#and I swore to him that he did and I described the entire plot to him and he still says ‘no I didn’t read that book’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

curlyfries967-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Vamos A Bailar

Word Count 10.0+

WARNING NSFW THIS STORY CONTAINS HEAVY SMUT.

FemaleReader, BreedingKink, BDSM, Shibari, RopePlay, Blindfolds, Edging, Facefucking, Primal Play, PraiseKink, Toys. If it's not your cup of tea then please find something else to read.

Plot: you haven't seen Miguel in a month and a half because he's been busy with work. But tonight is your date night together at a Salsa Social and he's going to make it up to you.

Light chatter and upbeat passionate music fills the air as you enter the large dance hall room. Your new heels gently click on the marble floor as you navigate about. Your black dress flowed with ease as it danced around your thighs just above your knees. Your kind gentle eyes search the crowded hall for your missing partner. The one who swore to you that he would be here on time tonight. You have not seen him in almost an entire month. Maybe you wouldn't see him tonight. A disappointed click escapes from your mouth and tongue, realizing that he wasn't here at all. Your shoulders slump disheartened looking down at your watch. Miguel was late to your date night. He gave his word that he would be there for you.

The man was always late to everything. He never meant to be a disappointment, but he’s so focused on his work that sometimes he doesn’t even realize what time it is.

He does always make it, though. He’s reliable that way.

You see a familiar tall, muscular man with dark brown eyes and curly dark hair. His large figure made him stand out from the crowd around the two of you. He's wearing a black button up along with charcoal gray ripped jeans. When he spots you he smiles and walks up to you. His biceps bulge effortlessly as they hold up two glasses of wine in his possession.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized quickly, leaning in, placing a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a glass of wine. Making up for his lateness with some sweetness.

"What happened to being on time?" You asked, feeling crossed with him.

"Hobie happened," he groans in disdain, rubbing the bridge of his nose, before taking a sip from his glass.

"Oh?" You laughed while drinking from your glass. You knew the teenager enjoys giving Miguel a run for his money. But as long as you knew Hobie, he was always respectful and kind towards you. But whenever Miguel had his moments of ranting or venting about him. You could have sworn he was describing another person or talking about somebody else completely different from the Hobie you knew.

"What did he do this time?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, placing a hand on your hip and turning towards him.

"He messed up the inventory again," he replied, shaking his head and letting out a big sigh. "I swear that boy lacks basic skills."

You couldn't help but laugh at his rant, knowing how much Hobie's actions bothered him. But despite his complaints, there was a warmth to his attitude towards his younger coworker, and you knew that the two of them had a special connection despite their differences.

"Work is like a daycare. It's like trying to manage a bunch of kids and it's damn near impossible." He's beginning to get worked up and catches himself before it ruins his evening.

He changes the topic not wanting to talk about the frustrating teenager nor his job, "You look absolutely stunning, Cariña," he successfully distracts you with a compliment and his rare mesmerizing smile. His dark brown eyes soak up your beauty. Your hair was in a braided bun, lips were ruby and enticing to look at. His eyes lingered longer looking at your welcoming full lips.

Flustered by his kind words, you can't help but smile back. You had always been conscious of your looks but his attention made your confidence skyrocket like never before. You can't help but look around, seeing if anyone was watching, though a part of you didn't care. There was something in his eyes, in the way he was staring at your lips. Feeling your heartbeat accelerating, you took a drink of your wine, hoping to ease your nerves. As you swallow, you felt a pair of strong hands slide along your sides, causing butterflies in your tummy.

"You're not so bad yourself," you gestured to his clothes with your free hand.

"I really didn't think ripped jeans would look good on me," he confessed, giving you a slow threesixty of his outfit that you had laid out for him on the bed, "You have good taste." Absolutely, the clothes you picked highlighted his assets. If you left it up to him; he would have dressed as comfortably as possible in sweats and a hoodie. Not that you had an issue with his outfit choices, but tonight was Salsa night and he promised you a romantic evening together.

"You'd look good in anything," you said coyly. You had picked out a pair of clothes for him, and you were right: they did compliment his physique. His arms bulged as he waved around his glass of wine, causing him to flex his biceps. He even looked handsome in ripped jeans. What can't this man get away with? He was charming, kind, and incredibly sexy. How did you get so lucky?

"Why thank you, gorgeous," he responded, turning to you with a grin, his eyes twinkling from your compliment. His confident smirk was enough to make you want to bite that cocky bottom lip, but you didn't let yourself go out of control. As your gaze traveled down his body, you saw how those ripped jeans accentuated his muscular frame, making your heart sink a little. How was he so ripped and so attractive at the same time? He was the ultimate tease and you just couldn't get enough.

Letting out a long breath, you took a sip from your wine, feeling your thoughts wander. This night was promising to be a good one and you were looking forward to a bit more than salsa.

A guitarist on stage played with passion, his fingers moving deftly over the strings as the singer's voice soared above the music. Emotion of the music washes over both your bodies. The couples that were there on the dance floor, spun and moved around each other. The sounds of trumpets filled the room, along with a cowbell, other chorus of instruments that the Banda played. He listens to the beautiful music as he then wraps his arm around your waist as he starts to move to the beat of the music.

You lean against him as he guides both of you towards the dance floor. As the music takes over you, feeling his body rhythmically rocking against yours, you feel yourself giving in to the passion of it all. Dancing like nobody's watching, you let yourself enjoy the moment, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist and your smile stretched across your face. You were in your element and you didn't care if people were staring. This was your night and you were going to enjoy it to the fullest.

You love it when Miguel dances with you. Not that he's a professional at it, but there's something about holding him close that makes you weak in the knees. You lean your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Tonight is perfect, and you feel a little better about Miguel being late. You're lucky to have a boyfriend like him.

"I love the music here," He says as he then pulls you closer to his side while still moving to the beat of the music.

"I do too," you replied, turning slightly towards him and placing a kiss on his chiseled cheek. "It just screams romance, doesn't it?" You raised your glass in a toast, and he clinked his own against it, his fingers lingering in yours. "To a perfect night," you said, before taking another sip.

Feeling his warm breath on your cheek, you couldn't help but smile. This was the kind of evening that made you feel alive inside. Just the two of you, enjoying each other's company, it almost felt out of this world…

"Let's dance," he takes you out to further into the dance floor.

"You lead, love," you say, allowing him to take charge. Miguel is much more of an extrovert than you are, and he loves being the center of attention. You have no problem letting him take the lead, and he happily obliges. He takes you out on to the dance floor, and soon you're swept up in his arms. You dance together for hours, losing track of time and the rest of the world. Your mind is only occupied by Miguel and the way he makes you feel.

You're his yang to his yin when you two danced together. He steps towards and you mirrored him opposite. And vice versa as you step towards him, smiling up at him. He held your right arm up with your left hand and gently made you twirl on the floor. He loves to show you off in front of jealous eyes. He tugs you towards his body. His large hand resting on the small of your bare back, his touch sent goosebumps running down your spine. He knew exactly what he was doing, giving you such a devilish sultry smile. A nervous giggle escapes your lips, "Miguel!"

"Tu querias a bailar." He snickers, drawing you closer. You were so close to him now that it was impossible not to blush at each touch. You were still a little nervous around Miguel; but he made you feel safe, and that's what mattered. You felt yourself relaxing in his care, and your smile grew.

"I love you, Miguel," you said, looking into his eyes. You meant it, every word. You had never loved someone as much as you loved Miguel.

"I love you, too," he replied, pulling you in for a kiss.

His large body towers over you and he ever so slowly kisses you. Your head felt fuzzy, you weren't sure if it's the wine or if it was the effect he had on you. The kiss made you stumble in your sparkly high heels, causing you to accidentally roll awkwardly on your ankle and step on his toe. Mortified, you gasp. You were so embarrassed that you wanted to curl up and die.

"Are you okay, Amor?' Miguel asked, he caught your arm just in time preventing you from falling. He kissed you on the forehead, and you could feel your cheeks glowing red from his affection. He made you feel comforted, even when you felt like a total fool.

"I'm sorry, Love" you mumbled looking down at your heels while the music came to a steady halt, "Did you still want to dance?" The back of your heel stung a bite but you ignored it, you're only focused on the man before you.

"Always. Let's keep dancing," he replied, taking your hand into his and leading you back onto the dance floor. You were still embarrassed, but you knew that Miguel had already forgiven you and forgotten your clumsiness.

The music was at a lively tempo and the crowd on the dancefloor moved faster. Leads turned and twisted their followers to the rhythm of the beat. Miguel was experienced, he held both your small hands in both of his large ones. He guided you and spun you around. Loving the way you dance and move about your body. There was nothing else like dancing with Miguel. It didn't matter what moves you did or how you did them; as long as you had his large hands as your guide, you knew you'd be okay. You trusted him above anyone else and knew he'd take care of you. He always did.You turned and twisted and twirled, following his lead. He was like a magnet, making you feel at home in his arms. This was where you belonged, and you were never going to let him go.

A tap on the shoulder from a gentleman on the floor catches Miguel off guard.

"Can I dance with her, next?" He inquired peering at you.

You weren't thrilled by this other guy tapping Miguel on the shoulder and asking to dance with you. Your boyfriend seemed a little taken aback by the man's question, too. In your opinion, Miguel was the only one allowed to touch you, let alone dance with you.

He shoots the man a look of annoyance, even though it wasn't the man's fault at all, but the simple fact that he has to share this woman with *someone* is enough to cause him some degree of annoyance, however brief it may be.

"Sorry, she's taken," he says simply, almost sounding a little possessive.

"Thanks anyway," he adds quickly as if to soften the blow, just so he doesn't give the poor man the wrong idea about them.

The man gives in and Miguel whisks you away to the sound of music. "My sweet," you said, "My feet are a little sore. Can I sit down for a bit?" You bat your long lashes at him. Truth be told, your new high heels are killing you. And to break them in on the dancefloor was a completely dumb choice on your part.

"Of course, love," Miguel said, nodding. "Let's sit down and get some ice water or something." He led you off the dance floor and into the seating area, where he ordered drinks for the two of you. He sat you down in a chair, making sure you were comfortable, and then sat down next to you. He put his arm around your shoulders protectively, and you were safe in his embrace.

