bothered to read over the message before sending it.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to cry over this asshole, you really didn't want to. But, despite what you wanted, tears began to roll down your cheeks; and once you started, you couldn't stop.

You put your head in your hands and sobbed. You probably looked pathetic. A Domino's employee, still in uniform, sitting in the parking lot and crying. How embarrassing.

"Oi!" You lifted and turned your head. A tall man dressed in clothes that were way cooler than yours was looking at you. "You alright?" He asked.

"Obviously not." The reply came out sounding a bit more condescending than you'd intended.

The man didn't seem to mind. He chuckled. "Guess I probably could've figured that one out on my own, huh?" The man stepped closer. "What's bothering you?"

You briefly considered calling the dude nosy and telling him to fuck off, but something made you stop.

He didn't seem ill intentioned...

You looked down at the concrete. "My boyfriend just broke up with me over text."

"Really?"

You nodded.

"What a prick. Y'mind if I sit down?" He gestured to the slab of concrete next to where you were sitting. You shrugged and he took that as a yes.

He sat with his elbows resting on his knees. "And he did this while you were at work too?" He asked.

You nodded again.

"That's fucked."

"I just..." You didn't know why you were talking to this guy you didn't even know. But, then again, you didn't really care at this point. "I feel stupid for crying over it."

"Why?"

"Because you're right!" You said exasperatedly. "He's a prick and what he did was fucked. And here I am, crying over this asshole. It's pathetic."

He hummed. "I get that." He tilted his head toward you. "But, once you're done crying, are you gonna try to get him back?"

You furrowed your brows in confusion. You weren't even gonna consider that. "No."

Are you gonna be sad about this for years to come?"

"No."

"Y'gonna give up dating altogether and insist that he left an unfillable hole in your heart?"

"Why are you asking me this shit?"

"Because if you were really pathetic, you probably would've said something other than no to those questions."

You paused, letting his words marinate. And then you chuckled. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious!" He laughed. "There's a lot worse things to do in this situation than just crying."

"I guess you're right." You sighed. "But, still. I don't think venting to a stranger is one of the better things to do."

He chuckled. "I'm Hobie."

"I'm Y/n." You were surprised that this random guy was actually making you feel better. But, you weren't gonna complain.

"Now we're not strangers. Which hopefully means you'll tell me a little more about yourself and about this whole breakup."

You, once again, considered calling him nosey. But, for some reason, you weren't opposed to the idea of telling him more.

"Well," You began. "He and I had been dating for 5 months, for the first three or four months, he was really sweet. But... I don't know. This last month he was being really distant and he was always seeming kind of disinterested in me."

"So, was there any real reason for the breakup?" He asked.

"It was sort of out of nowhere. We didn't have a big argument or anything."

"This guy really does sound like a prick." Hobie scoffed. "I've only just met you, but you seem pretty cool."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Besides who'd ever wanna break up with someone who could get them free pizza?" He smirked playfully.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Shitty free pizza." You corrected him.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter if the food's shitty, long as it's free."

You opened your mouth to reply to him when someone called your name, one of your coworkers.

"It's been 20 minutes." Your coworker said, peeking their head around the corner of the building.

You sighed and got up. "I've gotta go." You told Hobie as you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"It's no problem. I enjoyed it." He said, smiling up at you.

You wanted to ask for his number, or his socials, whatever. But, you'd just gotten out of a breakup. It felt wrong asking for someone's number so soon, even if it wasn't really with romantic intentions. So instead, you just said goodbye and went back to work.

You got inside and were taking your jacket off.

"Who was that guy you were talking to?" Your coworker asked.

You glanced over at them and shrugged. "A stranger."

"He was really hot."

You paused before signing. "Yeah, he was."

[soundspeachytome]

from this day forward - shohei ohtani au

a wedding au where shohei and female reader have broken up and anywhere within shohei's 5-foot radius is molten lava

special mentions: lars nootbar as the couple's best friend

trope: friends to lovers to strangers to lovers again, second chance, a bit of forced proximity, fluff

word count: 4560 words

other notes: started out as angst but decided towards a more peaceful resolution

written under the influence of 1989 the vault tracks. thank you mother taylor for your genius brain.

=======================================

The next time you'd see Shohei Ohtani was in a wedding ceremony. He would be wearing an expensive grey suit and a tie in oxford blue that you've picked up for him months before. His thick dark hair would've been waxed and slicked back showing more of his forehead. If it had been last spring, that hairstyle would not have lasted as your fingers would tug the back of his head while he stole you kisses at the security of someone's bathroom sink, locked away in the gentle murmur that both escaped your lips. You'd be late and attracting a lot of stares from the guests and terse expressions from the bride and groom, definitely knowing your shenanigans. Instead, you came here alone, at the demand of your best friend and bride, Jessica, agreeing to meet up with the rest of the entourage. Your absolute consolation would be rubbing elbows with some of Jessica's celebrity friends, being a celebrity herself, and eating expensive food. For free. You'd be seeing Shohei too, yes, since he used to be in Jessica's social circle through you, only this time, you'd be alone.

You clutched your drawstring purse tightly and made a beeline towards the mobile bar that served drinks. If you'd have to go through this entire ordeal while nursing your broken heart--in a wedding reception, no less--you might as well get plastered.  

In the last summer that you've spent with Shohei Ohtani, you realized it wasn't all rainbows and sunshine. Although the relationship did start as a one-night stand and friendly banter, you caught yourself falling deep for him. You believed he did too as he spent more and more time in your apartment and called you often despite being out of town for the season.

You knew the consequences being involved with him like that but as if under a spell, you ignored the red flags that came with being his lover. One of them being constantly reminded of public pressure and opinion. Not even being a hotshot professor with a PHD in Creative Writing and Literature in a prominent university could save you from criticism. Being the golden boy of Japanese baseball had its repercussions. The media's constant prodding into your relationship took a toll on you since the beginning. You don't like attracting attention to yourself. You were quite the private person, so was Shohei. He only answered questions about his work in the big leagues, in respect to your wishes. So why did it feel like a betrayal when he actually dodged the media when they playfully inject questions about your not-so-secret secret? Why did it feel like a denial when he could've acknowledged the relationship like a normal person at least once? But Shohei was not a normal person, and you knew that. He was special beyond imagination and you wouldn't want to do anything that would ruin his reputation, much like his chances to appease both Western and Japanese media. 

Secondly, when his dedicated fanbase learned about you being in Shohei's life, they went rabid. They found your social media accounts despite having a vague name handle on Instagram; you didn't even have your personal photo on your profile. But they were scarily smart, his fans. They figured out your cryptic photos and captions that aligned to the locations Shohei was recorded to be at (and those were your actual short quiet dates around town during his free days). You had to ironically laugh out loud once, when it all suddenly happened, an unspeakable number of notifications flooding your phone, messages you couldn't ever dream o tf ever receiving.

"Are you sure you're Shohei's girlfriend??? you don't look like Shohei's type at all."

"Girl, you're constantly with Shohei recently? Are you a stalker pretending to be his girl for attention?"

"This girl in her delulu era lmao"

It took you all the restraint in your body to reply to these anonymous accounts, convincing yourself it was not worth it. You knew with every fiber of your being that showing off Shohei Ohtani as your boyfriend was worth every malicious comment sent to you, but you didn't. You never did. You never mentioned this to him despite the anxiety eating you alive. For you, at that time, as long as you have him tangled in bedsheets, in the quietest moments, the clamor of the world outside did not matter. 

Of course, you were wrong again. Much like every out of the ordinary couple, it was destined to fail. It did not take long until he got frustrated with your frustrations. It also affected your work. More and more students gossiped and faculty bullied you into oblivion. But why couldn't you tell him anything? Why wouldn't you show him how heavy carrying the relationship has started to feel? The thing is, you didn't feel like you should demand anything more, that being with him was already a blessing and demanding more means being greedy.

One night when both of you were coming off from a sugar high after eating too much cookie dough from Target, your head lay on his arms and his face pressed against yours. You laid there in bed with him in the silence, except for the rapid beating of your heart against his chest. You prayed for moments like this, and now it's happening. You love this. You love hi--

"I think I love you." you blurted out.

"Hmm?" he doesn't lift his head and continued to lay there, voice sounding sleepy as ever.

"I think... I think I'm in love with you, Sho." you whispered. "I like you more than the first date. It's just something I felt a while back..." you rambled on waiting for a response and when you tried to unentangle yourself from his hold, he suddenly tightened his embrace, beckoning you to stay still under the covers. He started lightly snoring after a few minutes.

He heard it, right? You thought he had fallen asleep but he heard you.

So why didn't he say it back?

"You gave up on him, remember?" You said to yourself as you sipped your first glass of raspberry limoncello prosecco. "So stop acting like he owes you anything. Not even an explanation or closure, Y/N."

You caught your faint reflection on the sliding glass door right beside the mobile bar. You were wearing a blue satin dress you bought for this wedding. The neckline going lower than when you first tried it on, revealing a bit of your cleavage. The dress also has a bonus feature: the maxi dress has a slit that stops just below your right thigh. You originally bought this at the same with Shohei's tie. You thought you'd surprise him with how sexy the dress was, and with you wearing it, you could only imagine his reaction. You sighed, as you took one last look on your dress, you noticed a familiar face nearing from behind you.

"Are you sure you're not trying to get him back with that dress?" Lars Nootbar loomed from behind, grinning, eyeing the skirt.

"It would need me more than a seductive dress to get him back, Lars." You scoffed. "Besides, I'm not that drunk yet." You proudly raised your half full glass of prosecco. Lars, your best friend and wingman, who was unfortunate enough to get caught in the Cold War (Pre-Break-Up Phase), down to the Great Depression (Post-Break Up Phase) and had to be there for the both of you, separately. Poor old Lars couldn't pick a side between his two besties, that he had to go back and forth between spending his time comforting you while you went on a How I Met Your Mother rabbithole while eating only salty snacks and leftover cake; and Shohei dragging him to go on a 5-mile jog almost every morning and deadlifting more than 400lbs lbs to "bulk up for the next season". Shohei knew that Lars could smell through his bullshit. Lars gave no comment every time he suggested something crazy during their workouts, or tried to talk him out of it. He was also tightlipped on how both of you were dealing with the break up, and for that, you and Shohei were grateful. 

"Well, I'll keep my radar on in case you start hysterical crying during the reception."

"Good call. Maybe tie a leash around my ankles while you're at it." you rolled your eyes and he sniggered, revealing his dimples. 

"Lars, I swear to God, I just want to go through this wedding without breaking down. The good thing is our breakup is already out in the open, so he's walking the aisle last with his new, equally-tall, bridesmaid partner, who also happens to be a model for Vogue Japan." you said a matter-of-factly.

"Did you do your research on the bridesmaids, Miss FBI?" said Lars. It was only a matter of coping that you stalked all the women he has spent time with in social events. This wedding is no different, you thought. You just wanted to know if he had moved on with another fling. If he already replaced you that quick, then it would make you feel more vindicated when you presumed he didn't love you and fight for you at all. 

"The internet is an amazing thing. I know now how his fans got so obsessed with hunting me down."

"Did you run out of TV series to binge on that you're now stalking your ex?" said Lars. He was smiling but his eyes showed a slight worry in his expression.

"Someone's got to fill in the role of the crazy ex, you know." you joked. "Don't worry, big guy, I'm not going to have a relapse after just one wedding."

He eyed you dolefully. "I'll keep an eye on you, lady."

"There he is! Our MVP!" someone shouts. Suddenly a number of guests flocked towards the end of the hall, clapping and greeting Shohei Ohtani, who just entered the reception with Ippei Mizuhara, his trusty friend and interpreter. He smiled politely and greeted everyone as he tried to find his way towards the crowd, eyes scanning the place.

"Ooh... He came without a date. Interesting turn of events--" commented Lars, about to say a joke but was interrupted when you swiveled on your feet so fast, you could've been a Yo-yo. Lars let out a loud laugh, inviting a few looks from nearby guests. Your back facing them, sipping your prosecco nervously, and pretending your Midnight Blue marble nail art is more interesting than Baseball star, Shohei Ohtani (who inconsequentially just happens to be your ex-lover. NBD.)

"Shut up and stop looking at him!" you hissed. 

Lars chuckled and before he could say anything more, the wedding coordinator's voice boomed into the speakers. "Entourage, come forward please."

"Oh, fantastic. Here we go." You downed your remaining drink and took Lars by the arm. 

By the time you got to the entourage queue, someone called your name.

"Y/N as bridesmaid, come here please." Linda, the wedding coordinator in a stunning dress suit and pants called out. You went to her, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone else. Everyone was probably gossiping how you and Shohei didn't arrive together, or why you have your arms linked with Lars instead of his. You tried brushing it off but the guests' side glances really bothered you.

"Groomsmen, Shohei Ohtani. Stand beside Y/N, please." 

It must've been the wine because you thought you were hearing things. You chuckled to yourself. You thought Linda called--

"Shohei Ohtani, stand here, please!" Linda was waving at Shohei, who was at the back of the line to come forward and pointing at the space beside you. It took you a couple of seconds to realize what it all meant. Your eyes turned around to look for Lars. He was 2 rows behind you and reciprocated your panicked gaze. 

"Um, Linda, there must've been a mis--" You started but were immediately cut off when Shohei came to your side. 

"We're good, Linda. Thank you." He smiled politely and shook his head at me. You could only look back in disbelief.

"Didn't you say you'd have the list updated with Jessica?" You blurted out.

"I did."

"So?" Your voice raising. Shohei gave you a furtive look. He stood closer and offered his arm. All those mental preparations you had planned went down the drain as soon as you stood close to him.

"I couldn't." He started.

"I know I should have. When we split up, I always thought we would get back together so I put off telling Jessica about the breakup... and changing the list... would be... Pointless."

"You act as if you did something to prevent the breakup." you said bitterly. "Let's just get this over with and move on to our separate ways, okay?"

He looked pained when he searched your eyes, hoping you could return his gaze. You didn't and only looked straight ahead. You knew he was looking at you. You knew he was trying to say something more but couldn't. You knew that if you looked at him and saw his sad brown eyes, you'd go soft and all those months of trying to get him out of your system would all be for nothing. You're able to stand up now because you chose not to wait for him anymore. Don't go searching for a reason to look back now. 

You swallowed hard. Making a big deal out of this would only draw flak from other guests and with especially with Jessica. It's her day after all. No time for any of your meltdowns. The last thing you wanted to do is make a scene in the presence of Shohei. Especially in front of Shohei, so you put on your big girl shoes on and took his arm to walk down the aisle. You silently die inside as you gripped his biceps hard against your hand. 

Oh god, this is going to be a long day, you groaned inwardly.

The wedding ceremony went surprisingly quick. The bridesmaids were seated separately from the groomsmen on the opposite side of the hall. Once you and Shohei reached the end of the aisle, you immediately let go of his arm and walked towards the bridesmaids' table without glancing at him; Shohei did the same and walked as fast and normal as he could, trying to steady himself being near you after months of separation.