"Are you alright?" He asked, worried. His brows furrowed scanning your face. You seemed in pain, and he was anxious to help you.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, "Yes, Love" A waiter dropped off your drinks at the table for the two of you. Miguel drinks a dark amber liquid from a short and stout glass. You had another tall glass of wine. You moved your feet to get a better look at your sore heel. You noticed a red, burning, sore forming right at the back of where your heel strap was touching. You figured it was from the constant friction of the strap digging into your skin.

"Do you want me to take a look at your feet?" Miguel asked, putting down his glass. He looked concerned as he looked at your heel strap, his brow furrowing deeper. He seemed worried about you, and as always, you could feel his kindness radiating through you. Even if he acted indifferent around the others; he would always let his guard down around you.

"No,no, " you waved it off trying to downplay the discomfort, "I'm going to take a small break from dancing." You didn't want him to worry about you. You didn't want to ruin salsa night. However, your feet were killing you and aching terribly.

"Are you sure?" Miguel asked, looking at you sympathetically with soft chocolate eyes. He didn't want you walking around with pain in your feet. If going home earlier meant you didn't have to deal with that, then it was worth it. He put down his glass of whiskey, and his hand was still on your shoulder.

"I'll drive us home," he stated firmly, not wanting to hear you protest. There was no point in arguing with him once he's concerned about your well-being.

You stand wobbling unsteadily on your feet. You were unsure if it was the wine or exhaustion overcoming you. "Miguel, would you please be a dear-" you wince from placing too much weight on one of your feet. "Ouch!" You cried softly.

"Let me get you out of those shoes," Miguel said quickly, kneeling down and unstrapping your heels. As he took off your shoes, he carefully inspected the redness forming on your heels. "Dios mio," he sighed grimly. "You can hardly walk. Let me help you."

He picked you up in his arms effortlessly and carried you out of the club.

Your face burns a bright beet red as onlookers watch him carry you out. "This is embarrassing," you mumbled, burying your face into the crook of his neck, refusing to look at any more people. His cologne was pleasant and soothing. You inhaled slowly through your nose and exhaled out, not aware that your breath brushed just under his earlobe.

Miguel chuckled softly, but he didn't disagree with you. Your lover just kept walking. He didn't care if other people were watching him. All that mattered right now was that he made sure his girlfriend (you) were safe and comfortable. He brought you to his car and opened the door for you, helping you get inside before walking around the front. After climbing in himself, he started the car and carefully backed out of his parking space.

He looked into your eyes as he drove, smiling warmly. "Almost home, love," he comforted you.

You loved to watch him drive. His corded muscles showing off as he navigates the steering wheel. His brown eyes focused on the road. His right hand rested on your thigh giving you reassuring strokes with his thumb. You squirm rubbing your thighs together. Goodness, you couldn't collect yourself to save your life. You felt a familiar ache form. A sense of neediness.

"M-Miggles-" you mumbled softly, "How much longer till we get home?"

You gripped both of your hands on top of his hand which rested on your thigh, squeezing in hopes that he would get the message. Your stomach slowly filled with butterflies as you imagined what else he could be doing with his hand.

Miguel quickly glanced at you then returned his gaze on the road, and he could read your thoughts just by the look on your face. He knew exactly what you wanted him to do, so he gave you even more than what you were expecting. He squeezed your thigh in the way he knew you liked it, and his fingers brushed against your skin. You could feel a tingle running through you, and you grew hotter with every passing second.

"Home's just five minutes down the road, Hermosa," he chuckled. He smelled your excitement. And knew you were getting hot and bothered. He shifted in his seat a little bit to relieve his forming hard-on.

"Five minutes?" You grumbled pouting, "I don't think I can wait that long." You traced your fingers tantalizingly up and down his forearm. He was built. Absolutely strong. You admired his muscles. Your fingers moving up and down and further up to his biceps.

"I can make it two minutes, if you prefer," Miguel said playfully. You were teasing him by tracing your fingers over his arm, and he loved it. He felt his heart beating faster the more your fingers grazed over his muscles. He drove a little faster than usual, and it wasn't long before you got closer and closer to his house.

When he pulled into the driveway, he turned to you. "We're here," he said.

Eagerly you wrapped your arms around his right arm and pulled him towards you. Your lips finally meet. It was hot, sincere, and needy.

He pulled you close, loving how eagerly you kissed him. You were both in need of this, and it felt so good to finally be in each other's arms again after not being around each other a whole month.

"I love you so much, Cariña," he whispered into your ear. "I never want to go anywhere without you." There was a lot of truth in his words. You were his world, and he never wanted to be apart from you. He hated being away from you.

When you broke apart, he rested his lips on your cheek. It was a soft kiss, filled with love and affection.

"I love you, more." You giggled as he pulled you closer. Your elbow accidently hit the volume button unmuting the radio. Loud music blared throughout the vehicle startling you both. A fit of laughter escapes from Miguel as he quickly turns off the radio.

Miguel laughed with you, and soon the pair of you couldn't stop giggling. It was the little things that made you laugh with each other, and you both loved that.

"Shall we go in?" The handsome man asks after a few more minutes of laughter. He looks at you, giving you a playful wink. Even through all the laughter, he still looks dashing, you thought to yourself. How was he so good-looking?

"Only if you take me to bed," you quipped playfully. You couldn't take your eyes off him only because everything felt like a dream. You didn't want to take your eyes off him. If you blinked you were scared he would disappear.

"I'll take you in bed while I'm at it," Miguel teased, his eyebrows raising suggestively. Your eyes were already glued to him, and his question only amplified your attraction to him. He laughed at your reaction to his words, and you could hear a little excitement in his voice. He knew that those words would get a reaction from you, and he wanted you to say yes.

"Absolutely, my sweet," you chimed. He gets out of the car and makes his way over to your side of the door. The tall Hispanic mixed man opens it, taking your hand and pulling you up to him. In a blink of an eye he throws you over his shoulder. You squeal, laughing dangling over him. His hands securely warped behind your thighs; careful to make sure you don't slip from his grip. It's some miracle he's not out of breath. He made you feel weightless. It was a strange feeling, but it was also exhilarating. And with his hands wrapped around your thighs, you knew you were safe in his arms.

"Miguel, you're so strong," you said with admiration thinking about how easily he could spin you around on the dancefloor or carry you anywhere he wanted. Impulsively you smack his bottom as you face his back upside down. It's only fair if he could carry you like that. You had the privilege to smack his toned glutes. So firm. You burst into another fit of laughter as you felt the blood flow to your head.

"Did you just smack my ass?" He was perplexed and annoyed by your sudden impulsivity. The muscular guy was still able to walk and navigate the walkway to his driveway, but he was laughing so hard at your reaction that his face was a bright red. The keys jingle in his hand as he unlocks the door.

"It was right in my face," you lilt. "Again those gray jeans do you so much Justice." He shrugs his broad shoulders and nods agreeing with you. He guided you to the bedroom.

You're a little dizzy as he led you to the master bedroom where it was far more intimate. He gently closed the door behind the two of you. You could feel that he wanted you, and you wanted him just as badly.

"Ready for tonight?" He throws you over on the mattress.

"Oof-" you plop on the Bedding and he manages to dishevel your hair from throwing you there.

Smiling and teasing you move away from him by crawling off the bed, "What's gonna happen tonight?" You played dumb.

You waltz to the other side of the bedroom, away from your loving partner, undressing yourself without a care in the world. Your dress dropped pooling around your feet. Your hands reach up into your hair and unleash the braided bun it was in. You were bare. You felt his eyes follow your every move.

He swallows thickly "Oh, you already know..." He grinned at your teasing tone of voice, finding himself becoming more and more excited as you undressed in front of him. He could clearly see how much effort you had put into your hair, and he loved it.

"Are you trying to get a raise out of me?" Miguel said softly, a lilt in his voice. "Because it's working."

His eyes were locked onto you, and he hadn't looked away since you began to take off your dress.

"Is it working?" you quizzically pondered, You exposed yourself to him, just for a moment in panties and all. Making sure your back was arched just right.

"Oh, definitely." Miguel's voice was husky and low. "It's definitely working. I don't think I've ever seen you look so beautiful," he continued.

And you looked absolutely stunning. Everything about you was perfect, and this was the first time in a while Miguel had seen you like this. He was always cooped up at work, working with the other spider people. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest, and his hands were shaking with anticipation. He had never felt so excited before.

"Hmm…" you drawled amused, "I wonder if I should just go to sleep, already? It is past our bedtime."

"In your underwear?" Miguel replied with a smirk. "I think you know that's a bad idea." He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorway, grinning cheekily at you.

"What do you suggest I should do, sir?"

He loved the way you addressed him. He felt something tingle inside of him. He slowly licked his bottom lip, his tan fingers raked through his dark curly hair. His brown ravenous eyes carefully regarding you. He knows the woman before him is pushing for a chase; a little game of cat and mouse. He might give in just a little bit.

"I suggest you undress all the way and come back," Miguel said with a satisfied grin. "Or I could just come over there and make you do what I want."

He was teasing again, but it wasn't without a little bit of truth to it. Miguel was more than happy to make you do what he wanted; he just wanted to know whether or not your intentions were to play hard to get, or if you really were going to get changed before sleeping.

That's Exactly what you wanted to hear, "Make me then," you challenged him. Miguel was only too happy to oblige. Before you could even blink, he had caught you in a firm grasp. One of his hands was wrapped around your waist, while his other hand gently caressed your neck. His forehead gently touched yours as he looked into your eyes; they were like the sun, warm and radiant.

"You really wanna play hard to get?" Miguel said, a smirk spread across his lips. His voice was low and raspy, and you could see that he couldn't wait to play along with you.

"Absolutely..." You said squirming away from his laxed grip. You managed to escape from his hold, and dart across the bedroom attempting to get away from the superhuman you have as a boyfriend.

"Are you really doing this?" Miguel said annoyed as he caught up to you.

This time, he pinned you against the wall as he leaned into you. "You have nowhere to go," he whispered into your ear. His tone was suggestive but not too revealing, and his hand still caressed your neck as he leaned in to you.

"I guess not, huh?" Your eyes flutter relishing in the fact that you felt his full weight pressed against you. His chest pressed up against your bare soft mounds. You reached out and cupped his jawline ever so tenderly admiring him. You loved to touch his stubbles. His full lips were just centimeters away from yours. You felt his hot breath brush over your cheeks, nose, and lips. Miguel didn't let you speak. When you reached up to his face, he leaned in and kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, and it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. It was deep and soft, yet there was a spark behind it that let you know how eager Miguel was.

Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist, and he pulled you in even closer to him. One of his hands went to the small of your back, and you felt a tingle run down your spine. His kiss became firmer as the moment went on, and he became more and more eager.He leans down, pressing his warm lips against yours again. His tongue slips past your teeth, exploring the wetness of your mouth. He tastes your sweet nectar, savouring the flavor. He moaned into the kiss, his hands moving to your hips as they grind together. You push your hands into his hair, holding him close as you press your bodies together. You could feel your nipples hardening, and you could practically taste the need between both of you. Your dainty arms snake around his big shoulders and neck.

"I want you," you breathlessly murmured against his now bruised lips, "Please, please, please…"

"What do you want me to do, Cariña?" Miguel asked as he broke away from you for a moment and stared into your eyes.

His eyes were full of love, longing, desire, and passion as he stared into you. When he kissed you again, there was so much longing that it was overwhelming. You had never been kissed with this kind of love, and it felt incredible.

Miguel was experienced in rigging up ties. It came along with his superhero responsibilities since he developed spinnerets in his arms. He sat back a little bit rubbing his fingers along his stubbles lost in thought. And wondered what kind of ties would suit the woman before him. Knowing you well now he knows you loved to be chased and tied down. You loved surrendering yourself to him. Granting him permission to anything to your body, as long as you were safe and comfortable with it.

"What are you waiting fo-" you blurt out loud pulling Miguel out from his train of thoughts. He stuck his fingers in your mouth before you can even finish your sentence. Dark brown eyes were looking down at you, "How are you so pretty and impatient?" His gaze darkens admiring how well you suck his fingers down. He chuckled at the way you looked at him in disbelief when your sentences were interrupted.

"I'm just thinking," Miguel said with a smug smirk and paused for a moment before adding, "I have an idea for us now."

Your boyfriend is right. You were a gorgeous woman, but sometimes you could get a little impatient. You couldn't help it though it's because you missed him terribly. You couldn't help but blush as he complimented you about your beauty and your impatience. It felt as though you were always impatient when it came to him; he simply ignited a primal drive in you that you could never ignore.

He withdraws his fingers reluctantly from your mouth. "Oh, yeah?" you said with a grin. "What exactly were you thinking about? You definitely have me curious." You had an inkling of suspicion you knew what he had in mind; you could see it in his eyes.

"Stay." He orders you.

And you happily obliged laying back in bed stretching out your body as he shifted his weight off of you. He stalks towards the toy box that was at the foot of the bed. And retrieves some special toys in his possession. You stayed where you were, looking up at him as he retrieved the toys. You were curious as to what he was planning, but you couldn't help but keep your eyes on him as he walked to the toy box. His strong body was on full display, and no matter how many times you saw him, there was always something about his body that you couldn't help but stare at.

"Should I be scared?" You teased with a grin.

Miguel couldn't help but start chuckling as he looked at you. He looked down at you, amused by your comment. "Only a little," he chuckled, looking down at you with a grin. "Or maybe a lot." He gave you a kiss on the forehead, and he looked down at you as he gently grabbed your shoulders.

"I'm only kidding," he said with a smirk. "I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to." He was always trying to take care of you, and he always wanted you to feel safe and protected.

You couldn't help but laugh at this. "Am I allowed to move now? Or do I have to be a good girl and stay put?" You teased, your eyebrows raising. You could see something in his eyes, and he definitely had something planned for you. You hadn't had this much fun in a while, and you couldn't wait to see what he had planned.

"Ven aquí," he motioned you to move to the edge of the bed with a finger curling in his direction. You bite your bottom lip sitting up immediately and scoot to him. Your bare legs dangling off the bed as you stay up looking up at his big clothed body with Doe eyes. "Good Girl," he praised. In his possession he had a black silk blind fold. Your heart pounding loudly against your ribcage, as you watched him lazily roll up his sleeves. You watched a sin unfold before you. He could hear it. The anticipation and discomfort he was causing poor little you. With his super hearing he smirked at the increased heart rate he caused you. He reached over your shoulders, his breath deliciously near your ear you squirmed, rubbing your legs together. He inhaled slowly through his nose, your scent tainting his senses. The man standing before has you absolutely riled up.

"We're going with the Traffic Light system," he promoted you, "Green means?"

"Good," You chimed in a little too quickly, "Yellow means easy. And Red is Stop." You blurted out the rest ready to get to the best part- him fucking you.

His chest rumbles as he chuckles, "Good Girl." He ties the fabric over your eyes, taking away your vision. You had to rely and solely depend on him.

He pointed his spinnerets at you and craftily tied you up in his crimson red web. You felt constricted and secured. The red web wrapped around your shoulders and bare chest, forming a star. And along and between your thighs he weaved and wrapped the silk web several times, where it stopped up just above your belly button and wrapped around the small of your back. You felt the web gently tug into your skin as you wiggled. "The more you move the tighter it gets" he reminds you, "Behave yourself." The rope also becomes loose if he tugs and twists it a certain way.

He tied you up so effortlessly, just like Spider-Man would do with his foes. You sat there, all tied up, your blindfold on, unable to see what he was doing. It was a rather unique experience; all you could do was sit there and let him do whatever he had planned for you.

"I'll be a good girl," you said as he finished tying you up. You were happy to play along with this little game, and you couldn't wait to see what he would do to you next.

"Excelente," he mused regarding his masterpiece with half hooded lust filled eyes. You felt him shove you back by the shoulders, and you flop back, your hair cascading around you on the linens. A nervous giggle escapes from your lips.

Miguel was so good at this. He used his powers to tie you up, and now you were completely vulnerable. You were still so attracted to him, even after all the times he had wrapped you up like this.

"You enjoy tying me up don't you?" You couldn't help but chuckle. You loved it when he dominated you in many different ways, and you wanted him to keep going. You looked forward to whatever he had planned next, and you would happily let him have the reigns.

"You look beautiful," you heard him say.

Your boyfriend had a way with his words. "Oh, thank you..." you said softly as you heard him give you that compliment. It always meant a lot coming from him, and you could tell he meant it when he said it. You both knew how much he meant it when he complimented you, and you loved him for being so genuine about it.

You could already feel those lustful feelings boiling over, and you knew he had something special in mind.

He reached over and grabbed a large white Wand. He kept it out of sight from you purposely when he received the blindfold. You hear an audible click followed by a buzz coming to life.

You could feel goosebumps slowly rise up on your skin as you heard the click and the buzz, and you weren't quite sure what exactly was going on. You couldn't help but notice a little bit of fear mingling within your excitement. What was he going to do to you? You couldn't wait to find out; you were eager to see what he had planned.

He tactfully places the vibrating wand on the outside of your thigh. You jerked from the sensation. "Gah!" You gasp wiggling away feeling the web grow snugger on your skin. You were quick to stop the movement, stilling yourself.

Miguel laughed at your quick reaction as you were distracted by the wand. He was surprised by how quickly you caught on to what he was doing, and he was impressed at your ability to follow his direction. You were definitely doing well so far.

"I'm very impressed," he said, smirking a little bit as he saw how well you were able to do as he directed. "You seem to be handling everything very well."

Lazily he glides the wand up and over your perky mounds. The web tied around your torso made them look more pronounced. You breath hitches and a small delicious whimper escapes your lips.

"Oh?" Miguel was surprised by the sound you made as he dragged the wand all over your body. He continued to drag it around, making the webbing tight every time he did. It wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable, and you could feel every inch of your skin feeling it.

"How are you doing?" he asked, smirking at the sound you made. It wasn't a good sign, but he enjoyed your reaction as he tormented you.

"I'm great," you huffed trying to resist the urge to pull your bud away from his torturous touch.

"Oh," he said playfully. "I doubt that you mean it." He knew you were enjoying his torment, of course, and he was happy to be able to have this much power over you. He couldn't help but smile with a chuckle as he continued his little torture session, loving every second of it.

It accidentally drifted over your core. Miguel watched amused.

Miguel laughed. "Where did it move off to?" He was trying to tease you. He had been teasing you all along, but this was the first time he had teased you in a way that could be interpreted as a threat. He was glad that he had found this new way to torment you, and he was looking forward to watching your reaction.

Miguel was trying to make you break, but would you finally have the strength to do it? Or would you give into the pleasure?He managed to elicit several pretty noises from your mouth. The wand rested near your slit. "Miguel-" you plead desperately, withering away. Your face contorted in pleasure

Miguel leaned into you. He couldn't help but chuckle at you as he looked at you as you pleaded with him. He leaned in even closer and whispered into your ear, "What is it, Amor? Is something wrong?" He looked at your quivering body.

"I'm going to cum" you cried out to him, "Can't do this."

Miguel's eyes lit up, and he felt an air of excitement building within him. "Oh, are you sure?" he whispered. "It looks like you were having so much fun..." He smirked, giving you one last taunt. He was so close to finally getting a reaction from you.

You heard a loud click just between your legs. And all hell broke loose. The buzz grew louder and was stronger. Much stronger. Your back arched up feeling the web press tighter into your skin.

Miguel smirked as he watched your reaction. "Having fun, yet?" He watched you fight through the pain and the pleasure, and he loved seeing you react this way. He couldn't help but laugh as the tension between you two built and built.

"I think you should just give in," he said softly.

"But you're going to punish me," you wailed, breathing harder with every moment that passed. You don't have to see him to know he had a condescending shit eating grin on his face. You could hear it in his voice as he coaxed you to give in. It was a trap and you knew better. Your body kept tensing up, you carefully try to move your body in a way that didn't trigger the webs to constrict you. Miguel noticed and pressed just a little bit harder on to your core.

Miguel couldn't help but smirk; he was loving the way you were reacting to his little punishment. He enjoyed tormenting you, and he could tell that you were getting a kick out of it. Even if it hurt a little, you were clearly having fun.

"Oh?" he said, taunting you. "Are you scared now?" he laughed. "I can be much worse if I wanted to. Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes, please"

Miguel smirked. "Oh, is that so?" he asked. He continued to drag the wand all over, enjoying the reaction he was getting from you. Every time you squirmed, he knew he had found something that worked. He would give you a little more of it, enjoying your reaction as the web tightened around you and the wand continued to tease you.

"Is this better?" he asked. "Or should I give you a little more?"