When the host announced the newly weds' entrance, you were already on your second flute of champagne. Of course, you didn't pass up the opportunity to taste the petite crab cakes and tuna tartare from the appetizers. You busied stuffing your mouth with as much food as you could so there wasn't any room for conversation. In between bathroom breaks and buttermilk biscuit refills, you'd spot someone you knew from you and Jessica's school, or from Shohei's circle, stopping by to say a quick hi. Of course, you'd exchange curt greetings and you braced yourself when it spins to the impending question.

"So sad to hear about you and Shohei, dear." one of the guests, Mrs. Nakamoto, approached you with her wine glass. She dazzled every time the lights caught the rhinestone jewelry adorned all over her neck.

"I'm okay, Mrs. Nakamoto, thank you for your concern." you faked a smile and responded with the lines you have rehearsed a hundred times in front of the mirror.

"Couples fight, that's normal. Fighting means you want to fix things." she said, looking at you. "Don't be too mad at him anymore. He loves you, you know."

You look at her, bewildered. "I don't quite under--"

"He spoke to the media and asked to give you privacy." she winked. "Oh to be young and in love. Makes you fearless, don't you think? The fans were not happy though. Have you seen it yet?" she asked pointedly when she saw your blank expression.

You had no idea what she was babbling about. It could be the wine, or probably some tabloid news she heard from the grapevine. You intend to correct this but as if Mrs. Nakamoto could read your mind, she interrupted your thoughts before you could open your mouth.

"He won't go far to scold his fans if he doesn't want to protect you and your relationship, you know." she winked and with that she floated away with her twinkling diamonds, leaving you utterly shocked. Scolded his fans? Since when did Shohei talk about his personal life in front of the press? Mrs. Nakamoto must've been mistaken. The world would be ending and he would only talk about baseball more than anything.

You tried following Mrs. Nakamoto but she had already disappeared into the crowd. Lars came into view, dimples on display and cheeks flushed from all the dancing, probably.

"Hey, sweet pea. Having fun on your own?" he asked.

"Just about to." you took a swig of your last champagne and dragged Lars into the dancefloor. He quickly noted the change of music and started dancing.

"I love this song!" you exclaimed as I Don't Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing in the background. You were swaying your hips and singing the song word by word, not a care in the world. For the first time tonight, were actually enjoying yourself.

It took 3 songs until Lars called timeout. His face flushed and sweaty from keeping up with you, almost heaving.

"Man, do you already have weak knees at that age?" you giggled and tried to hold on to him thinking he might suddenly collapse from exhaustion.

"I think I actually do, dude. I'll remember not to underestimate you on Just Dance." he was looking at something from behind you, as if looking for someone.

"If you want to sit down, we can sit down back there--"

The music switched up and suddenly a slow song started. Grow Old With Me by Tom Odell.

Lars took your hand and led you into the middle of the dancefloor. Unknowingly, you followed along. He might've already recovered and want to dance more. He is your partner in crime tonight, after all. Whatever confusing feelings you felt after talking to Mrs. Nakamoto earlier has been swept away from your mind. At least momentarily.

And then it happened too fast, you didn't have the time to process what was happening. One moment you were holding Lars' hand, now you're facing Shohei, his right hand slithered to your back, and the other on yours, leading the dance. He thanks Lars and Lars taps his back, retreating back into the dancefloor as if he nothing happened. Of course, he is also Shohei's best friend and wingman. Of course, he'd do this. He is definitely going to hear a lot from you once you get back at him.

Shohei pulls you harder to him, shaking your attention from Lars to him. Only him. He's looking at you and you're looking at him like it was a dream. Or a nightmare. You couldn't decide because his perfume invaded your system and is causing your mind to stop working.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"That dress is so revealing, Y/N." he finally said after a few moments.

"Wow. That's none of your business." You snapped, annoyed now. What a way to break the spell. "I didn't wear this for you."

"Hoping you could bring a date home tonight?" he said, voice low.

Oh, he did not. The worst thing he could do is provoke you on a night like this. Not when you're on the brink of alcohol intoxication. Your mouth runs everywhere when you're drunk.

"Why does that concern you? I can because I'm single anyway. You should try it too."

"Who said I was single?" Shohei looked pissed off now. As much as you want to escape, as someone with Scorpio rising, you just want to play with fire.

"Oh, you did you replace me with? Was it the Vogue Japan model? Or the badminton player during the gala?" you pushed.

The look on his face gave you chills on your bones. Oh, he was angry angry.

"I'm starting to think you believe what the tabloids wrote more than what I ever told you in the past."

"What did you ever tell me, Sho? I'm curious. I don't think I ever heard you say anything reassuring." You don't want to go through this anymore, no matter how pissed off you feel. You just want to go home and take a long warm bath while listening to your sad breakup playlist.

You let go of Shohei's hand and stopped dancing. You turned your heel and walked towards the exit, in the middle of the wedding band's rendition of Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. 

At the corner of your eye, you saw Lars dancing and flirting with one of the bridesmaids. He noticed you but you waved him off, stopping him. If he was enjoying the night, you shouldn't drag him along with him. He has already done so much for you. You can handle this on your own tonight.

You shivered as soon as you stepped outside the hall. You let a light wind breeze through you as you walked around the garden path, lost in your own thoughts. You mentally smack yourself for forgetting to bring a coat again. It was a cold evening and you no longer have Shohei to keep you warm. And you were always so cold. You'll have to get used to bringing your own coats again. You, who has always been okay being alone pre-Shohei days, would have to wake up without his good morning texts again. Dining alone. Sleeping alone. Watching movies alone. 

Walking aimlessly in the garden, you remembered your conversation with Mrs. Nakamoto and fished your phone from your purse. You knew it was not a good idea to be watching his interview videos anymore but curiosity killed you. You googled his latest interview video and pressed play.

The interview started with the usual introductions and questions about baseball and his performance from the last game. He answered them attentively and politely. Then, a reporter suddenly asked him about you.

"Since you are attending Jessica Thuy's wedding next week, do you have plans on addressing if you and Y/N are gonna be endgame? Or has the fans scared her off already?" the reporters' laughter was heard on the recording. Ippei, who had been within shot the whole time, looked like he wanted Shohei to ignore the question but Shohei grunted and gave the cameras a sarcastic smile.

"I thank the fans for their constant support of my games and schedules. I'm grateful, really. But they don't have a say on who I fall in love with." The crowd went quiet, waiting for him to say more. He gave in and indeed more, much to their delight. "The woman I'm in love with is a very private person. It took me a long time to get to know her because she's always had her nose buried in a book. She gets super chatty when she talks about the things she is passionate about. She would not, for the life of me, stop talking about astrology. She once cried when she learned that Manatees are endangered species. She has a laugh that the fans commented negatively about. I find her laugh the most adorable thing I've ever heard and I don't want to live in a life where I don't hear it ever. I hope the fans respect that. Thank you." It was as if the wind was sucked by a vacuum and got sealed elsewhere. Even Ippei was speechless. He couldn't believe Shohei said that in front of the media. He was fighting for you. He finally set his boundaries.

He signaled the end of the interview and went out of frame just in time for the video to end.

You turned around to go back to the reception but saw Shohei standing behind you, his face glistened with a wistful expression. You stood there with tears in your eyes. That interview sounded like a confession of love and now you want to hear more.

"When you left I really thought you brought all the sunshine with you. Literally... It was always raining in our games." He said. "In my heart, too. It's true. I don't ever want to live in a life where I don't have you, Y/N."

"I figured the best way to get you back was this wedding, since you know, you've blocked me everywhere. You even told the receptionist in your apartment to never let me in." he pouted.

"And about that night... I was embarrassed because you said it first. I thought that when I'd finally say it, it would be after I plan the craziest, most beautiful date ever. You know, private restaurant reservation, red roses, fireworks, all the jazz. I wanted to give you that much." he chucked darkly to himself. "I know now that I have been the biggest asshole to let that moment slip away and let you go without bringing up a fight. I should have said it right then and there. Fireworks or no fireworks."

You went through a rollercoaster of emotions over his speech. After watching the video, you wanted to storm back to the reception and confront him, angry because it made you feel ashamed at what the both of you had to go through in the last couple of weeks. Now you just want to laugh out loud at how this has unfolded.

"Fireworks?" you squeaked, wiping tears that threatened to fall from the sides of your eyes.

"Well, they're a bit romantic...don't you think?" he said shyly, looking down. You finally burst in a loud, belly laugh.

"You idiot. Come here."

Shohei took huge strides to get to you, smiling widely. You forgot how much he towered over your small frame. You had to strain your neck to look up at him. "I hope it's not too late to say it. I don't have the fireworks though. I didn't get to plan if this cornering-you-in-the-wedding thing is going to work out... And as for the tabloids, I--"

You went on your tiptoes and pulled his face to yours. "Stop talking."

You gave him a light peck at first, testing the waters. He returned the kiss with more pressure, as if trying to catch up with lost time. He put his hands on your waist and pushed his body towards you with so much fervor. This time, his movements became needy, frantic even. As if any moment from now, you'd disappear again.

He held the nape of your neck and pulled you closer, opening your mouth with his tongue. He licked the insides of your mouth, making you shiver with pleasure. A moan escaped your lips and you held on to his shoulders tightly. Both of you are lost in the kiss, pulling and pushing each other's bodies like molding clay, hoping that after this, you come out as one body, one soul and one heart.

You only parted when you needed to breathe for air, foreheads touching. You're both needy now, desperate for more of his touch. Anywhere that he hasn't touched feels on fire. His hand wandered through your clothed chest and squeezed your breast tightly, earning another moan from you. You let your leg stroke his middle and felt him harden, all while your hands pinched his ass. He grunted a noise and gave you a hungry look. Anything that you've thought before this moment has been forgotten. You remembered how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him.

"I love you, Y/N. I'm sorry I took so long to say it." Shohei finally broke the kiss and looked at you. "Fuck, that feels so good. You don't know how happy I am that I could finally say that. I love you."

You too couldn't imagine a better moment for him to say it.

Fireworks or no fireworks.

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 5: On the Road Again

Word Count: 835/Rating: T/Pairing: Steddie if you squint/CW: slight Eddie x Steve/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Steve Harrington

Divider credit to @silkholland

In retrospect, Eddie shouldn’t have ignored the clunking noise coming from the van’s engine. Though, in all fairness, he didn’t have the money to go to a mechanic and figure out the source. 

He would have had the money after the gig Corroded Coffin booked for tonight—a show for a club’s grand opening out in Indianapolis—except they’re currently stranded on the side of the interstate. Smoke billows from the front of the van, the scent silently urging Eddie to light up a cigarette. 

Or maybe that’s just the stress. 

“We have forty minutes to get to the club,” he mutters, the cigarette muffling his words. “If we can get to a payphone, we can call Pat and see if she can put us on later—”

“That still doesn’t solve our problem of actually getting there,” Gareth interjects, earning a scowl from Eddie that he easily ignores. “You got Triple-A?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You got Triple-A?” He pitches his voice upwards in a nasal, mocking tone. “If I had Triple-A, I’d be hitching a ride in a tow truck right now.”

“So…do we just wait here for someone to pity us and drive us to the club?” Jeff shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking one sneakered foot against the gravel. 

“Gonna need more than just a car to lug all of our shit,” Grant points out. “Like…a truck or something.”

Gareth crosses his arms. “Yeah, great idea. Let’s just hitchhike with a random trucker. That’s never ended poorly for anyone.”

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. I’ll protect—”

“SHUT UP!” Eddie’s anger silences the other three band members. His thumbnail is pinched between his teeth as he paces back and forth. “I can’t think with you idiots dicking around.” 

He runs a ringed hand through his curls. They’re still twenty miles out, but a faded blue sign ahead shows that there’s a truck stop a half-mile away. There’s probably a payphone there. He can call Pat, explain the situation, and ask if any of the other bands would pick them up. 

Before he can relay the plans to the others, a pair of headlights illuminates the road. The car slows to a stop next to the broken-down van. Eddie squints, trying to make out the person sitting in the driver’s seat as they roll down the window. 

“Eddie Munson?” A man’s voice, though puzzled, is familiar. Eddie recognizes the hair first—literally, The Hair. 

Steve Harrington lowers his radio as he takes in the sight before him. “You guys break down or something?”

Eddie’s jadedness makes itself present before his brain can catch up. “Nah, just enjoying a warm summer night on the side of the highway.”

“Dude,” Jeff mumbles, elbowing him in the side. 

Eddie sighs. As much as he despises the former King of Hawkins High, he can’t risk squandering the opportunity for a free ride. “Yeah, man,” he concedes. “We need to get to a payphone and find someone to get us to our gig.”

“I can take you.”

This has to be a joke. The last time Steve Harrington was nice to him was…never. 

“It’s all the way in Indy—”

“I’m headed that way.”

“And we have all our stuff—”

“Trunk’s roomy.”

Grant grasps Eddie’s shoulder. “C’mon. We don’t have another choice.”

He’s right, and Eddie knows it. The Freak’s success lies in the hands of The Hair. He waits for the gotcha moment, half expecting Steve to drive off once they’ve managed to pile the two guitars, bass, and Gareth’s snare into the trunk, but that never happens. 

Grant, Jeff, and Gareth scramble into the backseat, leaving Eddie to sit next to Steve. 

Great. 

They’re nearly at the club when Eddie can’t hold his tongue any longer. “So are you, like, a good dude now?” The words spill out. “Because the Steve I knew in high school would’ve left our sorry asses in the dust.”

Steve laughs, and Eddie finds himself relieved that no offense was taken. “Yeah, I was a jerk. Like, major ego.”

“So what happened?”

Steve pauses before responding. “Let’s just say it was my ass that got left in the dust, and it was one hell of a wake-up call.”

Eddie nods. “Well, we owe you one. Gas money, at least.”

“Nah, it’s cool. We’ll call it even after all of the shit I put you through in high school.”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “Can I buy you a drink at the club? If you were gonna stay, I mean. No pressure or anything.”

“Sure.” Steve smiles. “Figured you’d need me to stick around and give you a lift back anyway.”

“Y-Yeah. I mean, thanks.” Christ, why does kindness suddenly have Eddie unnerved? 

“Think we might be writing more love songs soon,” Eddie hears Gareth whisper to Jeff. He’d reprimand the drummer if it wasn’t for two pesky facts:

One, he doesn’t want to call any more attention to the comment. 

And two, he is, in fact, composing a mental list of words that rhyme with “hair.”

--

[katyawriteswhump]

The power of love, part 5 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Eddie POV

Robin spreads out a map they’d taken from the Harringtons across the blanket on Steve’s bed. She points to their current location. 

“So, this is us. We’re away from the road but still waaay too screaming-in-your-face easy to find.” She slides her finger a few inches across the map. “This old loggers’ camp is deep in the forest and could be the perfect place to hide. However, it’s over seven miles and we might have to hike, if the track is broken up. Steve? What do you say?”