Your tears pricked the corner of your eyes darkening your blindfold. You felt a small lump form in the back of your throat feeling it get tight. Maybe you shouldn't have begged for more. The handsome devil who taunts you watched in amusement. Miguel knew if you didn't want this you would have said a color by now. He leaned over your tied up beautiful body. His dark chocolate eyes devour the carnal sight. The web tightens in just the right spots. You didn't hear it but you definitely felt it. The wand abruptly stops its little sadistic ministrations gone. His calloused rough palms caresses your quivering body, his fingers tracing along the web. He made sure it didn't cut off your blood circulation. You jumped at his sudden tender touch.

"Better?" he asked. "How are you feeling?" Miguel was getting some sort of pleasure out of watching your reaction, and he couldn't help but smile at you once he stopped. He continued to run his hands over you, his fingers moving softly along the web. He leaned in, as his lips brushed against your ear and he whispered into it, "I love watching you struggle."

Miguel was happy that he had managed to push you this far; you were so easy to torment. He loved having this much power over you, and he loved using it to test every limit you had. He knew that he had pushed you to your limit, and he was curious to see whether or not you would reach it.

Your body trembled slightly as he touched you, and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a few moans. You weren't quite sure why you were reacting this way, but you knew that you were enjoying it. You were happy to play whatever games Miguel wanted you to, and you could already feel yourself getting wetter.

"I want to make you feel good," you confessed, feeling guilty that he was tending to your desires. You hadn't done anything to show him your love and appreciation. You strained your ears to hear him, the echoes of the wand still lingered in your eardrums. "Hermosa," His rough fingers curled around your chin holding you in place. Even though your vision was robbed from you; you certainly felt his gaze on you. And you were right Miguel's breath brushed over your lips his eyes fixated on

"I love it when you call me that," you admitted, your voice breaking a little bit. He could tell you were trying to stay strong, but he could also tell that you were close to breaking. Was that his goal this whole time? To push you just close enough to break you? You would definitely learn a lot about yourself if your boyfriend managed to get you to scream for mercy again.

As Miguel held onto your chin, you could hear his voice come close to your ears. "What do you think you deserve, my love?" he whispered.

"I deserve you." You whisper back so quietly you were unsure if he heard you. Your body shook in waves sending small tremors to your hands and feet.

"Oh, do you now?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement as he held your chin. "Do you think you truly deserve me?" Miguel was going to make you earn his affection, and he was looking forward to the challenge. He was certain that you wouldn't be able to keep yourself together much longer.

He couldn't help but smile as he spoke, knowing exactly what it meant to you. He enjoyed knowing how much power he had over you. "How would you prove it?" he whispered.

"I want you in my mouth," you sobbed tears begin to stain the blindfold, "I want you to feel good too, Miguel."

Miguel smirked. It was clear that you were close to breaking, and he couldn't help but continue to push you further. He was enjoying himself, and he couldn't help it. It was almost as if he couldn't help himself from tormenting you in this way. Miguel was loving every second of this.

You begged for him, and he laughed in excitement. He looked forward to punishing you in more ways to get you to beg for him. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, his smugness obvious.

"I guess it can't be helped," he sighed. You felt the bed shift and he was no longer near you. The sound of jingling metal could be heard. The bronze being slowly removed his belt and along with his jeans. His package stood up loud and proud, clearly triggered by your pleas. He then rid himself of the black button up by tossing it away. He stalked back to you a little disappointed you couldn't admire his body but that was fine. He tossed his brown locks back with his fingers and crawled back to you. His tawny lips trailed from your toe to your heels. Apologetically kissing the sore that formed from dancing earlier tonight. He worked his way up to your ankle and shin reaching your knee. He nipped at your plump thighs, careful not to puncture you with his fangs. You felt blissful.

As Miguel leaned in, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming amount of pleasure. His touch was so delicate, and he seemed so concerned with you. You could feel every part of yourself begin to relax, and you could feel every inch of yourself come alive with pleasure. It was a stark contrast to the pain you had felt just a moment ago. You were so happy that he was touching you.

Miguel was surprised that you were already falling for him again, but he didn't hold it against you. He continued to move up your body, taking his time and being as careful as possible.

Ever so slowly he worked his way up to your breasts. Admiring how you melted under him. He kissed your puffy sensitive mounds. His full lips tantalizingly traced up from your collarbone to the crease of your neck. He fingers tweak at your peaks earning more pretty noises from you.

"Hermosa, a donde mi quieres?" He huskily groaned in your ear.

"M-my mouth," you meekly answer.

Pleased and satisfied with your answer, he crawled up your body, both knees rested on both sides of your head caging you in. He placed your arms above your head and shifted enough to pin them down with his knees. He grabbed his gifted package with its crimson, angry, big tip. He traced it around your lips. Precum coating your mouth like lipgloss.

"Are you going to suck me off like a good cumslut?" He coos cruelly to you.

"Yes, Sir," you part your lips, your tongue out desperately waiting for him to stuff your mouth full.

A low groan escapes from him. "Open your fucking throat," he hissed. He forced his heavy cock all the way to the back of your hot warm mouth. "Mierda, is this what you wanted?" he was going to remold your throat to his size once again. He hated having to do this to you, but he did work a lot and now he was going to make up for the loss of time. His hips rock steadily, finding a rhythm suitable for both of you.

You happily obliged, gagging down and slurping him up. Miguel chuckled. Was this really it? It was what you wanted, but he was expecting you to keep going. He was expecting it to get louder. He was expecting to be able to hear you scream just a little more, but he could tell that you were already broken. Miguel growled deep in his throat as you opened your mouth wider, allowing him to slide deeper. You loved the feeling of having him fill your entire mouth, and you did your best to swallow every inch of him. You felt his girth stretching your cheeks, and you loved the sensation. It made you feel powerful and sexy, and you didn't mind one bit.

"Maybe we should move on to something else," he said.

Desperately you lapped at his thick cock, you had already memorized where his veins were warped decoratively. In hopes that he would keep cock there for you to enjoy just a little bit longer. Drool and precum ran down your chin.

Miguel chuckled. He stopped thrusting into your mouth. You were so eager to please him. He couldn't help but be amused by you as you continued work on his cock, enjoying the pleasure. He enjoyed seeing you beg for him, and he was happy to have power over you.

He wanted to push you beyond your limits, and he was going to do it. "Do you really want my cock in here?" he asked. "Or do you want something more?"Your mouth was stuffed full with him.

At this point you didn't even care anymore. He had your arms pinned above your head. Your head is trapped between his muscular thighs. You just wanted him and whatever he gave you you would gladly accept it.

"Answer me." He withdraws his cock.

But you moved your head up stubbornly trying to take him back into your mouth. Oh no, he wasn't having that. He wrapped his entire hand around your pretty neck and forced you down, choking you.

"Ahora," he growled.

Miguel couldn't help but laugh. Your response was expected, but he had been hoping for an answer that would lead him down a different route. He couldn't get over how easily you were willing to bow down to him. It was like he was the king, and you had to bow down to him. He enjoyed feeling that way, and he was certainly going to utilize it more.

Miguel leaned in close to your ear, and he whispered to you, "I want to make you feel good. How can I do that?" he asked softly a stark contrast of how he handled you.

"Do whatever you want, Love, please" you cried "I just want you." And with that a sinister light bulb went off in his head. He retrieved the white wand while turning slightly and placing it on your puffy clit. He aimed a spinneret at your thigh causing the wand to stick there. Miguel couldn't help but smirk. You were an easy woman to please. He continued to enjoy pushing you, and he liked testing your patience. He got an air of smugness about him, and he couldn't wait for the next step.

The man leaned back slightly. He got an excited look in his eye as he realized what the wand would allow him to do. He couldn't help but smirk, looking forward to seeing your reaction. Miguel loved watching your reaction as he turned on the wand, but he did feel a little guilty. He didn't like to see you in pain, but he loved seeing you struggle. The wand was just the right mixture of the two, and he had gotten you right where he wanted you. You were trapped, unable to escape, but you could still feel all the pleasure the wand was giving you.

Miguel watched you continue to squirm and moan, and he smiled. He loved that he was able to do that to you. It only made him want to torture and pleasure you more.

You felt a familiar knot form in your stomach. " I'm gonna cum." You sobbed, "'nna cum. Just fuck me."

"Oh, are you?" he asked softly, looking down at you in amusement. He had been hoping for a reaction, but he didn't expect this. He smiled at how easily you had taken to his plan. Miguel loved that he could turn you on so much. His smirk grew, but he didn't say anything back, just kept on looking down at you.

He knew exactly what you meant, and he had the power to give it to you. He loved the way he would keep you on your toes; it made him feel powerful and in control.

You squeezed your eyes closed. The vibrator was the end of you. Your body slowly arched up on its own even with him pinning you down with his weight. Miguel quickly caught on and slipped his large swollen cock his back into your mouth. He thrusted it down your throat along with your air. And the coil in your belly finally snapped. A heady, broken moan wraps around his dick struggling to move past your stuffed mouth. Your eyes rolling back as you trashed from the fierce orgasm ripping through you.

"Take it, take it," he growled, pounding balls deep against your chin.

The way your throat tightened around him sent them over the edge. He dumped his cum all in the back of your poor throat. That's all you could do just take his length as you convulsed in pure pleasure. His cock was halfway out and his hand moved around it to pump more out.

"Keep that mouth open and Don't fucking swallow it." He spat warning you fangs on full display. The shiver that went down your spine from the way he barked his order was surreal.

Your mouth was filled with his white creamy relief. And you weren't allowed to consume a single drop. He was mesmerized admiring his handy work.

"Swallow it, Hermosa."

You did.

"Don't waste it or I'll fuck it back into your throat." Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, feeling his cock rest against your wet cheek.

"Show me." He ordered. Your mouth parts wide open showing him what a good girl you are for him. You swallow every last drop he gave you. Miguel smirked to himself, very content . You were such a good girl for him, and he couldn't find anyone else that would suit him like you did. You were the perfect girl for him, and he would treat you the way you deserved. He turned off the wand strapped to your thigh and pressed up against your pussy.

"You're such a good girl, my little Hermosa," Miguel purrs, pleased with you. "I'm so proud of you."

"You are?"

"Of course I am," he smiled. "There isn't anyone else I'd want but you." Miguel's smirk grew. You were amazing, and he could barely hold back his grin. "You're everything I've ever wanted."

Miguel loved you so much. He would do anything you ever asked. But now wasn't the time to talk about his love for you, as he was going to keep pushing you. He was still hard and ready to go.

Miguel rolled you over on all fours, putting you in a vulnerable position. You couldn't escape now, no matter how hard you tried. He had the power, strength, and he was going to use it. This was a different kind of pleasure, and he was going to enjoy it. Miguel looked forward to seeing just how far he could push you.

"I haven't even fucked all your holes yet," he snickers. Miguel grabbed hold of you by the red web and pulled you towards him. Your bottom up in the air, and your arms holding you up. He flipped on the wand that was still attached to your leg. "Ah-" your arms gave out. Your breasts fall to the bed making a deep arch for him.

"I can't take it," you wailed from the overstimulation on your poor swollen clit. You huffed anxiously unsure if you were ready to do this. Maybe you're in over your head. You should have just changed into your pajamas and gone to bed.

He coos tenderly, "Shh..." He pulled you out from your unfocused and chaotic cluster of thoughts with his deep voice. You feel his rough calloused palms caress your rear in soothing circles.

"Cálmate, you're doing so well for me." He pressed a kiss on your plump ass cheek. As soon as you settled down some more he gave you another reassuring kiss on your cheek. He lined up his large hefty package with your drooling entrance. "Take a deep breath for me," he coached. He plunges into your vibrating slit. "You feel so fucking good, Hermosa." Miguel groans.

He felt his self control slowly drift away. You winced at the sting in your lower belly hurting as he sheathed himself all the way inside. The tip of his enormous length kissing your cervix greedily. He peppered kisses on your shoulder blade to distract you from the pain. Your folds clenched him tightly, sucking him in deeper.

"Fuck Miguel-"

"I know, I know. You can handle it. This is why I don't like being away from you," he says, "Cause now I have to stretch you out all over again " He told lies.

He loved the way you felt. His favorite part was retraining your body to take him again. He pulled out gritting his teeth as your walls desperately clung to him.

"You're sucking me back in," he hissed, withdrawing his dick.

He thrusts back harder into you starting a rough pace for you to take. He repeatedly pulled your ass by the red web back to meet his hips. Your blind fold loosens from his fervent movement and friction from your cheek rubbing the bed under you, finally slipping off your eyes. Tears fall out the corner of your eyes landing on the sheets. Your vision was absolutely blurry; you could see nothing but stars flooding your space. Your fists gripped the cover for dear life while your lover indulged himself.

He made you cum for the Umpteeth time. "Que Rica estas," he growled pounding away at your vibrating pussy. Skin on skin echoes throughout the bedroom. The large white wand is still buzzing away at your poor throbbing cunt. You lie there a moaning mess with broken sobs. Drool pools out your mouth soaking the sheet. Miguel's crimson red eyes lock fixated on where you two were connected. He was mesmerized by the way your cunt swallowed him whole. He loves the white frothing ring you created on his slick covered cock. He adored your fucked out expression as his heavy balls pat aggressivly against your pussy's lips.

"Dame una mas," he grunts, snaking an arm around your waist to get between your legs, feeling for your clit. He starts spelling his name on your clit, as if to remind your body who it belongs to. Him. Your lower belly feels full, a knot forming as Miguel summons another oragasm with his cock and fingers. He grabs a fist full of your hair forcing you to look at him. "Look at me,"

You looked at the feral sex god who fucked you from behind. His hair was a mess. Strands of his dark curls were sticking to his forehead. His sun kissed body glistening in sticky sweat. His fangs were visible and holy hell his eyes were red. This is the other version of him that you also loved and cherished dearly as well. His primal and animalistic side that he tried so hard to hide around you. When he was caught in the heat of the moment this version of him would come out. Miguel felt an overwhelming sense of pride. He had you right where he wanted you - a shivering mess on the bed, broken yet wanting more. He couldn't stop leering as he watched your tear stained face twist in pleasure, and he laughed. This was his element, and he was going to enjoy it as much as he could.

Miguel looked down at you in amusement, his smile growing even larger, he rubbed against your vibrating clit. He felt your walls around him squeeze tighter and tighter with every thrust. "Look at me when you fucking cum." He sent you over the edge once again, muscles spasming uncontrollably around his length. Your eyes rolled back, as more tears ran down your face. He loved your cock drunk face. It was that expression alone that sent him over the edge with you. He slams his pelvis into your ass with a wet audible smack. His chest sinks into your back pressing you further into the mattress. His low groan fills your ears with filthy Spanish profanities. He painted your cunt white and filled it up more. You felt a steady stream of liquid squirt out from you and run down your thigh. Every orgasm you have will be associated with him. The man knew how to condition your cunt. He sloppily kissed your tears as you cried out squirming under him.

"No more. I can't take it anymore." You wailed to him.

Miguel kissed your tears away as you squirmed. He couldn't stop himself now; he had to push further. He wouldn't stop until you broke, and this was just another step he was going to take. He would put you back together again after you broke as he has done many times before. He smiled down at you as you cried, taking satisfaction in his work. Miguel sighed slightly. He wasn't ready for you to give up yet. He wanted to push you, and you just gave in so easily. Miguel wanted more. He wanted to make you beg for him, and now you were just giving up. Miguel sighed again and shook his head as he flipped onto your back.

Miguel sat up. "Are you sure?" he asked. A smile grew on his face. "Are you sure you're done with this?" His voice was soft and sweet, but his eyes had that intense fire behind them, ready to push you further. He huffed and shook his head down at you as he laid you on your back under him.

"If you want me to stop then use your safe words." He challenged you. He knew you. If you really wanted him to stop you would have already called out a color. Miguel called you out on your bullshit. He leans down burying his face in the crook of your neck gently sucking at your sensitive skin.

"Say a color." He coaxed into your neck. You bit your bottom lip. Miguel's voice was so close to your skin. He couldn't help but smirk as he leaned into you more, his teeth just barely touching the soft skin of your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, and it felt so good. Miguel enjoyed himself as he took in the aroma of your body. His eyes closed, and he loved what he had done to you.

Miguel pulled away, and smiled at you. "You still want me to stop?" he repeats. "Use your safe word if you really want me to."

You felt your face heat up once again. "Green." You moaned as he returned to nip on your breasts now.

"That's what I thought." He replied smuggly.

Miguel continued to look up at you with a mocking smile, knowing what you wanted him to do.

"So what do you want me to do?" he asked innocently.

Miguel knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to be specific. You had said the word, but he wanted to hear you ask him. Miguel loved making you beg.

"Keep going," you snapped at him, obviously annoyed with Miguel, your patience now gone, feeling too worked up.

"Hey, are you giving me attitude?" His brows furrowed and eyes narrowed down on you.

Your heart skipped a beat in fear of dealing with more intense treatment from your lover.

"Please, please, please," you punctuated with kisses on his lips desperately trying to convey your wishes to him, "Keep going, please. I need you." Your dignity and pride was nowhere in sight.

"That's my Good Girl," Miguel praised you. Miguel watched you, and he felt a wave of satisfaction run through him. You looked so cute right now. Your hair is a mess, your lips bruised , and your neck pink and purple with hickies. He enjoyed seeing you beg for his attention. Miguel had you exactly where he wanted you, and he would never let you go. Once you begged him, there was no taking it back. He felt powerful, and he enjoyed every second of it. He ripped off the wand from your thigh and flipped it off.

Miguel's smile only grew as he watched you try to appease him. You really wanted him to keep going, and he was going to give it to you. He kisses each of your knees as he places them over his broad shoulders. Miguel's heart was racing. He enjoyed this so much. He wasn't going to be satisfied until he had you completely ruined and it would happen eventually. But for now? He would enjoy this moment. Miguel couldn't stop smiling down at you as he continued to press kisses into your knee. You looked so beautiful under him. Your legs parted nice and wide for his eyes only. Your juices mixed with his slowly pour out your sore cunt. "So wasteful" he mutters, stuffing the liquid back inside with his thumb. Miguel kept grinning while watching you writhe and squirm. There was no stopping him now. He had control over you, and he wasn't about to let go. He plunges back into your warm depths. Reaching deeper than before. A heavenly sigh parts from his lips, his half-hooded eyes lock on to yours.

You whimpered pathetically under him, "You're going to be the death of me..."

And soon he begins to move as one with you. Miguel's smile grew broader. He was in control, and he enjoyed every second of it. You would always be his. He didn't want anything besides that. He didn't want to let you go, and he didn't deserve to let you go. Miguel just kept pounding away.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

He kisses you as hard just he fucks. Both of your teeth messily clack against each other.

Miguel felt alive as he kissed you again. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have someone like you. No one else could compare. Miguel's eyes closed, and he kissed you with everything he had. He wanted to feel as close to you as he could; he was finally in the heaven that he deserved. Miguel knew this was what he wanted, and he would never let it go. Your pussy was soaking wet accepting everything he gave you with ease. He had you almost folded in half knees touching your breasts. You're a sight for him to cherish and ruin.

"I'm gonna fill this pussy up," He growls at a quickening pace. He heavy balls scrunch up with each harsh rut.

"Tómalo, tómalo, toma todo lo que te doy." He's slurring up his words in a heated frenzy state.

His cock burst filling you up even more. He curls in forcing his sperm further up your cervix. Miguel swallows your cries messily with his hungry mouth. Your legs trembling over his shoulders, your eyes glassy with new tears. He gently removed your legs from up his shoulder down to his waist.

He refused to remove his cock from your full pussy.

"I want you to be mine," he urged, "All mine. I'm gonna knock you up," He leaned down and kissed your forehead. Images of you with a large swollen belly flash through his head. He could have you waddling around his workplace letting everyone know you were off limits. Breasts spilling out as you breast fed his baby.The one you both created together. But the idea of one child isn't enough for him, maybe two or four little ones running around the house. He could have his own kids and rub it in Peter B Parker's face.

You could tell that Miguel had been thinking about what your future together might look like, and you were happy to hear that he wanted you to be a part of it.

" I'm yours," you answered softly, feeling overwhelmed with happiness and adoration. You wanted your life to be tied to his in every way. You wanted nothing more than to be the woman who gave him children and made him happy. The thought of having his babies filled you with joy, and you wanted to do anything and everything to make that happen.You had never felt this way about anyone before. You couldn't imagine a life without him, and the thought of starting a family together was intoxicating. You wanted to give yourself to him entirely, and you were ready to surrender to the passion and emotion that you shared. You wanted to be his perfect partner and the thought of having his child was an incredible concept. You were willing to do anything for him, and you wanted him to know that.He finally softened and removed his cock from you. He ripped the red web off from your body effortlessly like tissue paper.