“What am I supposed to say, Robin?” Steve sits up against the pillows, arms folded. “Let’s get going.”

“It’s a loooong way for you, if we can’t drive, man,” says Eddie.

“I’m good. Jesus! Hiking is in her top ten least favourite pass times. Not mine.” Steve throws off the covers, pushes himself up. He repels Eddie’s attempt to help with a jab of his elbow then leans heavily on the wall. “When do we start?”

“Hold your horses, cowboy.” Eddie cranes over the map. “My beloved Pa had a few hideouts round this way—”

“Yeah, they must’ve been totally undiscoverable,” snarks Steve, “what with Al Munson being FOREVER IN JAIL.”

“If you’re feeling so much better, Dingus, THEN STOP BEING A BITCH.” That was Robin, now matching Steve’s glare. “Go on, Eddie. What’s your plan?”

They strike out for the logging camp that afternoon, planning to break their journey in a cave, which Eddie’s Pops had used a couple of times. They drive the first part of the trail, then set off on foot when the track gets too uneven for the Lincoln’s tyres. Most of the trail is uphill through forest. Steve, however, refuses any help, and insists on taking his share of supplies.

He says very little, walking close to Robin. She wavers between cajoling him into taking breaks, and an encouraging monologue. Eddie goes ahead, using a compass and some basic tracking skills Wayne taught him, while squinting at the hazy sun. And, obviously, he seeks the easiest path for Steve.

“You know I suck at directions, right?” he whispers to Robin, while Steve takes a ‘moment,’ sitting down. “Though I’m gonna blame Vecna—and the matter that Hawkins is now one big, fiery Upside Down doormat—for blowing the compass off.”

She bats a bug from her nose. “Ugh! If it’s any consolation, trail finding was never exactly my number one skill, either.”

“How about Captain America over there?”

“He literally never knows his left from his right.” Eddie’s rarely seen anything more loving than the look she casts Steve’s way. “I think it’s gotten harder for him. He’s had... uh, quite a few blows to the head in recent years. Never seen him like this before. I’m worried, Eddie.”

“Me too.” Eddie swipes hair from his brow, finding it slick with sweat. “Talking of Vecna-skewed compasses and Vecna in general. Should we also worry about his crazy-ass cravings for Lover’s Lake?”

“At this juncture, I’m hoping it’s all some kind of freaky coincidence.” She actually closes her eyes, as if offering up a silent prayer. “I mean, even when he’s outta his mind, Steve really, really loves swimming. On the other hand, if going near the lake actually made Steve better, and that’s why he healed so quick after his initial bat attack, then… then…  Oh shit, I don’t even want to say it.”

Their gazes lock, and Eddie knows they’re brain sharing: There’s a gate to the Upside Down in Lover’s Lake. If Steve’s somehow linked to it some evil-magic-juju fashion, then… 

“You don’t seriously think he’s flayed?” Eddie little more than mouths the words.

Robin slices up a forbidding hand, so fast Eddie fliches. “No. Not that. He can’t be. Vecna isn’t in his head—he’d tell us, right? I mean, there could be a more physical link to the Upside Down and the hive mind, like with Will at various stages, but… No, no, no. We’re catastrophising, huh?”

Eddie nods keenly, which does little to dispel his unease. On the other hand, Robin is right. Nothing about Steve’s behaviour is shouting “flayed” or whatever. Including the teeny, tiny matter of Steve bringing Eddie back from extinction, though that remains totally unexplained. Yeah, it could be simply because death happens differently in the Upside Down.

Steve hauls himself up, hugging a tree. “What we waiting for? Bears to come bite our sorry butts?”

“There are bears out here?” Robin squeaks.

“He’s kidding,” mutters Eddie. At least, Eddie hopes he is. Steve still looks dead grumpy and serious.

They make the caves by sunset. They’ve got flashlights, and Eddie and Robin could’ve pressed on through the night, but Steve blatantly can’t. As soon as they arrive, he slumps down against the rockface, curls his legs up. He presses his face to his knees and rocks himself gently.

“You sure you’re all right?” asks Eddie.

“Next person who asks me that gets punched.”

Ooookay. No change in Steve’s mood then. Robin reassures herself there are no bear scratches in the cave then heads out to scout the route for the next morning. Eddie starts unpacking the bedding and cereal.

The air in the cave is cool and thick with damp. Eddie kinda likes it anyhow. Amid the must and mould, he inhales the faintest hint of charcoal. He pictures his Pa shacked up here, also on the run. He can’t help chuckle: I tried soooo hard not to follow in your footsteps. 

Steve, meanwhile, is huddling ever more tightly in on himself.

Eddie’s tempted to light a fire, as he imagines it gets cold in caves overnight, plus it’s still only April. However, he fears the smoke, if not the flames, could billow out of the narrow entrance and be spotted from miles around. Maybe that’s where you went wrong, Daddy dearest.

“You want a blanket?” ventures Eddie, sitting down next to Steve. Not quite touching, though. “Anything to eat? C’mon, dude. We all gotta keep our strength up.”

He taps the cereal packet against Steve’s arm, startling him into looking up. The torchlight heightens the shadows beneath Steve’s cheekbones, making him look horribly pale and gaunt. Kinda ghost-like, though Eddie stifles a gasp of shock for a different reason.

Steve Harrington is crying. Though trying his darndest not to—gritting his teeth, swiping the tell-tale moisture from his cheekbones. “God! I’m beyond pathetic. No wonder everyone thinks I’m a total dud.”

Cereal cast aside, Eddie squeezes Steve’s knee then retreats like the coward he is. “What are you on about? You’re, like, the most popular guy in town.”

Steve’s scowl is angry, incredulous and broken in equal measures. “Was, man. It was all a bunch of bull, and… totally irrelevant. I mean, haven’t you seen enough? We need to move, to keep moving, to evade capture, to get ready to fight Vecna again. I can barely walk.”

“Oookay, let’s rewind and be kind, Stevie.” He gets away with that sneaky pet-name again. “You’re feeling down because you’re… I dunno, sick, hurt, tired. Where do I begin? Fact is, you’re not a superhero man, you bleed and bruise like the rest of us lesser mortals… but you are a freakin’ hero.”

Steve’s brittle laugh breaks on a sob, against which he clamps his jaw even tighter. Eddie further musters his courage and slings an arm around Steve, who tenses. Then exhaustion wins. Steve sinks sideways against Eddie and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

Soon, Steve’s shuddering breaths even out. The weirdest thing is that, despite how cranky Steve’s been all afternoon, this closeness feels disarmingly natural. That said, in the past forty-eight hours, they’ve had little choice but to become… intimate. Even Eddie's fizzing nerves soon settle.

“One thing’s for sure,” says Eddie, at length. “I’m more jealous than ever. I mean, Henderson’s respect for you must’ve skyrocketed and it was excruciatingly stratospheric already. I’m just the goon you brought back from the dead.”

Steve sniffles, lifts his head from Eddie’s shoulder. “I didn’t do anything really, man. Basic CPR. I executed a move.”

“Yeeeah.” A silly grin tugs the edges of Eddie’s mouth. “With your lips, dude.” 

Steve smirks, and… Woah! Eddie spots something he’d wondered if he’d imagined several times. Including earlier, when Steve collapsed against him on the way back from the outhouse. 

That merest hint of… attraction? Of flirty fun? 

Just as Eddie decides he’s imagining it—again—that spark reaches Steve’s too-pretty, too-sad eyes, and he says: 

“That was kinda fresh of me.”

Eddie’s tongue flaps away before he can stop it: “Tell you one other thing for sure—if you'd asked permission to get all smoochey, for whatever reason, I'd have granted you a full-access backstage pass.” Then Eddie’s brain kicks in. “Aaaaaand, that was dumb. What with you being the straightest guy in the history of ever.” 

Steve’s sparkle vanishes, and he turns his face to the darkness. “Go to Hell! Why does everyone always make such massive assumptions about me?”

“You’re not straight? I mean, I assumed… You’re you. You’ve got girlie mag centerfolds in your room!”

“You’re judging me on that?” Steve ruffles his hair and groans, sounding more wearily upset than agitated. “Look, man, I’ve not changed my room since sophomore year. In case you’re missing any of the plot, I’ve had other crap going on.” 

“Yeah, but you and Wheeler! The way you look at her, and the way she looks at—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Steve sinks his forehead to his knees again. Nevertheless, Eddie’s arm is still around him, and he’s not shrugged it off.  What’s more, it seems he does want to talk, even if it’s rambling and kinda hard to follow: 

“I've been through stuff like this before, Eddie. Getting hurt and shit, hit so hard I black out and the doctors give me all these scary warnings. It’s weird, whenever I wake after being hurt, it feels as if loads of time has passed, even if it’s only been a few minutes. I always feel… shitty, of course, but also… a bit different. It’s confusing… Probably bullshit. It’s all bullshit.”

Different. 

Eddie’s heart gives a little squeeze, which he kinda despairs of. Not before he’s given Steve a small squeeze, too. “What kind of different?”

“I dunno. Like.... this time around, I'm not so into Nance. Or maybe feeling so crappy this past day has given even my thick head perspective, and I can see it’s hopeless. I mean, I figured I was in love with Robin once, when I “came back” from being knocked out, and, of course, I do love her but... not like that. She gets me… better than I do, I guess. Talk to her if you want anything about me to make sense.” He yawns. “I’m soooo tired, man.”

Soon, Steve’s sunk so deep against Eddie, his head is in Eddie’s lap. Eddie drags a blanket up over Steve, then finds himself tentatively stroking Steve’s hair. He’s unsure if Steve is asleep or not. Either way, Steve sighs, kinda melts beneath his touch. Wherever he’s drifted off to, it seems peaceful.

Eddie tries and fails not to think on how trippy this is: I got Steve ‘King of Hawkins High’ Harrington asleep in my lap, and he just snapped at me for suggesting he was straight. 

He also tries and fails not to worry about the whole Lover’s-Lake-giving-Steve-weird-juju issue. Steve just straight-up told him he’s been through near-death experiences before and come back different. Yeah, Eddie’s cheerleading for the GOOD variety of different. However, in Hawkins, and in life in general:

Odds are stacked in the favour of BAD different, Munson. As in FLAYED different.

No. He’s not going down that path. Robin would notice anything weird about Steve, and Steve’s not acting strange. He’s just… strangely sick, though it’s not that odd, really, after all he’s been through.

Yeah, right. And My Little Pony seahorses are gonna surf in on a tsunami of petals and save the day. 

Man, it sucks being such a cynic.

He doesn’t notice Robin slip back in until she’s nearly upon them. “You two got cosy, then,” she whispers.

“I got a creeping suspicion he’s gonna break my neck in the morning for this.”

She wiggles her brows. “Oh, I dunno. His bark is totally worse than his bite.”

“I can hear you, asshats,” mumbles Steve. Robin’s brows shoot sky high. “I don’t want to be sleeping on his bony knees, but some moron forgot to bring pillows.”

Eddie strokes Steve’s hair into that warm groove behind his ear, and finally discovers he’s too tired to worry about anything much at all.

Part Six

...

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

tags: @estrellami-1 (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far.

[enzenwriting]

the feeling when

16 oovoo javer sim jake (written part 1.1k! words)

"y/n when you're done crying over your new best friend, the manager is calling you over to the waiting room" Sakura elbows you slightly, nudging you from your position.

"am I really going to get fired?" your attention falls on her as she nods in response, your jaw slacking from the seriousness. "for what?!"

"From that live performance yesterday. When you said no fucking goddess instead of censoring the lyrics." Kazuha's laugh follows after her statement.

You shrug your shoulder. "and the fans loved it?"

"Just go. I think you'll like it." Eunchae skips over to you, a grin plastered on her face as she stills next to you.

"That sounds suspicious. Now, I definitely don't want to go there."

"Y/N? Can we have a minute?" You hear your manager's stern voice echo from the other side of the room. What was so serious that he needed to talk to you in private anyway? Besides the crazy rumours, you hadn't anything out of the contract. Perhaps it was another rumour? You wouldn't be surprised at this point.

"Go." seemingly reading your predicament, Yunjin walks over, giving you a slight push behind your back. "PD nim said the camera needed changing. We have a lot of time. I'll call for you when we need to be back."

You start walking despite the confusion over her statement. What was going on? If you were actually getting fired, the girls didn't exactly look worried- besides Chaewon at the corner. Well, there's only one way to find out. About the enter the small door leading to the hall, a hand grabs your arm, preventing you from turning the corner. "Hey, you'll be in 5 minutes."

Unfamiliar with the voice, your eyes scan the man standing next to you, his hand still on your arm. You've never seen this person before- or you think so anyway. About to question the man, your attention falls on his i.d, the pink SM logo shining at you. Ah, perhaps a new company staff.

"The manager is waiting for me in there. I'll be back quick." You give him a small smile and you feel his grasp hesitantly loosen. Taking the chance and yanking your arm off, you beeline your way to the waiting room- missing the way the camera crew are still in the process of removing the broken camera off the stand and waiting for the replacement camera to be prepared.

"Y/N" Your group manager stands outside the room. "I need you to go in. I'll be here on the watch so, just enjoy yourself okay?"

Confused

Did he not need to talk to you? Why was he asking you to go into the waiting room without him? Curiosity gets to you as you peak in the room, and you're surprised at the sight- or rather at the puppy boy absently smiling towards you. In the brightly lit room, Jake Sim is sitting down with countless pastries and two coffee in front of him.

Your head whips to your manager as you find him already smiling at you. "He said he needed to apologise to his best friend." he chuckles " Who am I to say no?"

With that, he pushes you in.

"Hey there's the internet IT girl." Jake playfully laughs, waving a pair of wrapped biscuits in his hand. "You were great on the set earlier. I enjoyed seeing you attempt to whistle, but it's cute that you can't."

"I thought you weren't coming? I was expecting my best friend Yang Jungwon" you teased him, walking to where he is sitting and settling yourself at the end of the sofa, a good distance separating you from him. "What's with all this anyway?"

"Just giving my best friend a visit and encouragement during her schedule? They say eating something sweet will give you energy, but I don't know what you like so I just got all of these for you and your group members." hesitantly, you take one of the cookies, examining it before playfully glaring at the boy next to you.

"These aren't sweet as you, but they'll still give you energy" he winks.

You weren't going to lie, that did something to your poor heart. So quickly you had to snort back. "You're only saying that to make up for yelling at me over the message for no reason this morning."

You hear him giggle and you're sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest so you choose to ignore him as you focus back on the cookie in your hand. Suddenly feeling the weight of the sofa shift, your attention turns to Jake, and all too sudden, you freeze when his hand is reaching for your hair.

Jake Sim was going to be the death of you.

His finger softly plays on your hair as you feel him fix the details of your hair. "Maybe that too." You hear his deep voice too close for your health.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find flowers. I hope these pastries made up for it?" He takes his hand back, looking at you with endearing eyes, a soft smile and a tilt of his head. "Did I do well?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to talk, shifting your attention back to the cookie in your hand, suddenly the ingredients listed being the most interesting in the universe.