You had been through a lot with Miguel, and now it was time for some after care. After all, you had both pushed yourselves to the limit and it was important to take some time to relax and enjoy the pleasure you had just shared. He cradled you in his arms, gently kissing your head and face. He stroked your hair and held you close, wanting to provide comfort and reassurance. You could feel his heart beating, and you felt safe and secure in his embrace. You knew that he would take care of you and protect you, and that made you feel even more loved.

"Amor don't fall asleep," he murmured into your locks. "I'll get the bath started." He gets out of bed and stalks to the bath. The water roars to life filling up the tub. Steam could be seen escaping from under the door frame. He came back into the bedroom and lifted you up in his arms. He carried you to the bathroom and placed you in the bathtub. He held you close, supporting you in the steamy, warm water. You were still feeling the effects of everything that had just happened, and you were glad to be held and taken care of. You felt safe and secure, and you appreciated the love that Miguel was showing you. You felt like you would never want to leave that bath tub, and you hoped to always be kept in a bubble of safety and comfort.

"Hermosa, how do you feel?" He asked carefully massaging soothing circles into your shoulders. His fingers work their way along your body. You felt the tension start to leave you as Miguel's hands began to rub your shoulders, working away the stress and muscle soreness. The hot bath had helped ease your sore muscles, and you finally began to feel calm after everything that had happened. Miguel was there for you, holding you close and comforting you, and you were grateful for his presence.

"I'm fine," you choked back fighting tears.

"No,no, sweetie give me more," he pauses as he wraps up you with his arms pulling you back into his chest. "What's on your mind?" He sensed something was troubling you, but he wasn't sure if it was the sub drop from the intense session you two had together.

"You want to have kids with me?" You quietly questioned him.

Your question made Miguel startle, but he didn't hesitate to give you an honest answer. "Of course," he said. "I love you and I want to be with you forever. I want us to start a family together, and I want us to build a life together. I want us to have everything that we could ever dream of." His words brought a smile to your face, and you felt a weight being lifted from your shoulders. You felt hopeful and optimistic, and you were glad to have such a loving and supportive partner by your side.

Part two is out!

#miguel ohara #miguel x reader #migueloharasmut #ATSVsmut #spiderman 2099 #Dom! MiguelOhara #Top!MiguelOhara #MiguelOharaxReadersmut #Miguel O'hara Smut #Miguel O'hara x reader #Dom!Miguel O'hara #miguel O'hara oneshot

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years ago

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Title: ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ [4]

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist || series playlist || chapter song

Summary: Drowning in women and designer drugs, Bucky Barnes of Valkyrie’s Revenge is in a race to rock bottom. Fed up, his bandmates give him an ultimatum—straighten up, or fuck off. In a last, desperate bid to maintain his place, he agrees to return to the one place he swore he’d never set foot again—home.

Warnings: Angst, Drug Addiction, Mental Health issues, Toxicity, Recreational Drug use, Hard drug use, PTSD, Dealing with trauma, Slow Burn, Fluff, MINORS DNI, [More to be added]

A/N: another installment down! i’m really eager to hear what folks are thinking and feeling, so please don’t hesitate to hit my inbox with comments or questions! divider by @firefly-graphics

series playlist || chapter song

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

🎤

You don’t sleep until the sky starts to turn from deep purple to pink at the edges, waiting for your phone to ring, or the doorbell, or a fierce knock—but nothing comes. You begin to slip down into slumber as the dawn stretches bright fingers up the faded wallpaper of your bedroom, and your anxieties follow you in.

You’re in the car. Why are you in the car? The window is cool to the touch beneath your fingers—it’s winter. It was winter. Maybe here it always is. Someone squeezes your hand—Bucky, you know it without looking. You know him so well that even the guitar callouses on his fingertips are as known to you as the folded pages of your favorite book.

You stroke your thumb over the creases in his skin. They are the familiar lines of a map you have learned down to the letter—every scar recorded to memory.

Why are you in the car? Rebecca is there too, her face blurred in the mirror as she leans over to whisper something to Bucky’s mother. You can’t hear her, like she’s speaking from under water.

“You think you’ll ever come back here? When you get famous?” You know how this goes, you remember this part—

“When we get famous, you mean.” The world tilts on its head and suddenly you are standing in the rain on the shoulder of the road, staring at the smoking, twisted metal—

“Mommy?”

Your eyes are slow to open, like your body doesn’t actually want start moving again so soon after falling asleep. Iris is perched on the edge of your bed, her wide gray eyes searching your face.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” you sit up onto your elbows with a huff. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.” You hadn’t slept at all, really, but your daughter doesn’t need to know that. “Were you up long without me?” She shakes her head.

“No.” She looks so much like Bucky as she cocks her head at you, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly as she regards you. It’s almost laughable how many of his mannerisms she’s seems to have inherited despite never being around him, how much of him is in her.

Iris crawls up to the head of the bed and scoots underneath the blanket with a little sigh. You wrap your arms around your daughter, pressing a tired kiss to her forehead.

“You sleep okay? Any bad dreams?”

“No. I was a mermaid in my dream.” Iris replies seriously.

“Oh? Did you see anything cool down there under the ocean?” As she begins describing the intricacies of her subconscious, you start trying to ready yourself for the day. It’s Saturday—one of your only full days off. Generally, your off time consists of taking Iris to absorb what little culture Meridian and the surrounding counties have to offer, but today, you’re dragging.

You haven’t dreamed about the crash since after Iris was two, but you know you shouldn’t be surprised by it’s reoccurrence, not really. The past has a way of biting your ass when you least expect it, your grandmother had said that to you when you were young, and you found it still held true. First Bucky, then Steve—it had been bound to happen sooner or later.

You can’t stop thinking about it as you slide out of bed, only managing to half listen to Iris as she describes the flavor of kelp ice cream to you over freezer waffles.

Following Bucky back from the softball game, riding in Steve’s truck because Winnie’s tire blew out on her sedan—Bucky was going to go back and pick it up later with the spare from the garage.

Kissing him and telling him you’d see him at home, that you loved him.

Watching the drunk driver plow headfirst into Bucky’s truck.

Bucky pulling his mother and sister from the wreckage, and screaming, so much screaming—

“You’re sad today, mommy.” Your head snaps up, your fingers loosening on your fork in your shock. It clatters against the plate, but Iris doesn’t blink. “I can tell.”

So fucking much like her dad.

“I guess I am,” you say after a moment.

“Why?”

You’re not sure what to say—you certainly can’t tell her that you’re thinking about the crash. The one almost exactly a year before she was born. You can’t tell her that that’s when everything fell apart, when Declan Forge’s truck jumped the divider and slammed full speed into Bucky’s Dodge.

But you don’t want to lie to her either.

“Something… bad happened, just before I found out I was pregnant with you. There was an accident, and some people I was very close to passed away.” Iris knows what death is; you’ve never shied away from some of the harsher truths, but this one is still hard for you to stomach. Iris looks like she’s thinking hard, her little brows scrunched up as her nose wrinkles.

“I’m sorry you’re sad, mommy.” Your chest goes painfully tight when she places her little hand on your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to be sad.” There’s a simple, childish wisdom in her words that makes you want to protect her, keep Iris just like this forever—but the concern written in the lines of her little face tells you otherwise.

You wipe at your tear filled eyes, fixing Iris with a soft smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

You bundle Iris into the shower as she talks a mile a minute. There’s barely enough time to answer one of her questions before she’s firing off others, each thought biting the tail of the next as they rush to get to her mouth.

“Are we going to the center today, mommy?” She asks as you towel her off. “Miss Kitty said there’s berry picking today.”

Truth be told, you don’t want to spend any more time at the community center than you have to, these days—especially now that Bucky practically lives there. You’re bound to run into him—Meridian is smaller than a goddamn speck—but you don’t want to do it more than you have to. If Steve is already noticing the uncanny likeness between your daughter and his best friend, you don’t want to add more opportunities for Bucky to do the same.

“Wouldn’t you rather go to the park?” You suggest, but Iris shakes her head. “Or maybe the library? Or we could go see—”

“Mommy, I want to see my friends at the center,” she whines, scuffing her foot against the bathroom tile. “Please?” You can’t deny her trembling lip and wide eyes, and you heave a sigh as you draw the wide toothed comb through her hair.

“Sure, sweetheart. We’ll go see your friends at the center.”

—

Steve’s house is better than the studio apartment Tony had rented in his name, Bucky’s grateful for that. Waking up from the withdrawal induced nightmares to stare at the creepy painting of cherubs by his bedside was driving him crazier than the cravings. And now, there’s more than one place to sit around all day parsing out what a piece of shit he is—there are options; the kitchen, the porch, the living room, the den; all laid out for his choosing pleasure.

Bucky is currently parked on the porch, smoking what he thinks is either his fifth or eighth cigarette of the morning—he can’t remember. He’d been up early enough to watch the sun rise over the old warehouses in the distance, stretching golden fingers through the streets until it passed beyond the dead-end cul-de-sac where Steve’s mother used to live.

He’d missed that funeral, too. Bucky tries to recall where he was when Sarah died, tried to dredge up the memories—but they’re too cloudy for him to sort through. What a good friend, he thinks sourly, shaking either his sixth or ninth cigarette loose from the carton. Don’t even remember when my best friend’s mom kicked the bucket.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice makes Bucky turn, squinting in the bright morning sun. “You’re up early.” Bucky appreciates that Steve doesn’t comment on the fact that Bucky’s always awake, knees trembling as he picks the cuticles on his hands down to the quick.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Steve sits down beside him, shaking his head when Bucky offers him a cigarette. He’s not sure when Steve quit smoking, another memory lost to the shuffle.

“You going down to the center today?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s lip curls as he exhales smoke. He doesn’t much fancy going down there to wallow in self pity and regret. Easier just to do it here, where there isn’t anyone to ask him how he’s processing it all.

“If I said no would you make me go anyway?” He asks, and Steve actually laughs.

“Probably wouldn’t be too hard,” he replies with a chuckle. “You’re skinny as shit.”

When they get to the center, Kitty is already there and going strong. She gets an almost religious fervor about herself as she speaks, her eyes bright as her lips move impossibly quickly. It reminds Bucky of what it was like on stage, the crowd’s attention and devotion like a steady morphine drip. He wonders if that’s Kitty’s addiction—being the center of attention.

“We talked about rock bottom last meeting,” she says, clapping her hands. “Now I want to talk about moving up. I want to talk about moving forward.”

No forward for you, the demon mutters. Just under. Six feet, right?

“Obviously today’s session isn’t mandatory, but it’s still useful. We’re going to give back to our community today, the community that has held us through these tough times.” Bucky’s not sure which community she’s talking about, considering that most of the folks inhabiting Meridian are no better than rabid dogs, but he keeps that little thought to himself.

“There’s a local business in need of a little assistance, they’re short staffed this quarter, and we’re going to assist! Isn’t that wonderful?” Bucky wants to shake his head, but refrains from doing so—barely. “Raul’s Berry Farm, out north on 49.”

Great.

Kitty’s rented a van for today’s excursion, but Steve volunteers to drive him, which Bucky is thankful for. He’s not really sure how many more “uplifting” and “inspirational” stories he can handle. He gets back into Steve’s pickup, leaning his head back against the headrest. Steve pulls out into traffic, following the van. His fingers drum nervously against the wheel, tapping out an anxious rhythm Bucky’s not even sure he notices. Steve’s always been fidgety when he’s nervous, though, ever since they were little.

“What?” Bucky asks, and Steve turns to look at him like he has three heads. Bucky gestures at Steve’s fingers, tap-dancing across the dashboard. “What’s the problem?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing.”

“You always were a shit liar.”

Steve scowls at him. “It’s nothing, Buck. Seriously.”

The berry farm is a Meridian institution, one of the local businesses that had been around since before the town was a town. Bucky doesn’t think that’s a particularly impressive resume, but he knows better than to mention it when he hops out of Steve’s pickup and down into the dusty parking lot. Kitty gestures for everyone to circle in, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Alright everyone. We’ve got some little helpers here today too,” she points at a short yellow school bus that Bucky assumes also came from the community center. “I think we all know how important it is in the process to make amends not only to ourselves but to our community!”

Can’t make amends to people who are dead though, can you?

Bucky picks up his five gallon bucket and starts down a line of blueberry bushes. He pops a few into his mouth, tart sweetness bursting over his tongue. He doesn’t wait for Kitty to deliver instructions—after all, how much directing could they possibly need to pick berries? The smell of the hot sun, the laughter of the children racing up and down the rows—it’s nostalgic. Bucky had been here many times himself on school field trips, the farm being one of the only “historic” locations within forty-five minutes of Meridian.

A group of children rounds the corner, flying down the dirt path at top speed. One of them crashes into his legs, and then lands back on the ground with a soft oof.

“Easy, kid.” Bucky reaches down to help her up, and his heart leaps into his throat when Iris beams at him.

“Hi, Mr. Bucky!” Her wide smile is missing a couple of teeth. “I’m sorry I runned into you.”

“That’s okay.” He glances around, looking for you, but he doesn’t see you. “Where’s, um. Where’s your mom?” She cocks her head at him.

“She’s talking with Miss Kitty.” Iris points back towards the parking lot, and then makes a face. “Grown-up stuff.” She looks so much like you, wrinkling her little nose with distaste the same way you do. He can’t help but wonder who you’d found after him, who had tried to help you pick up the pieces because Bucky wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

And perhaps that’s the worst part of all, that when he’d broken you, he expected you to stay that way. But you hadn’t. You’ve moved on, you’ve grown, while Bucky is stuck in the same mud pit, nursing the same old wounds. Or maybe he isn’t nursing them at all, just tearing them open again and again because he knows he doesn’t deserve peace.

If he did, he’d be in the ground same as Beccs.

“Do you, um. Do you like blueberries?” Bucky asks lamely. He doesn’t know how to talk to kids, not really. Iris looks around conspiratorially, before gesturing for him to lean in close.

“They’re mommy’s favorite,” she stage whispers, and Bucky nods. He remembers that, at least. “She’s sad today. If I bring her something she likes, maybe she’ll be happy again.” Iris says resolutely, secure in the soundness of her childish reasoning. It makes Bucky’s heart ache a little, though he isn’t sure why. “Can you help me?”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. He knows you probably don’t want him anywhere near your kid. He looks around, searching for you, but he doesn’t see you.

“I dunno, kid, I mean… your mom, she…” Bucky stops, unsure of what to say. He can’t exactly tell a six year old that he’d nuked their relationship, can he?

“Please?”

“I guess I could… help you get a few.” She chatters aimlessly at him, and Bucky struggles to keep up and respond to every loose thought that seems to fly from her little mouth up to his ears. Iris is so much like you—and it isn’t just the fact that in more than a few ways, she could be your twin. She reminds him of you before.

His fingers are stained purple by the time Iris’ bucket is even a quarter of the way full. Bucky can’t believe he even remembers how to do this, gripping the soft fruit gingerly and twisting it off of the vine. Iris’ mouth and hands are purple too, though that’s more from eating than picking. She stands up away from the bucket and waves at someone Bucky can’t see, crouched underneath the thorny vines the way he is.

“Hi mommy!” He pulls hurriedly away from the bush, wincing as one of the thorns catches his finger. You look less than pleased, but not angry. Panicked might be a better way to describe your tight expression, the frantic way your eyes move back and forth between Bucky and Iris.

“Hey, sweetheart. I was looking for you,” you reply. The weak smile on your features grows strained. “Hello Bucky.”

“Hey.”

“Mr. Bucky helped me get lots of berries, mommy, see?” Iris reaches indigo stained fingers into the bucket, and lets a handful of berries fall through her tiny fingers like gold coins. “Lots!”

“Woah! That’s so many,” you agree, placing your hands on your knees as you bend over to peer into her bucket. “I thought maybe we could head out, sweet pea. Maybe go for dinner? My friend made reservations for us somewhere special.”

“Is it Andy?” Iris replies, her nose wrinkling again. “I don’t like him, mommy.”

You wince.

Who the fuck is Andy? The live-wire of jealousy that flares to life within him is neither logical nor fair. It’s the same one that had sparked when he’d found out you’d gotten pregnant, moved on, had an entire life without him while he was drowning in pills. But you like pills. The demon’s sly whisper makes him wince. More than anything.

“Okay. Well, why don’t we talk about that in the car, hmm? You should go say goodbye to your friends.”

“I don’t want to,” Iris whines. “I don’t want to go to dinner, I want to stay and—” You crouch down in front of Iris, grasping her hands in yours.

“I know, sweetheart. I know you’re frustrated because you want to stay and play, but it’s time to go. But you’ll see all your friends next week after school, won’t that be fun?” Iris’ pout is gut wrenching, her little lip poking out and trembling as she stares at you with watery eyes.

“Okay.” She scuffs her foot against the dirt, kicking up a few pebbles. You massage your temples as you watch her go.

“Sorry about that. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jeans, making small talk.

“No, no. She’s, um. She’s great.” Bucky says, shaking his head. “So… Andy.” He can’t help the bitter tinge that colors his words, he can only hope you don’t taste it too. Your jaw tightens at the mention of his name, and you blow out a breath. “The um. The police guy.”

“Yeah.” You look away. “He’s nice.”

“I didn’t think badges were your type.” He scoffs.

“What would you know about my type?” You fire back, hackles already up. Bucky’s lips draw into a thin scowl, and he opens his mouth to loose more venom, but stops, and deflates.

“Nothing, I guess.” He says after a moment, shrugging. He attempts to steer the conversation back into safer waters. “Your kid, she’s, um. She’s really something.”

“Yeah.” You hook your thumbs through the belt-loops of your jeans. “Even if she does announce my business to the world.” Bucky laughs at that.

“That’s what they’re for, right?” He says, and for the first time since he’s been back you really smile at him. Bright and wide and beautiful, like you used to. His chest goes tight. “Looks just like you.”

You shake your head, laughing. “She…” You hesitate, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as the two of you watch her gesticulating enthusiastically at another group of kids her age. “She looks like her dad.” It hangs in the air uncomfortably between you. He wants to ask. He wants to ask so badly, but he knows it’ll just make you throw up another wall. He wonders how many you’ve built just because of him.

“I didn’t know they would put you guys to work like this,” you say quickly, as though forcing more words out will cover up the ones that went before. “Is that legal?” Your stiff joke lands, and the corners of Bucky’s mouth turn up.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Pretty sure there’s hazardous chemicals in the sheds that we could use for nefarious purposes.” For a moment the two of you are laughing together, and Bucky feels the clock rewind—and then it’s over, dirt crunching under Iris’ sneakers as she approaches.

“Okay mom,” she says decisively. “We can go.”

“Oh, well, thank you very much,” you reply, shaking your head a little. You glance at Bucky over your shoulder. “I guess I’ll, um. See you. Around.”

“Yeah.” Iris looks back at him too, giving him a wide smile. She tugs her hand out of yours and jogs back over to him, reaching conspiratorially into her pocket.

“I saved you some,” she says, and then holds a purple stained finger over her mouth. “Don’t tell, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers back, nodding seriously. “I won’t tell.” The berries are a little squished and hot from the heat of her palm, and they stain his fingers with fresh purple juice. He watches you go, Iris bouncing excitedly beside you as—Bucky grimaces. He remembers Andy well enough, his manicured beard and sharply pressed uniform hard to miss. Bucky gets a perverse sort of pleasure watching Iris’ lukewarm greeting, and the way you turn your face so that he gets your cheek when he drops his head for a kiss.

Prick.

At least he knew Andy wasn’t Iris’ father. That would have been a much harder pill for him to swallow, and all the more distasteful. Who is her father? The question plagues him as they head back to the community center. It’s like a rock in his shoe, impossible to ignore no matter how many times he shifts it’s position. There are other rocks too, ones that make him narrow his eyes as he stares out the window at the passing countryside. Iris’ allergy, her age…

He supposed he had been trying not to think about it, the thought playing at the edges of his conscious mind. Mainly because it would be unthinkable—you’d agreed, both of you had agreed that you would get an abortion.

So Iris couldn’t be his.

What if she didn’t? The oily smooth voice at the back of his mind whispers. What if she didn’t?

Steve’s pickup rumbles into the driveway, and Bucky sits in it vacantly for a few minutes after Steve hops out. The thought eats at him, won’t leave him alone.

What if?