"then tell me." you hear him whine. Telling yourself to ignore him, you have to igno- Feeling a sudden weight on your shoulder, your head turns to his direction only to find a mop of blonde locks in front of your eyes. "pet my head and say it. You did it from the other side of the wall last time, so I wanna feel it this time."

With your heartbeats drumming in your ear, heat radiating off the skin of your ear and cold fingers, you reach out to ruffle his soft hair. Oh, you were so DOWN BAD when you felt Jake relax on your touch. "You did well."

"You did so well on the music video, I'm not sure if I've told you yet." he giggles. You return a breathly laugh, releasing the breath you were holding. "Today, Jungwon gave us no breaks, do you know how terrifying he is when he's on the leader mode? I'm pretty sure I've seen Chaewon act like that before."

"Oh, trust me." you chuckle. You two talk about everything but nothing at the same time, not paying attention at the time. Talking with Jake was the easiest thing and you feel yourself become careless in his presence.

"And then Jay-"

"Y/N, you have 10 minutes before you get back" Forgetting about your manager, you and Jake jump at the voice, and what comes with a scared Jake? A JUMPY Jake. When Jake jolts from his position, his arms instinctively shoot forwards, hand knocking the iced coffee in your hand- down on your white shirt.

"Are you both done talk- Y/N GET CHANGED!"

16 oovoo javer sim jake

Summary: Joining an already debuted group, you find yourself at the centre of attention, controversy and a series of unfortunate chaotic events every time a certain pup boy is in the sight. But Jake Sim can’t seem to stop following you?!

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an: just our clumsy boy<\3 (rushed and again, no proofread!)

Taglist! (Open! Please send ask to be join!🫶) @ineedaherosavemeenow @bubblytaetae @woneulz @kyuupidwrites @hoonvrs @nvmbheart @seungcheolswife @mika-t3t @theskzvibe @j-wyoung @haechansbbg @chaerybae @nujins @mimikittysblog @phenomenalgirl9 @zuzu-the-simp @invusblog @artstaeh @beomgyusonlywife @lovelypitasworld @elicheel @ilovewonyo @beeeb05 @mariji @en-minniesode @thesiriusmap @dneltrise @enhaz1 (unable to tag in bold! Please check your blog settings!💖)

[l-norris]

Austrian GP 2024 Recap

ITS MY HOME RACE!

This includes the sprint race, so you've got a longer one coming.

Also, I passed my exams with honours even though I prioritised the Spanish GP over studying. Priorities.

DISCLAIMER: Remember that this is just for shits and giggles, I'm not trying to actually hate on any of the drivers cuz all (most) of them are very dear to me

As always, Numbers in brackets = Laps

SPRINT RACE

- Formation lap complete

- Alex starts from the Pitlane once again

- Had to look at J*s Verstappen

- It's lights out and away we go!

- Nevermind, start was aborted for some reason.

- Extra formation lap

- What the hell happened?!

- Confusion

- Apparently it was because of Alex' car overheating?

- Nope, it was photographers.

- Alright, now for real.

- It's lights out and away we go!

- Meh start for Lando

- McLarens side by side

- Max pulls away

- Lando catches up by the end of lap 1

- DRS enabled

- Alpines both bottled their starts lol

- Lando fastest lap (3)

- Top 3 fight!

- Max goes wide literally almost every corner

- Lando was first for 5 seconds

- Oscar now second! (5)

- Get him Osc!

- Max complains (7)

- God damnit why are Lando and Osc fighting

- Carlos up in fourth (8)

- George overtakes him immediately

- Carlos in a Mercedes sandwich

- And Max pulled away a little again

- Checo made a trip into no-mans-land

- DRS train from 4th down

- Max broke the DRS window😮‍💨

- Alpines fighting each other

- The graphics are broken so the laptimes may not be accurate lol

- Lando catches up to Osc (12)

- The boys are fighting

- Danny overtakes Logan

- Osc has his elbows out

- Lando has two track limit warnings (19)

- Yaaaawn

- Just remembered that Qualifying for the actual race is today also

- Nico locks up and overtakes Fernando

- He may have accidentally pushed Fernando wide

- might as well just end the race (22)

- not like it's only one more lap lmao

- remind me to never watch sprints again

- finally it's over

- this was so painful and boring

- "Solid effort" mans didn't do anything except complain and drive

- 🙄🙄🙄

- I'm so glad this is over.

- See you for tomorrow's race!

RACE

- Guanyu starts from pitlane

- Literally everyone on Mediums except for Guanyu

- Formation lap starts

- Nothing notable as always

- Praying for good start from Lando

- Formation lap complete

- It's lights out and away we go!

- A lot of people going wide into turn 1

- Max is up and gone

- Checo pushed Oscar off the track

- I don't like this race already

- Charles damage

- Charles has to pit at the end of lap 1

- Sigh

- Lando fastest lap (3)

- Horrible day for Tifosi 3.0

- When will Charles get lapped this time?

- Oscar passes Checo :) (7)

- There go my hopes and dreams of a McLaren 1-2

- But hey we still got 62 laps to go

- Yaaaaawn

- Kev and Danny pit (11)

- Both on hards

- Nico and Fernando pit (12)

- Haas boys pulling each other along with DRS constantly

- "Kevin save tires" "No fuck that" LMAO KMAG THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

- Max complains about wheelspin (14)

- A WILLIAMS OVERTOOK A FERRARI.

- This must be a feverdream

- Charles really gave away all his luck for Monaco

- Charles pits again

- Oh brother.

- OH BROTHER.

- Pitlane window open

- GP HAD TO EXPLAIN TO MAX THE FERRARI IN FRONT OF HIM LMFAO

- Fernando dive-bombs Guanyu

- Lewis and Checo pit (22)

- Max and Lando pit (23)

- Fernando 10 second penalty

- Oscar first for now

- Literally everyone complains (It's the Austrian air)

- Lewis 5-second-penalty

- Max unsafe release mayhaps?

- Under investigation

- 6,9 second gap between Max and Lando (nice)

- Max gear problems? Stay in seventh something something idk

- "Predicted to finish in the points even without safety car"

- are you sure about that Bryan

- Checo 5-second-penalty for speeding in the pitlane

- Alpine French civil war 2.0?

- Lando fastest lap (34)

- Charles pits again... and we got a problem.

- Oh dear.

- Ferrari when I catch you Ferrari

- Just had to go and get Charlie lapped.

- Max "struggling with the tires all of a sudden" Verstappen

- Alpine French civil war still going (41)

- The boys are fighting

- Pierre won the war (for now)

- Charles is suddenly in 12th

- Maybe points are still possible after all??

- OSCAR P3

- Alex 5-second-penalty

- Max "I can't hold this much longer behind" Verstappen

- Max "Tires are fucked man" Verstappen

- Sorry this is the only interesting thing happening rn

- Lando and Max pit (52)

- Max slow stop

- We're so back

- Checo 5-second-penalty for speeding in the pitlane

- My man you're supposed to be fast on the track not in the pitlane

- This is getting exciting!!

- Both Haas terrorising Red Bulls

- Lando almost in DRS window

- Lando in DRS window!!! (54)

- FIGHT!

- AAAAAAAAH!

- Max "something is wrong with the car" Verstappen

- Max doesn't like his options

- Lando closing in

- Lando track limits

- Oh no

- Lando went wide

- My poor heart

- It's getting spicy

- OH FUCK

- CONTACT BETWEEN MAX AND LANDO (66)

- Both have a puncture🥲

- Lando retires😭

- it's so over

- BUT OSCAR WIN MAYBE?

- Virtual Safety Car (66)

- Oscar is my last hope

- Max 10-second-penalty

- Not like it changes anything

- George win confirmed

- "Yabadabadoo" George is a Seb kinnie confirmed

- Holy shit this was chaos

- I don't know how to feel about this

- At least Oscar got P2

- Honorable mention: Checo still finished behind Max after all that

- Siiiiigh

- I'm sweating as if I was sitting in a racecar myself

- feel free to add on... :)

Hoo boy... this was a day. Yep. Mhm. A day.

Lots of penalties, lots of chaos, divebombs everywhere, the holy quartet of drivers being done with their teams (Kmag, Estie bestie, Charles, Fernando), Checo still finishing behind Max after the man literally murdered Lando and had a puncture... I could keep talking, but this is already half a book, lmao. If you read until here, you're cool :)

[ohtobemare]

Happy 100 Hon! You deserve it!

Requesting fluff number 5 with Ice because why not? I cannot wait to see what you come up with!

Congratulations again!

Fern. FERNNN. This destroyed me, just a little. Enjoy your Ice, because I know I certainly did.

I've Been Thinking

Viper had droned on about this damn mission briefing for nearly an hour. Somewhere, someone had told you that Metcalf was a man of few words with an iron fist, but you were fairly certain that someone had either meant an entirely different Mike Metcalf at a totally different Top Gun, because this man seemed to just hit his stride at the forty-five minute mark. 

Rookies from all corners of the country make up the current class, seated in perfect little lines much like you had the few years before. Stalk straight and unyielding, nobody had so much as breathed as Vipe had outlined the day’s training objective, the room’s air just about as dead as a corpse. It was stifling, you were sweating through your compression shorts and tank-top, and it was becoming more and more difficult not to fidget. 

Viper had ordered an at ease, but even the posture of standing akimbo was starting to hurt. You were itching to get outside, under the sun and in the breeze, and actually get these kids in the air. They were eager, too—the room was tensioned so thick, you could’ve cut it with a paperclip. Even from here you could see the seat on the profiles of the rubber sock newbies, their eyes catching glimpses of activity beyond the hangar, looking for a fight that wasn’t there. Yet. 

Ice rocked lightly on his feet to your right, his elbow nudging yours. Shoulders back and chin level with the floor, you can’t exactly see the look in his eye from behind his aviators, which are unnecessary in the hangar but a staple to Iceman’s persona. However, the little lift of the corner of his mouth, followed by him ever-so-slightly rocking back on his heels, cues you in. 

As instructors, you don’t have to stand at attention and look so enthralled with Viper’s instructive preamble. But, it’s somewhat expected, more of loose rule than anything else—nobody liked being “that guy” who makes an ass of himself and gets on Mike’s bad side. Long ago you’d learned to just put up and shut up during the lecture portion of the day’s instruction, though it was last on your list of preferred exercises. 

Eyes steady forward, you blink, trying not to smile as Tom edges a bit closer to you. From the corner of your eye, you see him leaning just so, wagging his tongue at you playfully, eyes still forward watching for Viper’s reaction. Mike doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy pacing in front of the greenies, hands behind his back, and your bottom lip rolls inward when Ice brushes shoulders with you. 

You’ve been together for almost six months, now. It had started as nothing really all that serious, just a couple of dates with the hottest guy in the class—until it hadn’t just been nothing serious. Ice was a pretentious, cocky son of a bitch that knew what he wanted and strove for excellence in everything. You and your obsessive-compulsive drive for perfection weren’t far behind in the game of “I’m the best at Top Gun.” The only one better than either of you at flight maneuvers was Pete Mitchell, but even he had a thing or two to learn about composure and calculated decisions. 

Precise and, just as his name implies, cold as ice, he’d told you practically from the jump that he wanted to go steady. It had been date numero tres, and had been going pretty spectacularly, despite the wait at the bar for drinks and the broken AC unit to boot. 

You’d been sitting back in a booth at the O-Club, one leg draped over the other, watching the hoard of bodies mesh together in the most chaotic attempt at a group dance you’d ever seen. Tom Kazansky had turned to face you, a dead serious expression on his face as he’d lifted his aviators to the top of his head, thick forearms planted on the table. Looking up at you, he’d taken a slow drink of his bourbon racked with ice, before setting aside the glass and falling back against the booth. 

Dressed in his whites, like always, he’d never looked more delicious. “I’ve been thinking.” 

You’d cracked your usual, goofy smile. “Uh-oh, watch out. Thought patterns initiated. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”  You’d snorted into the neck of your beer, trying to sound official and professional as your foot bobbed to the music filtering through the bar. Unable to stop your minxy wink as he rolled his eyes, you leaned across the table and reached for his hand. 

“Oh, stop it, Ice. What’s on your mind, lover?” 

His smile had barely registered. “I want us to go steady.” 

You’d snapped bolt upright in the booth, nearly dropping the Blue Moon slung between your fingers. Collecting the shock on your face, the little “o” parting your lips was unavoidable. 

“What? Are–are you serious? Already? It’s only been three weeks!” It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than just dating. At least, that’s what you’d interpreted when he’d asked you out the first time. The second time had been dinner, a little more formal. That night had been the third date, dancing and drinking at the O-Club with the rest of their class. 

“Do I strike you as the kind of guy that is anything less than serious?” 

The rest, as they say, was history. From somewhere in the back of your brain you didn’t think going steady with Tom Kazansky was all that good of an idea, but, you’d agreed—you were, after all, head over heels for the guy. And who couldn’t be? The icy eyes, the sandy hair—arms the size of small trees. Confidence in leagues. And his hands….oof. The hands. They’d held every part of you just so, like God Himself had designed them specifically for every inch of your body. 

Nothing ever seemed to rattle Kazansky, in the air or on the ground. He was a magnificent pilot, handled aircraft unlike anyone you’d ever seen. He was calm and collected. Precise, calculated. Sure of his actions, and of his ability. And that was the exact kind of steadfastness you needed to balance the hellion, wildchild blood your father had christened you with just days before you’d enlisted with the U.S. Navy. 

Viper swung about to stand akimbo before the class, chin lifting in that superior way. “Dismissed. Wheels up in twenty, tadpoles.” No sooner did his mouth close from the statement did the class practically leap from their desks, gathering the reading material that they’d been given from the jump. 

The bustle of activity was hectic as you, and everyone else, hurried to prepare for the hands on portion of the day. You wouldn’t be flying today, graduates were expected to be on the ground as support while Viper was in the air with a group of students, but there were preparations. Getting the rubber socks geared up, fitted, and checked was a task in and of itself—one that you remembered clearly, from the first day. 

You’re about to open your flight locker for sunblock when a familiar, thick hand slaps it closed in front of your face. Startled, you jump back half a step and turn, Ice smirking at you with his head tipped to the side. He leans against the locker, other hand on his hip, fisting in the material of his flight suit. 

“Ice,” you smile halfway at him, eyes tracking down his body for a second. Everyone knows you two are an item—everyone of your peers, anyway. You’d decided to keep it from the brass, at least for a while. Something about Mike and his echelon knowing didn’t sit right in your gut, and you’d communicated that. Clearly. 

“What’s up?” 

Ice wasn’t bothered. Reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind your ear, his smile is easy, familiar. Eyes mapping the features of your face from over the rim of his aviators, he pushes them up with the pad of his finger. You watch his tongue track over his top teeth in that telltale, “I like what I see” way, until he clicks it off the wall of his mouth, matter-of-factly. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he angles to bridge the daylight between the two of you, the hint of whatever gum he’s chewing hitting your senses in just the right way. He’s a breath from you, so easily kissable at this dance, and you can see his eyes behind the shades. Memories from that third date smack you between the eyes, and yours track his, even behind the dark lenses.

You chuckle, shrugging a light shoulder. “Uh-oh.” The smile parting your lips is devious. 

Ice angles back to check the area, and you do the same over your shoulder—nobody’s around, most of the team has gathered outside the hangar’s overhead door, checking gear well away from the lockers. The sounds of mechanics tearing at engine parts, the rattle of steel on steel, the light plod of feet on concrete ensures that nobody can actually hear, or care, about your conversation with Ice. 

Goose and Maverick are already there, helping the rookies gear up—neither of you are exactly missed. You’re probably overstimulated and hyperfixated on the notion of getting caught. Knowing you’re blowing this out of proportion doesn’t ease the thud of your heart against your ribcage, or slow the heat that’s creeping through your blood when he looks back at you, lips lifted in that little way that only belongs to Tom Kazansky. 

True to form, you have to ask him what’s on his mind. He never tells you, likes you to ask. Or to try and read his mind. Either way it puts him in control of the situation, and Iceman loves his control. His finger lifts beneath your chin, his thumb stroking lightly, and you see his eyes drop to consider your mouth for a heartbeat. 

“I’m headed home on leave, next weekend. Thinking I want you to come with me and meet my folks.” 

Flabbergasted, your mouth drops open. The Iceman parents, as they have been deemed by your team, are legendary. Ice’s dad is former Navy, his mother an army nurse. Together they’ve raised a son that not only controls the skies, but is nearly second-to-none in reputation alone. Maverick had met them, once, after the group had been invited for Thanksgiving by said parents—you hadn’t been with, on a deployment. 

They were nice people, but just as their son appeared—affluent, poised, and exceptional. Or so said Pete Mitchell. 

The idea of actually meeting them implied two things—one, that Tom was more serious about this relationship than you first imagined. Going steady for six months had implications, yeah, but nothing like this. And second, did they want to meet you? Unsure if Ice had properly relayed your reputation to his mother and father, you worried about their expectations—you were loud, you were funny, and you were not the calm, cool, collected person that everyone had expected Ice to seek out in a SO. 

Sure, you were charming, but so was Tom—in an elevated way you could never hope to master. The fact that he loved you, the idea that he obviously wanted you to meet his family, suddenly vanished out of your brain. Tone in your ears rattled every coherent thought from your brain, and it was difficult to raise moisture in the back of your mouth, your tongue suddenly swollen to twice its usual size. 

Your little, “Really?” squeaked out weaker than you would’ve preferred, which made him chuckle. 

“Really. They’re excited to meet the girl I’ve told them so much about. My mother is already picking out colors for the nursery.” It was a joke, the easy shake of his shoulders off the laugh implied so, but your heart constricted behind your ribs. 

You felt the color bleed out of your face. “Tom, I—” 

“Say yes,” he tipped your chin back just a little, and stepped even closer. From here you could see every one of his pores, feel the heat of his breath. Being this close, being this dangerous while on base, curled your toes in your boots. Tasting the mint on his breath, you swallow thickly, trying to register his words. It’s hard. 

“Oh gawd, I—Ice. Your parents? I don’t even—” 

“Say yes,” he reiterated, a bit harder this time. He reaches to slide the aviators into his hair, moving to push off the locker and stand fully in front of you. His other hand comes to lay against your jaw, his thumb gently skipping over the apple of your cheek. “I want them to meet you.” The tick of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “They’ll love you,” 

You can’t think of anything else but his body heat crashing against your chest, the strength of his hands so gently cradling your face. Vibrating, half from nerves over this sudden news, half from the idea of someone here actually seeing you, your eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat—enough time for him to chuckle and release a slow breath, his chest brushing against yours. 

“You have any idea how hard it is to stand here and not kiss you?” 

The out-of-nowhere statement makes you squeak out a little gasp, your eyes flying open to find his intense stare riveting you in place. You can’t move, can hardly breathe. Sweat has your tank-top and compression shorts clinging to your skin for dear life, it feels like a freakin’ furnace here in the hangar. Your mind is racing, and you wonder if Ice can actually feel your heart trying to rip out of your chest. Breathing shallow and unfulfilling, your fingers curl into the material of his flight suit, clinging for life. Sanity. Stability. 

Fairly certain you need the infirmary for the barrage your heart’s left against your ribs,  but wholly unwilling to leave this moment, your tongue skips out to trace your bottom lip, eyes darting to his mouth. You want to do it, you can taste him on your tongue even just thinking about it, but you can’t move. He’d promised you he wouldn’t kiss you on base, at your request. 

Damn you and your stupid, stupid decisions. “Ice. Please—”

Unraveling, he can see you’re unraveling, and you watch the moment unfold on his face as he winks at you and his smile grows. “Just know that I wanna kiss you, Lieutenant. I’m a man of my word.” 

Instead, he lifts on his toes and presses a kiss against your forehead. His soft mouth brushing against your hair sends a pool of heat straight to your core, and for a moment you fear your knees are going to give and send you to the floor. Fingers digging into the material of the suit, you pull him close, brushing your nose against his jaw as you lift to press a soft kiss behind his ear. 

“If you don’t kiss me right now, Kazansky—your ass is going to regret it.” 

[ironstrange1991]

Strange Love (Part 3)

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Tony is concerned about the state of Y/N and decides to ask Doctor Strange for help. Gradually, something more than friendship begins to sprout from the relationship between the two.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of past traumas, slight angst

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this. If it's any consolation, know that the next five chapters are already written and I hope to start posting them weekly. (I won't promise, though) Let's see what happens.

Chapter 3: Whole Again

“She's not getting better”  Tony Stark was starting to get worried about you. It had been almost a month since the tragic events in the basement and since then you had barely gotten out of bed, had barely eaten, and had not spoken to anyone.

“Maybe she needs more time, Tony” Pepper said trying to be understanding “Look at everything that happened, it's traumatizing.”

“Where's Strange?” Natasha asked “No one has seen him since that day.”

Tony shrugged “Kamar-Taj. Looks like it's in Nepal. Said he need time to get to know himself now that he have absorbed the other Stranger's powers. Honestly, it sounds very much like a mid-life crisis”

“She and Loki...” Natasha didn’t finished

“I don't know. It is possible that they broke up.”

Tony did not approve your relationship with Loki, but the abrupt way you pushed him away after Doctor Strange's death worried him. Several times Loki had tried to talk to you, but you refused to see him.

"Maybe we should take her to a doctor," Pepper suggested. "Maybe a therapist, someone she could talk to."

“No therapist in the world will be able to talk to her about the things that happened” Tony said discouraged  “I saw it and I'm still trying to believe it”

“All this has been out of the media until now and we want to keep it that way. Talking about these things with anyone outside can be dangerous”  Natasha said apprehensively.

Tony wasn't surprised by the calculating way Romanoff looked at things, and he had to admit that she was right.

“I just want her to get better, but my hands are tied. I do not know what to do.”

  ...

The hours passed before your eyes forming days, weeks, a month...

The memories haunted you, you couldn't believe everything that had happened, you were sad, but it was a strange sadness, it was a bitter and dangerous thing.

You were sitting in an armchair watching the fireplace on, it was daytime but all the curtains were closed.

Someone knocked on the door and you jumped. The door opened, it was Tony.

“I'm loving the new decoration of this place” He said looking at the apartment “Low light, no air, broken glass... I liked it.”

You did not answer.

He approached you “You've been here for four weeks, it's starting to make me nervous” He looked at you, his eyes wide open  “I'm... terrified actually.”

You continued in silence.

“Listen... I can't say I understand what you're feeling... at most I can make a poor comparison with when half the universe was dusted and I lost important people for 5 years... I had to deal with all this pain, but I imagine it's not the same thing for you.

You stared at him with red, swollen eyes. He sat on the couch next to you.

“What I'm trying to say is that I've lost several times... you know that better than anyone, but... at some point we have to move on. You are alive and I am sure that right now you didn’t want to be, but you are. So please listen to me, you need to go back living.”

He sighed putting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees “It's all so strange out there, everything is so quiet, I've barely been able to work... I... I'm very worried about you. Please y/n, you know I love you, right?”

You looked at him and tears were streaming down your face  “Tony...”

He hugged you and you collapsed on his shoulder in tears.

 “It's okay, put it out.” He let you cry until you calmed down and then he touched your face, pulling your hair behind your ears and stroking it. “It's going to be okay. I know it’s hard but I am here for you. Always.”

He managed to convince you to take a shower and brought food, you sat down at the table, but at the first bite your stomach turned and you pushed the plate away.

He watched you sitting at the other side of the table apprehensively “You didn't like it, ok, I can order something. How about pizza? It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

You shook your head.

“You need to eat or you'll get sick, please y/n, I'm trying here.”

He gave up trying to get you to eat after a while. He wanted you to come down, but you could barely walk and you were always so tired.

He didn't argue anymore and took you to your room when he realized it was the only thing you wanted. You lay down hugging the pillow. He sighed and sat on the bed leaning against the headboard and pulled you onto his lap. He stroked your hair, touched your forehead a few times.

“You'll get better”  He said apprehensively more to himself than to you “I'll make you feel better.”

   ...

“She's burning with fever” Tony said worried “I don't know what to do.”

“Tony...” Pepper was apprehensive “Maybe its time to take her to see a doctor. Grieve its hard and painful but this… this isn’t only grieve, she is giving up”

Tony ran a hand over his tired face “I'll take care of it“ He said getting up.

"You're not thinking about doing what I think you're going to do," Pepper said in disbelief

“She needs a doctor, you just said!”

Tony knocked on the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum and it opened by itself.

"Strange" he called into the empty, silent hall.

“Stephen Strange is not here at the moment”  Wong replied “Can I help you, Stark?”

Tony ran a hand over his nervous face “Hi Wong, I... I need to talk to Strange, it's... important.”

“Have you tried his cell phone?”

“Funny that you have a sense of humor with that face. Listen, I don't have time for cell phones, I need Strange, NOW”.

A portal opened in the middle of the hall as Tony spoke and Stephen Strange entered  “Stark?”

“You see” Tony said teasing Wong “That's what I was talking about. Cell phone, how absurd!”

Wong walked away leaving the two of them alone.

“What do you need, Stark?”

“You look different”  Tony said making fun as he stalled “You look a bit.. strange.”

“I've heard that joke more times than I could tell and it never gets funny”.

"You'll have to admit it's funny." Tony turned on his heel.

Doctor Strange looked at him apprehensively “What do you need?”

“She's not getting better” Tony said darkly “She doesn't eat, she doesn't get out of bed. This morning she had a very high fever.. I don't know what to do.”

Strange stared at the floor sighing “Tony, I don't think I'm the best person to help her right now.”

“Yeah, I know... that face of yours won't help, but she needs someone who understands and she needs a doctor. You are both. Please… I can’t lose her”

Stephen sighed “I will see her tonight.”

Tony sighed relieved “Thank you, Doctor.”

   ...

You were lost in some dark dream and you couldn't wake up and it was cold, very cold and your whole body was shaking.

“The fever is very high. She won't wake up until we get her temperature back to normal.”

Stephen... you could hear his voice, but he wasn't there. It couldn't be him. Stephen Strange was dead. It was all so dark.

    ...

“The serum will help hydrate the body and the intravenous medication will take effect faster, normalizing her body temperature.”

Stephen Strange was staring at her unconscious on the bed. He couldn't help but feel guilty that he hadn't been able to resolve the situation without going to the extreme end it had.

 “What happened to her, Strange?” Stark asked.

Strange sighed “Trauma manifests itself in different ways. She's been through a lot lately.” Strange could see the exhaustion in Tony Stark. He could fall sick as well if he wasn't careful.

“You should rest, Stark. You need to." The doctor touched Tony's shoulder “Or you will get sick too.”

Tony looked at you lying unconscious.

“I'll stay with her. I can’t leave her alone” Tony insisted.

“I will take care of her. I won't leave her side. I promise”

Stark nodded with another worried look at her and left.

Strange stood at the window watching the night. Something inside him seemed to react to all this strangely. Since receiving his powers, he felt more dangerous, more irritable, it was almost as if together with them he had absorbed traits of the other Doctor Strange's personality and that scared him.

Now as he watched her sleep he noticed that he felt a strange warm in his chest. Feeling uncomfortable with the intensity of that feeling , he left the room leaving the door open and sat in an armchair in the living room.

Those things inside him stirred in response to his unease. He spent the night there, taking turns between the living room and the bedroom. He measured the temperature from time to time and sighed more calmly when he noticed that it began to drop.

It was after 3 am when she finally woke up. He continued to sit in the armchair, watching cautiously. Something inside him said it was a mistake that he was the first person she saw, but there was no other person besides him at her bedside.

   ...

You looked around the dark room and soon noticed something in your hand, a needle connected to an IV bag. You ran a hand over your face and struggled to sit up in bed, but your body didn't respond as you expected, so you saw him watching you from the armchair at the back of the room.

“Strange...is that you?”

He stood up and then you could see his face.

“You woke up. Stark was getting worried.”

Your  heart soared at the sound of his voice and you had to force yourself to understand that this was the Doctor Strange of your  universe. The Doctor Strange you was completely in love with was dead.

 “What happened?”   You asked and your voice cracked as reality hit and memories came to your mind.

He approached the bed “The high fever and severe dehydration made you shut down. You blacked out for hours.”

You nodded without taking your eyes off him. It was impossible to see him the same way now and extremely painful to accept reality.

“Are you feeling better? I can increase the serum so it will end faster.”

Was he there as your doctor? He got up fiddling with the IV and then went to the bed side table and got a stethoscope.

“I will… “ You flinched at his approach and he pretended not to notice. He listened for a while and you watched him. His eyes were deeper and with light circles under them, he looked tired.

“Your lungs are fine, normal heartbeat” He said looking at you awkwardly “It was probably just a malaise due to your fragile emotional state.

You forced yourself to sit up again and he helped you and then to your surprise, he sat down next to you on the bed.

“What happened to you? You disappeared”  You asked, your voice was hoarse.

“I'm fine, do not worry.”

The sound of his voice could still make you tremble, if you closed your eyes it was as if the other Strange was still beside you.

“What... did they do to him?”

“We buried him...” He looked away. “We had to use another name, but I insisted that he had a decent funeral.”

Your eyes filled with tears.

“It wasn't your fault. He was obsessed and corrupted by loss. No one could have saved him.”

“I could have saved him.”

“Giving up your life, and all the people who love you. Y/n, that would not be fair.”

You went silent.

“I also carry some guilt for what happened”.  He sighed “If there wasn't a Doctor Strange in this universe he could have stayed.”

You stared in surprise, You didn't imagine he felt that way “It doesn't make sense!”

“No, it doesn't, but we can't change the way we feel, can we?”

You closed your eyes, a tear running down your cheek.

 “You're gone.”

“I went to Kamar-Taj to seek... knowledge so to speak. I spend some time there”

“And did you find what you were looking for?”

He stared his own trembled hands “Not Enough.”

“He gave his powers to you. He was the most powerful Doctor Strange in the multiverse and don’t ask me how I know that, I just know, and right now that is you”

“I wish he had also delivered the knowledge he acquired over the centuries... I don't know what to do with all this.”

“You have to protect us, it's your job. I know that something big is coming and I thought it was him, but its not, is another thing. I think you need to put yourself together Doctor and protect our reality, our universe. May be that was the reason of this all”

He sighed nodding and Tony knocked on the door entering the room. Stephen got up and stepped away from the bed.

“Hi.”

“You woke up” He smiled approaching you “It's good to see you better.”

“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to worry you.”

“Worry? I wasn't worried. Did the Doctor think I was worried?”

Stephen smiled, that was so rare  “He was worried. He was desperated”

“Look, she's smiling, it's an evolution” Tony smiled relieved and you felt guilty for having made him go through all of that.

“She needs to rest” Strange said authoritative is his Doctor mode  “No leaving the house for the next few days. I'll prescribe a medication and a vitamin, soon you'll be feeling much better.”

“I thought you'd give her some kind of potion, you know, some wizard thing.” Tony teased

Doctor Strange walked away writing in a small notebook of recipes ignoring Tony and looked at you smiling “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“I accompany you Doctor to…”

“It won't be necessary”  He opened a portal and went through it.

Tony stared in disbelief “This guy doesn't care about good manners of etiquette.”

“Tony...”

He sat down next to you and looked at you apprehensively.

“I'm sorry for everything that happened.”

“There is no need to apologize,  you weren't to blame for anything.”

You went silent and so was he. An anxious silence.

“I wasn't going to ask... but I can't stand it...”

“What?” You said without understanding what it was about.

“How did you do that? You not only got rid of Friday's commands, you took control of her functions... I was curious to say the least.”

You sighed, thinking that the best thing was to tell the whole truth”

“Before coming to NY I only had dreams and these sensations and sometimes I heard voices. It was how I knew about you, all of you.”

He nodded.

“Since I got here these skills seem to have expanded exponentially. First it was with Loki, I mentally called to him without even knowing what I was doing and then the visions started and now... I didn't know I could do it, I just did it.

"Telepathically you mean." He didn't seem to believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah. I... managed to access the AI ​​code with my mind. I managed to get into her programming and recalibrate her to respond to me as well.

He smiled seeming to find it all unbelievable “You hacked my AI with your mind... I shouldn't, but I'm proud.”

He made you chuckled. Only Tony could make that after everything.  It was amazing how Tony always managed to make you feel better.

“You saved my life” He said regretfully “I... don't know how to thank you.”

“Your life wouldn’t being in need of saving if I hadn't put everyone here at risk at first place.”

He sighed getting up “You see, that's what you do, you blame yourself for everything, for things that weren't your fault.”

“I should have gone with him..”

“And would you have left me?”  He said challenging you “You say you love me, that I'm everything to you, right? Wrong, because at the first opportunity you were going to walk away and leave me here.

Your eyes filled with tears “I'm sorry, I know I'm wrong... I... I love you Tony, I don't...”

He agreed “Apologies accepted. That said, I'm not going to accept this talk of fate anymore, you understand? We stay together, you and I, whoever wants to separate us is the enemy, do you understand that?”

You nodded and there you stayed cuddled in  your bed and you felt that there were nowhere else where you could be safer.

…

Two weeks have passed since the day Doctor Strange needed  to go to your rescue. He had visited you at other times as a doctor. It was always awkward situations, but you were grateful to him for all the support he gave you.

 You finally felt ready to get out of that apartment. You showered, changed, and went downstairs to the workshop where Tony was absently working. You missed your afternoons working together.

“Need help?”

He smiled.

You helped Tony repair the combat-damaged nanotechnology device. You both spent the whole afternoon there, talking and eventually the subject would have to come up.

“I haven't seen Loki since the last time he came here and you refused to talk to him. I was worried that something might have happened between the two of you.”

You sighed.

“You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, I know it's none of my business, I'm just... I'm worried about you, I'm walking on eggshells here.”

You sat on the floor turning the screwdriver that was in your hand

“He... well, I... asked him for some time. To think, to put everything in order in my head, your know”

Tony looked surprised “Some time, nice...very grown up of you. And what did he say?”

“He was upset, I think I hurt him. I haven't spoken to him since then. And I don’t think I will.”

Tony sighed “Ah this is... complicated. I imagine that as a prince he isn't used to losing. You know that guy wanted to rule an entire planet.”

“I don't... “ You hesitated a little to speak.

Tony walked over and sat on the floor next to you.

“After everything that happened with Strange, the way I felt for him... I don't think I could just erase it all and pretend that nothing happened.”

“Strange explained to me a little of this... thing that happened to you. What madness!”

“Yeah” You chuckled nervously “Everything's still here Tony. It's a little difficult to tell what's real and what's not. I couldn't go on with Loki while I was feeling this way. It wouldn't be right.”

He put his hand on your shoulder “You did the right thing. Stopping, thinking, putting everything in place before taking the next step.”

You shook your head “Then why do I still feel like I failed him?”

Tony looked at you regretfully “Loki will get over it. And soon you'll feel better and you'll be able to pick up where you left off.”  He grimaced  “It's so weird that you have a relationship with the guy who tried to kill me years a go”

You let out a small laugh and were surprised to still be able to laugh “It seems like an eternity ago. Things would be easier if our problem was still Loki trying to rule the planet”

Tony grinned, looked relieved, and again you felt bad for putting him through all that in the last few weeks. “You're right.” He got up and gave you his hand. “Enough of talking, let's get to work.”

…

That night Tony insisted that you should have dinner together. Rhodes was present and you talked normally about anything that didn't involve the tragic fight in the basement.

“I was with the Secretary of State yesterday” Rhodes began “He is adamant about the Accords.”

“Accords? The Sokovia Accords?” you asked confused.

“No” Tony replied “ The Sokovia accords is gone. This one is a little more... flexible so to speak.”

“The current accord requires all persons with special devices or abilities to identify themselves as such and respond to the government in cases of conflict.” Explained Rhodes.

You stiffened. "Doesn't seem so different from the other"

“Don't worry” Tony said to you immediately “Nobody knows about your... abilities and I intend to keep it that way.”

You agreed. Rhodes seemed to disagree. “She needs to be registered, Tony.”

“She won't fight, she doesn't need to.”

Rhodes sighed “What about the wizard?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Doctor Strange and you mentally scolded yourself. It needed to stop. He was someone else entirely. Well, not really. Things got a little messy inside your head.

“Sorcerer” Tony replied  “I think it's the correct term, I don't know.”

Pepper was silent, perhaps worried about the direction of the conversation. She kept looking at you like she was checking your reaction all the time.

“Ross wants him to register himself right away.”

“Oh he's going to love this” Tony put his hand on his face “Technically he was never part of the Avengers, so...”

“Tony it doesn't matter, everyone saw him fighting in NY. Everyone knows him.”

Tony sighed “I'll try to talk to him.”

“I think it's a big waste of everybody's time” You said without holding back. They stared at you. “The order of the Masters of Kamar-Taj protects this city, this planet, this dimension and universe long before the Avengers dreamed of joining. Doctor Strange will not agree to sign this... document. And he doesn’t have to, he is above it all.”

“Ross is not kidding...” Rhodes said preoccupied

“Will they try to force him?” You asked sounding more petulant than you intended. “Strange is not Rogers, they won't want to get in trouble with him.”

Tony rolled his eyes “Yeah, because now he is a super sorcerer with super magical powers”

“Tony, can you stop joking, this is a serious matter” Pepper asked annoyed. “ The idea was to have a calm and decent dinner and you both…” She stared to Tony and Rhodes “… are ruining it”

“Okay, no one will fight with anyone, I'll talk to him.” Tony promised

“And enough of this conversation.” Pepper demanded.

…

You were too restless to sleep and didn't want to be alone, but it was late at night.

Contrary to any notion of self-preservation, you slipped out of the tower and took a taxi to the nearest cemetery. Not all NY cemeteries was open at night, but some few were and you needed to find him, to say your last goodbye. You walked through the graves not knowing what you were looking for in the dark, but there was something in your mind pulling you forward so you knew you were in the right place and then you found him.

Stephen Strade. The headstone was new, the grass growing where the soil had been turned. It could be a coincidence, but something in your mind told you were in the right place.

You looked around at the empty cemetery illuminated only by the moon that was full and yellow that night. You sat there on the floor. The memories coming through your mind, all the times he swore he loved you and his melancholy apology.

Your heart overflowed with desperate sadness and you began to sob and you talked to him like he was still by your side.

“I'm sorry Stephen… I am so, so sorry.”

You were so distracted by your own crying that you didn’t hear someone approaching, it could be anyone.

“It's a little late to visit cemeteries, don't you think?”

You stared at Doctor Strange dressed casually in jeans, a gray tshirt, and a long-sleeved shirt on top.

“I could not sleep.” You said wiping the tears from your face.

He approached you  “Next time let me know and I can medicate you, I'm sure it's safer than walking around NY past 1am.

“I wanted to see him.”

“How did you know he’d be here?”

“I didn't know, but I... felt”

Strange agreed.

You got up, beating the sand off your clothes “It doesn't make much sense, does it? He is no longer here with us.”

Strange sighed closing his fists“I'm not so sure.”

You stared without understanding.

“Come on, I'll take you home.”

You hesitated. He seemed to understand and extended his hand to you “Come on”.

We entered the Sanctum Sanctorum and everything was quiet. The place was a little scary at night.

“May I offer you some tea?”

You agreed and he went ahead and you followed him. Arriving in the kitchen, you sat by the table. Strange used his magic to make tea and it was fascinating to watch him to do those things. He sat across from you handing you a cup.

You sipped and remained silent.

“Tony called me earlier today and said you got better, he seemed confident.”

You smiled nervously “ I've been trying to show that I'm fine in front of him, in fact I'm trying hard to get better for him.”

“Why?”

You went back to taking a sip of your tea “I don't want to worry him. Tony has a lot to worry about, I don't want him to worry about me too.”

“But he does, a lot. He likes you. You are very important to him.”

You smiled “And he is important to me”

Strange agreed, his both hands was crossed over the table “I never understood your relationship. What you are to each other. I know it’s none of my busyness”

You couldn't help but smile. Talking about Tony made you feel good “I love him. More than I ever loved any man. He is the great love of my life...”

Doctor Strange looked perplexed and you pretend you didn’t notice his confusion.

“... he's my father, my brother, an uncle, I don't know... Tony is all that and none of that at the same time, he's my best friend, the person I trust the most in this world.”

He smiled, trying to seem understandable, but he clearly doesn't understand what you were getting at with your answer. “I'm glad you found each other and that you feel that way about him.”

You agreed and he sipped his tea in silence and then as if he couldn't help himself, he asked “And Loki...”

You looked away.

“I'm sorry” He said embarrassed “I don't want to intrude, I just remembered that Tony mentioned that he hadn't seen him in a while and...”

“I haven't seen Loki in weeks, I needed some time.”

He sighed and you were wondering if it was a smile you saw on his face for a second.

He finished his tea “It's not hard to imagine his reaction. He is Loki after all”

“I hurt him, I'm not proud of it, but I think it was the best thing to do for now. I'm still very confused by everything that happened.”

He agreed.

"You seem to have come out of this a little better, assuming you're as good as you look."

“I'm not good at showing feelings.”  He said sighing “Or we can put it this way: I'm very good at not showing feelings.

You nodded understanding very well what he meant.

 “I spent a few weeks at Kamar-Taj. I read what I could about what seemed to suit my situation, but...”

You waited. Your tea long forgotten and cold.

“There is nothing in any book that explains what he did. However he did it, it has never been done in our universe until now.”

“Are you referring to when he gave his powers to you?”

He shook his head no “A simple transfer or drain spell. Highly dangerous, but simple. The question is this…”

He showed his hand and closed his eyes concentrating and in a second it turned into a tentacle right in front of you and his eyes turned red. He forced it back to normal getting embarrassed. “I don't know what this is. I can control it. I am really good at it and some masters told me this could be a valorous weapon against enemies, but I am afraid…”

You sat silently wondering whether or not to mention what you witnessed at the London Sanctum. In the end you decided it was best to be honest and tell what you knew. “In London, in the Sanctum, he fought this thing. I saw it.

“Did he defeat it?”

You denied “He absorbed it. It entered his body.” You sighed “He believed that these things died when he did that, but it seems that they became part of him, a living part inside of him. Suddenly you are not only one, your are a legion.”

Strange agreed “I would like to know how to get rid of it. It's been exhausting trying to keep these things under control.”

“He said it was a curse. I think you will have to learn how to live with it.”

Strange sighed and then changed the subject. “You told Loki what happened between you and...

“Almost everything.”

He was silent and you wondered why he insisted on talking about Loki.

“So you didn't say that...”

“That I slept with him? Yes, I did. That I fell in love with him? No, but fuck it, it doesn't matter anymore.”

To your complete surprise, he smirked. A cocky smirk “Hard to imagine those words coming out of your mouth.”

“You don't know me that well, Doctor”

“I would like to know.”

You were surprised and felt your face heat up. A tension enveloping you both. It made you uncomfortable and you felt the need to get up and step away.

“I think I better go. Tony might be worried.”

He got up too “Oh sure, we don't want to worry Tony Stark.”

You smiled a little sheepishly “Thanks for the tea and the conversation, Strange

“Come whenever you want, I like the company” He smiled “And please, call me Stephen.”

You agreed your cheeks a bit more red than before.

He opened a portal to your apartment.

“Good night, Stephen.”

The portal closed as you passed it and you stood there feeling something you wasn't quite sure what it was.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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[syncopein3d]

Broken World

5: The Unlikely Truth

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Content Warning: injection, blood transfusion

Something stung a little. The Ripper ignored it for a while, but the weird spreading feeling of warmth radiating from the inside of their left elbow eventually made it impossible to stay under. It blinked and squinted. The room was dark, and it was lying on something soft – comforter? It tried to shift position and a hand planted squarely just below their collarbones stopped them from moving.

“Hold still. We got a couple more to go,” said Robert. The Ripper turned its head. He was holding one of the syringes from the duffel, gradually injecting what looked very much like blood into the vein in the crook of its elbow.

“Type,” the Ripper croaked.

“I’m O Negative, so what you are doesn’t matter. Hold still. I said I’d fix it, and I will.”

The Ripper grunted, other hand still reflexively wrapped around Robert’s arm. It didn’t remember grabbing on, and it hadn’t made the slightest impression. There might be a big gap between how strong Robert was and a B level like Teledyne, but it was now equally obvious there was also a big gap between what Robert described as a “slightly strong regen guy” and someone with no strength meta at all. It couldn’t have budged him on its best day.

“Did you used to do heroin?” Robert asked. “Your arms don’t look like it.”

“Testosterone,” Ripper said. “You don’t use a vein for T.” It shrugged the arm he wasn’t holding. “Decided it wasn't for me. I just never threw the needles away. Isn’t O Negative rare?”

“Least common on Earth, probably,” Robert said. “They bred us for it. I’m going to fill another one. Are you gonna be still?”

“Yeah,” the Ripper said. “That feels… Weird…” Now it could feel warmth creeping up its arm, a strange inverse of the cold burn of anesthetic. And where it went, the pain went with it. That arm didn’t hurt at all now, the permanent ache fading away as if by magic.

“It’s nice to have it back,” Robert said. “I don’t know how you can live with that much pain.”

“You get more used to it as the years go by,” the Ripper said. “And you work around it.” They looked up and found Robert looking down at them, eye to eye. Now they could actually see his eyes, they were light brown, almost yellow. The pupils were big in the dark. It had never imagined him as having much of an expression. There was something there now. It wouldn’t have said what.

“Well, at least I can take it away for a little while,” Robert said. “I’m a man of my word. That’s why I try not to give it.”

He pulled the needle, ignoring the little drop of blood, and plunged it right back into his own arm with no apparent concern for contamination. “They made us do our own blood draws,” he said. “So they wouldn’t have to come into the pod. I got real good at this part.”

“That seems like it would be a bad memory,” the Ripper said. The warm feeling had dissipated a little when it hit the throat and jaw, but it felt good enough to sap any urge to protest. They watched Robert thump their elbow and effortlessly find a vein again. It didn’t hurt as much this time.

“Not really. It was an everyday thing. I didn’t even know it was bad there until I saw what outside was like,” Robert said. Warmth blossomed through the Ripper’s face and chest. Belatedly, they realized they still felt the N95. Robert had left it on them.

The Ripper inhaled slowly, trying to remember when their lungs and chest had last felt this elastic. They hadn’t thought of breathing as hard, but suddenly it felt so easy. Everything felt a little clearer. They could flex their toes and not cause a thigh cramp, close and open a hand and not bind up their elbows.

“There you go,” Robert said quietly. They looked at him sidelong and found him watching again, unblinking, almost eager. “Feels better, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the Ripper said. Its voice even sounded different. It didn’t remember hearing itself sound like its throat wasn’t raw. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Robert cleared his throat as he took the syringe back for a third refill, looking down at it and away from Ripper’s face. “It’s just. I never done this on purpose for somebody. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Well, I definitely won’t sell you out to a pharmaceutical company,” Ripper said. “Pretty sure you’re not worth nine hundred million.”

Robert laughed, an actual full-throated guffaw. “Nah, I doubt anyone’s offering over one, even. Okay, last one, I think. You sound better.”

“I still can’t believe you weren’t lying.”

“Well, it won’t stop you hurting yourself again,” Robert said. “So you still gotta go talk to the crazy lady.”

“Does everyone really call you Robert?” Ripper asked. It watched him apply the third syringe almost reluctantly. It felt something was ending.

“No. I just like Robert. Mostly when I’m working I go by Bloodless.” He sounded dry, almost rueful. “I didn’t pick it. My arteries close fast enough there’s no splatter when I get shot. Somebody noticed and it stuck.”

The Ripper snorted. “I think I saw a contract on a Bloodless once. It was for five million. That’s a lot for an unregistered C-level.”

Robert shrugged modestly. “Been a busy couple of years,” he said. “See you around, thing.” He snatched at Ripper’s tank top front faster than they would have thought possible, yanking it up over their eyes. By the time they had fumbled it clear, he wasn’t in the room any more.

Somewhere in the vastness of the empty house, a door closed.

“In no shoes and no shirt?” the Ripper said aloud. Nobody answered. Robert was gone.

The End

(For Now)

[shivvroys]

Hi lia! #5 from the big swiss dialogue "but you? You, i loved" :) feel free to make it angsty i can take it <3

this, uhm…turned into something else. Nia i think you may have broken my angst compass i keep trying to make everything end nicely 😭

“But you? You, I loved.��

“Ok, I fucking get it.” she raises a hand, almost dropping her cigarette. “I don’t know why you agreed to come, since you hate it so much. You know, you won, mom—he’s fucking dead, I can’t see how much of upper hand you could possibly have to gain than that.”

Her mother sighs in the same disappointing manner she always has. Like she’s tired of the conversation before it’s even started, like talking to Shiv is always just such a dreadful bother.

“And if it’s not him you’re still pissed at, you can just admit it’s me you can’t stand to be around. I’m way past the point where that’s gonna bother me.”

Shiv supposes she should mostly be blaming herself. She was the one who’d decided inviting their mother to their father’s memorial party was the thing to do. She just hadn’t expected her to actually show up.

The sour mood and constant scoffing, she could handle that—welcome it as a surrogate for the motherly warmth she’d never felt growing up. But the divorce jokes, the thinly veiled allusions to what Roman had been calling her vanishing uterus act—that had felt intentional. Like her father’s absence left Caroline with no vessel to pour her bitterness into, so she’d chosen the one who reminded her the most of him.

Shiv busies herself with the cigarette, refusing to meet her mother’s eyes. She doesn’t know what she fears seeing most—hurt or confirmation.

As the sentence hangs in the air like a sliver of smoke, twisting and turning into a sharp dagger, Caroline takes a step towards her, almost reaching a hand towards her elbow, before pulling back.

“It isn’t you that I can’t stand, Siobhan.” She doesn’t force Shiv to look at her, but she speaks to her slowly, and gravelly, in the tone she usually reserves for when they’re both tipsy and aching to hurt each other with the truth. “It’s never been you.”

Shiv scoffs. “Right. I know, what with all that maternal love you’ve showered me with.”

She turns to face Caroline, though she only manages to maintain eye-contact for a brief moment, before turning her attention back to the cigarette in her hand.

“There are things about you that I couldn’t bear to see, yes.” Caroline sighs. “Things that drove me mad. Like the way your eyes would only follow him in every room, even as a baby. I hated the anger he planted into you, the way I could hear him each time you were upset. All of those little claw marks he’s left in you—Kendall, too.”

Shiv sweeps her eyes over the guests inside, over her father’s legacy reduced to mediocre wine and fucking fusion cuisine finger foods. Then her sight unfocuses, and all she can see is her own reflection. The problem is—her mother’s not wrong.

“But not Rome, right?” she finally meets her mother’s eyes, challenging her to lie.

Caroline shakes her head sadly. “Not really, I suppose. Though he desperately wished for it, the poor thing.”

The briefest mention of her petit prince is enough to get the waterworks going.

Snapping herself out of it, Caroline puts out her cigarette and lays both hands on Shiv’s arms, not squeezing, but lightly stroking the rough material of her blazer.

“But you, Siobhan. You, I loved. Love.”

It’s pathetic, really, how little it takes for tears to gather in Shiv’s eyes. How quickly her mother could slip through the cracks of any wall she’s tried to build. Brick by fucking brick, and all it took was a look from that woman and down came Shiv’s mighty fortress, like a house of cards.

“I’m your fucking onion, right?” she sniffs, averting her mother’s gaze.

She hears laughter coming from inside, though she doubts anyone’s sharing some hearwarming anecdote in her father’s memory.

Her mother laughs in quiet and heavy breaths. “Yes, you are, darling. My darling onion.”

Already exhausted by the millisecond of vulnerability, they both snap back to reality, the moment already forgotten.

Shiv turns back towards the railing, lighting another cigarette. She tells herself it’s because it’s too hot inside, and she can’t bear to hear Roman make another joke about Frank’s sweater vest.

“What’re the others, then? Is Rome your fucking parsley?”

She extends her lighter to Caroline, who lets her palm caress Shiv’s hand as she takes it.

“That’s an herb, dear, I think you mean parsnip.” she murmurs. “I’d say he’s more of a beetroot—remember how he used to get so red and splotchy in the face when your father yelled at him.” she almost chokes while inhaling. Shiv joins her, smirking as she takes a drag from her cigarette.

“And Ken?”

“Hmm…” her mother rests a slender finger against her chins, in mock contemplation.

“An eggplant? Like a sad, wilted one.” Shiv snorts.

“Oh, yes.” Caroline bursts into a pearl of laughter. Then, resting her back against the railing, she gestures towards the memorial party. “What about her? What’s her place in your garden?”

Shiv turns to see her mother’s eyes fixed on one person in particular. Karolina. She’s listening to something Connor is saying, nodding politely every so often, though Shiv knows she’d probably checked out of the conversation the moment Connor had started talking.

Shiv also knows the angle at which Karolina is facing the terrace door is intentional. She’s keeping Shiv in her peripheral vision, the way they always do when they have to attend some work function where they might need quick rescuing from some boring conversation.

“Oh, that’s—she’s not..” she stutters, flicking her cigarette so hard it almost breaks in the middle.

“Darling, please.” Caroline scoffs. “She’s been throwing daggers at me ever since you came out here. Does she think I might throw you off the balcony?”

“You wouldn’t?” Shiv tilts her head. “We’re just—she’s just being friendly. We work together, so yeah. We’re friends, I guess”

Caroline looks down, shaking her head. “Alright, Siobhan.”

“What? I can’t have any fucking friends?”

“Of course, darling.”

Caroline puts her cigarette out and ceremoniously shakes her shoulders, as if cleansing herself from the conversation. She starts walking towards the door, before turning over her shoulder to Shiv.

“You can also have more, Siobhan. He is dead. No need to look for his shadow under the door.”

“Uh huh.”

With that, Caroline goes back to the party, leaving Shiv alone with her half burnt cigarette. She turns back to the railing, watching the sun dip below the skyline, her eyes following a stray bird or plane every now and then.

She’s never been into gardening, so she doesn’t know that much about it. But she knows everything needs good soil to grow in. And she knows once the soil is poisoned there’s very little chance of anything surviving in it. What can she grow if all she has is mud?

She doesn’t hear the door open, only feels the lightest pressure on the small of her back and quiet voice that brings her back to the terrace.

“You okay?”

Shiv looks down at the burnt out cigarette dangling between her fingers. She throws the stub in the wine glass she’s been using as an ashtray, before turning to face Karolina.

“Yeah. Just, you know, weird day.” she sighs, her voice slightly shaking.

Karolina nods, throwing a glance towards the setting sun. “It’s almost over.”

“Thank god.”

Karolina keeps her eyes on the party inside and her voice low and soft. “You wanna come over tonight?”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to stay here?”

She regrets the suggestion before it’s even left her lips. Though she’s had Karolina over many times before, it had never felt quite right. The walls of the apartment held too much, had trapped in every bad memory from the past few years like mould—silently rotting it from the inside out. She fears letting all of that cling to Karolina.

“It would.” Karolina nods. “Hey, how about we get a room somewhere?” she says, after some contemplation.

“What, like, we go down to the hotel bar and you pretend you’re a call girl?” Shiv smirks.

“No, Siobhan.” Karolina raises her glass to cover her face, attempting to hide her laughter. “Like—we just spend a night someplace neither us have ever felt bad in.”

A place with good soil. Like there’s still a chance something good could grow.

Karolina always says things like these like they’re part of the natural order, like the most obvious choice for her is to keep Shiv safe—to take the bad stuff away.

“Yeah, okay.”

For tonight, Shiv decides, she’ll let it happen. See if anything grows.

[robinrites]

Chapter 5

Hey everyone! I managed to come up with a name for this story, so now it's called Remember You. Anyways, here's the latest chapter! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this story so much, thanks for all the love you've been giving it!

CW: Mentions of torture/injuries caused by torture. forced medical assistance (from the good guys but poor Villain doesn't know that yet), general panic/anxiety

Villain shoots up, gasping as he wakes up and looks around. His body isn’t in as much pain as it was before, so at least there’s that. He nervously glances down at his wrists, only to find them bandaged, his broken hand carefully braced. He breathes in and feels a tightness around his ribcage, almost as if someone relocated his ribs, and wrapped them carefully. Even the constant dull pain from his whip injuries is hardly noticeable. He notices that he’s in a hospital gown, even though the room he’s in is not convincing him he’s in an actual medical facility. Through his hazy memory he can tell, this room is familiar. He feels something in his elbow and looks down again, only to find an IV in his arm, causing Villain to panic and go to rip it out, before remembering that if Superhero finds out he did that, he’ll be punished.

“Superhero?” Villain calls out. “P-please sir is this a trick?” When no one answers, Villain continues, “I- I promise I was being good. What- what is this? What are you pumping into me?” Villain starts to cry, his body shaking as he does so. “Please answer me, I’m scared sir.” Villain sobs as the door cracks open, his whole body shaking from fear and crying. “I’m- I’m really sorry for speaking out of turn sir.” Villain cries, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself for Superhero’s punishment. 

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder. Villain cautiously opens his eyes, then blinks the tears out of them as he realizes he is surrounded by three people. “I- I know you don’t I?” He says to no one in particular. He tries to think back to where he knows these people from, but his head feels all fuzzy when he thinks too far back. “W-where’s Superhero? He can’t know I’m gone, please take me back. I'm going to be in so much trouble.” Villain’s head darts around the room, looking for cameras. “Please please please.” Villain sobs again, “He’s gotta know I didn’t try to leave, or maybe he does and this is all a test. Is this a test? I’m really trying to be good.” 

The man with springy but ruffled, brown hair stepped closer and placed his hand on Villain’s shoulder. Villain forced himself to make eye contact with the man, but only for a second, scared any longer would have landed him in trouble. The man’s amber eyes were hypnotizing, which made Villain forget his fear for a second, until he started to talk to Villain. 

“Superhero can’t hurt you anymore.” The man told Villain, who could only shake his head.

“H-He’s gonna come for me, I just know it.” Villain let more tears roll down his face. “How do you know who I am? Who are you guys?” His eyes darted back to the IV, “W-What are you putting into me?!” 

“Villain calm down!” Another man, a little older than the first quickly butts in, putting his hands up to show Villain he’s not a threat. “I’m Medic. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” Villain nods, biting his lip to stop it from trembling. “You were really dehydrated and low on vitamins when we got to you, so I’m putting some in your system. If you’d like, I can stop, but then you’ll have to take pills to make up for the missed vitamins. Which would you prefer?” 

“It doesn’t matter, he always does both in the end. Doesn’t matter what I choose.” Villain grabs his hair with his hands and tugs slightly.

“I’ll just stick with the IV for now okay?” Medic continues patiently, “Now, do you remember me? We used to work with each other two years ago.”

“Two y-years ago?” Villain shakes his head in disbelief, loosening his grip on his hair for a second. “W-Was that before him?” 

“Yes Villain,” Medic swallows and reminds himself to breathe. “It was before Superhero.” 

“T-Then it doesn’t matter.” Villain cries again, “Nothing before Superhero matters anymore. H-He’s helping make me a better person y’know? He says maybe in a few years I can go outside again. I won’t be scum anymore.” His head darts up to look at the three people in front of him. “Please you can’t take this away from me.”

The third person, much shorter than the two men, speaks up, “Please Villain, you know that’s not right. You don’t deserve this treatment, no one does. We just want to help you get better.” 

“Then you’ll take me back?” He asks with tears drying on his face.

The three exchange a look and then nod, “Then we’ll take you back.” The handsome one says, then attempts to smile, though it looks more like a grimace. 

“Thank you.” Villain says, his voice barely loud enough to be a whisper. He finds his hands reaching to grasp the blanket on him, then holds it as best as he can, wringing it as best as he can. Something about it just makes it feel like things will stop being so scary. His body rocks back and forth as he blankly watches his hands grab the sheets. 

“Villain?” The handsome one says, breaking him out of the trance he’s in. Villain looks up to see that everyone else has left the room, leaving him alone with the handsome man who has taken a seat at his bedside. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe here. We aren’t going to hurt you okay?” 

Villain barely holds back a tremor, “Y-yes s-sir.” 

“Hero.” 

“W-what?” Villain forces his head back up to look at the man beside him. 

“My name is Hero, not sir.” Hero tries to say this as calmly as he can, but Villain panics anyway.

“So sorry Sir-I mean Hero.” 

“Hey, you’re okay.” Hero once again reassures, while holding his hands up in the air to show Villain he really means no harm. “I just want to ask you a couple questions about the last few years Villain, can I do that? You’re allowed to say no.”

Villain nervously looks around the room, avoiding eye contact as best he can. “W-What about the last few years?” 

“I want to know what he did- I mean, what you learned while you were there.” Hero fights back the bile in the back of his throat as he says this. Part of him hopes Villain denies his request, selfishly, but he knows any detail could be important in Villain’s journey to get better. It’s hard to know what to fix when you aren’t sure what’s broken. “If you’re not ready to talk about it I understand-” 

“N-No! I mean- I don’t mind.” Villain drops his head, cheeks going red with embarrassment. “D-Do I have to talk about the bad ones?”

“Not unless you want to.” 

“O-okay. I-It was pretty bad in the beginning so I might just- might just skip it for now. I mean! It was all deserved of c-course. I wasn’t very well behaved, but he made me better.” 

Hero winces as he hears Villain say this. “Whatever you’re comfortable sharing. Do you remember seeing me a couple weeks ago?” 

“A-A couple weeks ago?” Villain closes his eyes as he tries to remember. An image of him on the floor in chains, the handsome man-Hero towering over him. He had seemed mad, but not at Villain, despite the fact that he seemed to be angrily looking at Villain. 

“Y-You were the man who came to see him! Y-you were one of- one of the first people I had seen since Sir had decided to help me out. I-I got a treat because of you!” 

“Do you remember what happened after I left?” Villain nods, excited that he’s pleased Hero with this information. “Do you want to talk about that?” 

“I don’t remember much, but I’ll share it.” Villain takes a breath, then steadies his hands in his lap. “After you had left, Sir came back to find me asleep, which really was my fault. But he told me that since I was so good earlier I wouldn’t be punished. I-I am very proud of myself for being good. He gave me water and bread as a reward.” Villain stops, assuming this is all Hero wanted to hear. 

“And then what?” Hero gently pushes. 

The pain of having a collar on his throat being pulled flashes in his head. He remembers stumbling, trying his best to keep up to the man who kept walking so fast. HIs eyes dart back open, “O-oh that?” W-we just went back to my cell, and I got chained up, then I got to sleep for the night.” 

“Then what?” 

Villain digs deep in his memory, “I-I got left alone for a couple days. Or a day. Or a week.” He laughs nervously, “I-I’m sorry, it’s hard to keep track of time in there. B-but then he came back.”

[thomase1]

Two broken make a whole; chapter 2

Series masterlist Full masterlist

Took me long enough to update, I know. Just have not ended up the happiest with this chapter and ended up overthinking it. Sorryyy 💜

I did get some help though.

Thank you @crzyplantladyvibes for your incredible help! I dont think this would be postable if it werent for you!

Warnings: talk of past mission, talk of past injury, Tony beeing a bad teammate, humour, angsty thought and feeling from our girl. We will be starting to cut into her past.

Wordcount: ~2.300

Deviders by @harlequin-hangout

The days following Thor and Loki’s arrival were relatively quiet. You didn't see them around much and soon you had to go on another mission. It would be an easy one, just some undercover work to get data from an organization trying to bring down the whole justice system.

As is often the case, it sounded more exciting in the briefing than it actually was in the field. After hours of surveillance, you were beginning to regret the career choices which landed you here, bored as heck, sitting at a window with Clint, not that you mind missions with Clint. He is competent and pleasant, but Tony, on the other hand, that’s another story.

He was supposed to be your ride along today, but 'thankfully' Pepper broke her arm by falling down the stairs. Not that you didn't feel bad for her, but if Tony had come along, you might have broken his. On your last mission with Tony, he’d bossed you around while frolicking about in his suit, not even bothering to tell you about the group of Chitauri heading straight for you. You were left fighting 8 Chitauri, Tony's cocky remarks about your defense ringing through the comms, only stopping when you nearly got killed. He didn't just take them down and get on with it, oh no, not Ironman. He had the audacity to make a show out of it, pirouetting around and landing with a bow while you had a bullet shatter your shin. You would have killed him on the way back home if you hadn't been in so much pain, because even then he didn't stop; no, he told you it was your fault for not paying attention to your surroundings! He, who was 30 feet in the air with a perfect view of everything, told you, who was down, enclosed in the forest, you did not pay enough attention to your surroundings. After two surgeries and 5 months off missions, when you finally recovered you avoided missions with Tony.

You rested your forehead on the windowpane and groaned. After 12 uneventful hours, even Clint ran out of easy going jokes, the both of you so bored you could barely stay awake. Thankfully, around hour 15 you finally spotted your target. In a matter of minutes, the 2 of you subdued the target, used his fingerprints to access the building, hacked the mainframe, obtained some vital intel, and planted a crippling virus. One short flight later and you were back at the tower; you weren't even gone a day.

Back at the tower, you’d wandered to the common room for some water and a post-mission snack when you spotted Thor.

"Hey Thunder, you all settled in yet?". You walked up to him, giving him a small side hug.

"I am indeed. I even got a chance to talk to Jane." He smiled from cheek to cheek, and you elbowed him affectionately.

"Awesome! What did she say? Did you talk it through?"

"Yes”, he nodded enthusiastically. “She’s even letting me take her out to dinner tomorrow!"

"Daaaamn, what do you have planned?", you plopped on the couch, looking at him expectedly.

"Well, I- must admit I did not think that far ahead.", he mumbled, sitting down too.

"What? Dude, you gotta choose a restaurant at least! This is New York, all the good ones are probably booked already! What does she like?"

The chances of him getting a table at a good restaurant, in New York, on a Saturday at dinner time are slim. Even as Thor.

"Pizza! And pasta. And those little doughy triangles filled with... stuff.". He was thinking so hard you could almost see his brain spasming.

"Samosas, got it. So, Indian and Italian food. Alright. What time do you guys meet?"

"7:30." He answered and you got your phone out, already looking for restaurants. After a lot of calls, pleading and the exaggerated use of Thor's name, you got them a reservation at a highly rated Italian place. Giving him the address, you continued,

"And what will you wear?"

"I do not know. But I am guessing my usual attire is not suitable."

"No, as much as I love your Asgardian battle armor, which isn't really a date night outfit. Do you own a suit?"

"I used to, but I sold it at the charity event," he hangs his head.

"Ah, yes. Well, you need a suit. You’ll have to buy one, which, with your physique, it could be challenging to get one off the rack."

"I could ask Loki to conjure one for me."

"Oh, right, he can do that too- ok, so that's settled." Caught off guard by the mention of Loki’s name, you thought, shit, I really need to do something about this growing interest in Loki.

 “Thank you for your help with the restaurant. I will go see Loki about my suit. I can’t wait to see Jane tonight.” You murmured an appropriate response of some kind, distracted by imagining Loki in a well-tailored suit. You shook your head to clear your thoughts and made your way to your room for the evening.

                   

The next day passed slowly as you updated mission reports. Clint didn’t help with any of the documentation, but he was a pleasant distraction with his jokes and stories. You stared at your computer, bored out of your mind.

"Miss L/n, mister Odinson requests your presence in his quarters", Jarvis announced.

"Oooooh, did I miss something?" Clint teased, making a kissy face. You slapped his arm.

"No, stop it! He is taking Jane out to dinner today, I bet he wants my opinion on his suit." You got up, hearing a "Yea sure! Use protection!" behind you.

"Shut up Katniss!", you shouted back. As soon as the elevator doors opened to the living quarters, you heard shouting.

"I asked you to give me a suit! This is not a suit!", Thor shouted.

"I thought you wanted something that fits you, I gave you just that!", Loki retorted sharply. You walked faster, fearing an escalation.

"So, this is what you think of me? I look as if I've been through a cheese grater!" You heard something break which had you sprinting through the corridor.

"Stop breaking my things! I just got that table!", Loki yelled, really fired up.

"Don't act like you can't conjure another one right now!" You arrived at their sitting area and ran through to Loki’s room.

"Stop fighting guys, what's the- What the hell?", you questioned, seeing splinters of wood strewn throughout the room and Thor clothed in God-knows-what. It's just a shirt and jeans, but with more holes than fabric. You don't even know where Loki got that outfit inspo from. Half his ass is hanging out from the pants!

"Look at this abomination of attire!", Thor whines, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

 "Yea that's not... Please, can you give him a suit? It's really important.", you plead with Loki. He looks so handsome with his hair freshly washed, all floofed up. You bit your lip subconsciously as you took in his forest green tunic and dark pants, which clung to him in just the right places. He follows your gaze, smirking devilishly, making you drop your eyes to the floor, cheeks heating up ferociously. Your blushing went unnoticed by Thor, but Loki had seen it and mentally cataloged it as something to explore further in the future.

"I think I can do that, Agent.", he looks at Thor and with a single hand movement and a green spark, Thor is wearing a suit. Only...it’s the ugliest suit you've ever seen. It's neon yellow with a checkered pattern and a blue dress shirt underneath; the clashing colors are awful.

 "What is this yellow monstrosity?! Change it, right now!", Thor bangs his fist into the wall, putting a crater into the solid bricks.

"Hey! Stop it, you buffoon!", Loki spits, rage flaming in his features, though you wonder why he is mad. He is the one fucking around with Thor’s patience.

"Thor! Tony is gonna kill you, please, calm down. We will solve this just- please stop destroying things. And you'', you turn assertively to the angered Loki, "give him a nice suit. This is important for him; can't you just help him?"

Both of them look at you like a deer in the headlights.

"Fine.", the blonde haired god calms down, "But he will change me this instant. And properly this time.", he pouts. Loki sighs loudly.

"Alright.", he snaps his wrist again and Thor wears another suit, "Happy now?". You give Thor a once over, considering the new attire. It's a perfectly fitted, cool toned grey suit, with a light blue dress shirt and deep blue tie.  

"Very nice. Blue is a good choice, goes well with his eyes. Thank you."

Thor pats himself down, feeling the fabric,

"Thank you, brother. This one is rather nice."

The raven haired god nods,

"Very well. Would you mind? I have some renovations ahead.", he gestures to the door.

You tug at Thor's arm, steering him towards the door, "Bye Loki.".

"Goodbye, Agent.", he smirks, closing the door behind you.

After that you helped Thor prepare for the date, reassuring him. You sent him to the florist across the street, telling him to get a bouquet of whatever flowers he thinks she might like. He came back with powder pink roses.

Finally back in your room, you flop onto your bed and your thoughts begin to spiral down an unwelcome path. You usually try to stay busy, but sometimes you can’t stop the questions. There is just so much about your life you don't know, don't remember. Will you ever find your story, or will you die, taking the uncertainty to the grave? You've done what you could, tracing back the steps. but it only brought you back to hydra. Going back to the hydra facility you’d called home was a bust; it was completely vacant. No traces left behind, only the card deck you and the others used to entertain yourselves with.

When it was finally time for him to go, you went over everything again, adjusting his tie and reminding him of the address to the restaurant. You've got a good feeling about this; Thor and Jane are good people. They are heroes. They deserve to be happy.

You long for more than boring missions and futile searching into your past. When will you finally allow yourself to feel loved? It’s stupid, making yourself suffer, trying to pay the price for the path left behind. You know your lonely penance won’t change a thing, but getting to live a life filled with love just feels wrong. After all you've done, it's simply not right; you don’t deserve happiness.

You wonder what happened to your few friends back at hydra. Were they killed because of you? Because you choose life? Maybe you don't want to know. The slip-n-slide of overthinking got you again and you know, if you don't get off that ride right now, you won't be able to stop for hours.

You decide to text Taylor and Kenma, your two best and only friends, outside of the tower at least. Taylor does not take long to respond but declines, saying Sean, his boyfriend, had already something planned for today. It's a common occurrence, ever since they started dating, meeting him became a rare occurrence. Sean is a horrible person, but Taylor loves him far too much. He just can't get himself to end things.

A bit later, Kenma texted back but she is at work, nightshift. Damn it.

"Jarvis, who is in the Tower right now?", you say to the ceiling.

"Mister Laufeyson is in his private rooms, Doctor Banner is in his laboratory alongside mister Stark."

"Ask Stark and Banner if it's alright if I join them, please.", you sigh.

You really hoped Nat was home, or that either Scott or Clint was here since they never fail to crack you up.

"You are welcome to join them."

"Thanks Jarvis."

In the lab, you find them bickering about technology to add to the suits of some teammates, including you. So, in the end, you put in your suggestions too, helping create them.

Yours got more protection, it's fire resistant now and has even more pockets to store little items in. And they even built in an extra one for throwing stars, your "last resort" weapon. Never used them in battle, but in an emergency they’re better than nothing.

When night fell, Tony went home, and Bruce fell asleep on a pile of fabric samples. You went back to your room. You tried to sleep, you really did, but you just couldn't. So, you ended up thinking about him. Loki. Why must that tunic of his be so tight? You saw every ridge of his abs, every line on his chest. And those pants and that smirk. Ugh, did he see me blushing?! Oh, so what if he did? And his hair, Thor must have interrupted his brother after a shower, but you are kind of grateful for it. He looked adorable with his hair all floofed up. 

Do gods have bad hair days? Thor certainly does, you know that for a fact. Tony once straightened his blonde locks out while he fell asleep after a mission. Tony made sure to do an awful job. The result was a lot of yelling, gloating laughter and a broken elevator door. Ahh, fun times. If Loki has had a bad hair day, you sure haven’t seen it, at least not yet, you thought mischievously.

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