“Buck, you’re pacing.” Steve comments from the doorway of his room. “I can hear you downstairs.” Bucky scrubs a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry.” He perches on the edge of the bed, his hand tapping nervously against his knee. “I just, I can’t stop thinking, you know?” Usually he has the pills to help with that, to dull the anxious turning of his mind. But now, he has nothing.

“Yeah?” Steve moves to sit beside him. “What about?”

“About Jellybean, and the kid, and fuck, what if it’s mine? And I never fucking knew this whole goddamn time? That would fucking serve me right, wouldn’t it?” Bucky barks out a humorless laugh. He looks at Steve, waiting for him to say something, anything. “Right? I mean it’s not possible, right? It-It’s not.”

It’s so silent, Bucky reckons he could hear a pin drop. For once he’s thankful to be out of the haze, because it lets the puzzle pieces slide together almost disgustingly easily. His face contorts as he jumps up, away from Steve.

“Oh my God.” He presses the heels of his palms into his closed eyes as he shakes his head. “You fucking knew.” Steve holds his hands out placatingly.

“Buck.” He reaches out to place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but he shoves him away.

“No, you shut the fuck up,” Bucky says, shaking his head disbelievingly. “You fucking knew.” His voice cracks, just a little.

“She asked me not to say anything. I swear, I didn’t know before we got back—” Bucky’s already running down the stairs, the sound of his pulse roaring in his ears blocking out the sound of Steve frantically shouting his name. He doesn’t realize he’s leaving the house until he’s already outside, rapidly fleeing into the coming evening before Steve has a chance to follow.

I have a daughter.

next chapter

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growling · 5 months ago

Note

Okay

Bungou Stray Dogs. My beloved, my beloathed and my ex who keeps walking back into my life for a makeout session after I swore I was done with it for the 11th time.

It is- not a good story, structure wise at least. I get raising stakes but also we started s1 with "we're frenemies with our local gang and we occasionally homoeroticly fight eachother" to *gestures vaguely at s5*

And that doesn't bother me too much tbh because I love media that cares about its audience and keeping things silly but also *ducks nuke*

The mangaka keeps having to write reasons for Chuuya to not show up and murder everypony, that's silly

Fyodor has a funny accent and a silly goofy hat and a greasy hairstyle and I guess he sometimes is smart. I guess.

Justice for my boy Karma who showed up in one episode and then Fyodor killed him for some reason, RIP my boy

Idk man I have lots of thoughts

the stakes one is so real because like. they did get higher after season 1 with the whole moby dick crashing event, but like it made sense it was fine also i liked that season. and then we got introduced to demon fyodor who apparently was even worse both described at the s2 finale and in the dead apple movie, so like, dude got hyped up massively. and then he got s3 to himself but actually its not over yet, it was actually a setup for s4-s5 and. I am asking. since fukuchi is over. and they seem to be making fyodor out to be even more threatening (every single villain is more threatening than the last. you know.) than fukuchi, the goddamn man with time travel sword, reality-altering page, vampire goons, trying to (virtually. his motives as well as execution of them are.... Peculiar to me) achieve mind control world domination....... like how do they plan to go worse than that. the problem with trying to have every single villain be more powerful than the last is that one day you just gonna run out of ideas and just write a literal undefeatable god. which is fukuchi and also fyodor but i am legitimately terrified of what they're gonna do with him in the later chapters. i am all caught up and....... its looking very exhausting already

as well as how like, in the earlier seasons we got these episodes that are just purely character driven with way lower stakes that just exist there to establish the cast, and they just. slowly stopped doing that. right now, from like season 4 up to where we are currently there has been literally ZERO breathing room for the plot, every single scene is just stressful high tension main plot main plot main plot fighting the HD/DOA and it actually made me too tense as i was watching like jesus fuck slow down. which is why i cheer and clap so much whenever i see poe also being there sometimes. thank you for your service king. as well as all the other more minor characters that appeared and nikolai getting to jest with people, as well as the Bram & Aya Adventures, regardless on whether it is "important" to the plot . and also sigma's whole introduction in the manga that just established him as an actually really nice guy that the anime just cut out to make room For The Current Main Plot auurrrrhghgh. shut up about fukuchi show me kyouka. hey where the fuck was kyouka for most of this even

like. if they just released chuuya upon all their enemies it would be over. isnt he like, the actual incarnation of arahabaki you know the. literal god. just make them use corruption after you make sure dazai can stop them from eating shit and fucking dying, deploy her at the entire hunting dogs squad and its all over. like..... chuuya could just fix everything that is going on and the writers know it so they keep making up reasons (and sometimes they don't even do that, and just ignore it) as to why actually she's not available currently. you wrote this guy to be the single most powerful genderfuck in the universe please use him . chuuya i am so fucking sorry i could treat you so much better babygirl

fyodor sure is. A Character. that exists. and like, i like him, but also... i realized i'm only ever entertained by him whenever he's being silly, like with the whole mersault ball fyozai two man comedy show, or with his interactions with nikolai (who is one of the lights in the darkness of the current arc.... please keep being entertaining king). but like, i feel like the writer(s) drove themselves into a corner by making him so inhumanly intelligent, same with dazai. like. each of the serious interactions between him and dazai (the only nda member he's allowed to talk with apparently) just feel like two kids roleplaying "i slash u in the chest with my flaming sword and u are die!!!" "but before that I DODGED and hit u with my laser beam!!" "no but I moved out the way at last second and bring out the BOMBS and then i throw them at u and u explode and are dead for real!!!!" "no but then i miraculously survive steal ur flaming sword and set u on fire and u burn and die!!!" "but before i could die i put out the fire with my water bucket and then shoot u 100000 times and-" like. it was funny the first few times it happened but.... I get it. you have high IQ. I don't like this party I wanna leave chuuya can you please pick me up

karma got fucking massacred and for what. society if fyodor instead recruited him into the DOA and sigma got to have a single normal friend and they bonded over their mutual perpetual anguish. they really just introduced a really interesting guy just to kill him off in the same episode. but they. kept fukuchi i guess

#mine #ask #bungou stray dogs

0 notes

melancholymetropolis · 4 years ago

Text

Cloud Nine

Pairings: Roommate! Hitoshi Shinso x Reader

Summary: The reader gets stood up and Shinso decides to make it up to her.

Warnings: Explicit Content. Porn with Plot. Slightly edited. Based off of this cover. All characters are aged up.

Author's Note: Hello to all! I have missed you guys. It's been a while. Finals have been kicking my ass but, I am back! This fic is a good blend of fluff and smut. Maybe a little bit of angst. If you would like to commission me, click here! I set a new goal, so please check it! Thanks for your support, it means a lot to me.

Word Count: 4500

The sound of the front door slamming shut resonated through the apartment, quickly followed by the echo of heavy footsteps trailing down the hall. They came to an abrupt pause; interrupted by the splashing of water in the sink and the ripping of a paper towel. He must’ve found the freshly baked cookies I left on the counter. The footsteps sound again but they stop short of my room. A firm knock rattled from my door; I looked up from my laptop and shouted “come in!” My roommate opened the door, appearing in front of me, dressed in his usual attire. Workout jacket and running shorts with a gym bag tossed over his shoulder. Shinso had already taken a bite out of the freshly baked cookie nestled in the paper, and tiny crumbs had been sprinkled around his mouth.

“You’re home earlier than I expected,” he said as he dropped his gym bag by my door and took a seat in my desk chair. “I thought you had a date with that producer guy.”

“Yeah, I did,” I closed my laptop and pushed it to the side. “But, he never showed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Shinso said before taking another bite of his cookie. He chewed it slowly before adding, “I had a feeling something was wrong since you baked.”

“I don’t only bake when I’m sad, So-so,” I replied as I rubbed the back of my neck.

“You’re right,” he took another bite of the cookie and swallowed. “You only make your comfort cookies when you’re sad.”

I gave him a quizzical look and he took it as an initiative to continue.

“When you’re sad or have a bad day, you always make double chocolate cookies with walnuts. And if you’re peeved, you add Nutella in the middle. Like today. So, if you don’t mind telling me what’s wrong, I’d be happy to listen.” Shinso finished off his cookie and brushed his mouth with the paper towel. His purple eyes gleaming up at me with concern.

“It’s just. . .” I crossed my legs underneath me and sighed. All the built-up frustration exploded out of me in three words, “Men are trash.”

Shinso’s face remained completely neutral; he didn’t even flinch at the statement. “How so?”

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. “Okay, so last week, remember when I was wearing that super-cute outfit?”

“You gotta be more specific, you always wear cute outfits,” he said with a confused look in his eye.

“It was a Tuesday. I was wearing some bell-bottom jeans and a pink halter top that said ‘cherry bomb’. Do you remember that?”

“You had two buns on your head that day,” he added in recollection.

“I did! Well, I bumped into Justin on my way to the studio and we talked for a few minutes. Towards the end of the conversation, he gave me his number and asked me to dinner. I was ecstatic and practically skipped down the fucking street!”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

“So, we’ve been texting all of last week and this week. I am under the illusion that we’re on for dinner. All of a sudden, he doesn’t reply to my texts this morning. I brushed it off and continued about my day. I went to the agreed restaurant and waited an hour in my car for him. Texting him the entire time, just for him to give me a reply on my ride home.”

“What did it say?”

“‘Sorry, something came up.’”

“Wow. . . what an asshole.”

“I know! Such a fucking jerk.”

We stayed silent for a minute or two before Shinso rose from my desk chair and walked to my door. He grabbed his gym bag from the floor and turned back to me. “I ordered from that restaurant you like, down the street, once I saw the cookies on the counter. I figured you could use some comfort food. It’ll be here in a little while, so I’m going to take a quick shower, then we could eat together. If you’re cool with that?”

“Sure, that’s fine. I’ll see you when you get out,” I replied with a look of astonishment on my face.

“Okay, see you in a bit.”

The pro-hero exited the room and gently closed the door behind him. My eyes remained in that general area, seconds after he left. Processing all the information that he gave to me. Wakatoshi Shinso. . . a man that I cannot describe in words. But, if I had to condense it, to say what he was, all I could say is that he cares. So much about me. Before moving in together, he was simply a friend-of-a-friend. We were cordial, always said “hi” in passing, and never left a bad impression. So, when I found an apartment, and he needed a room, it was a no-brainer. Shinso was the ideal roommate. Quiet, calm, and collected. He always made me breakfast, even though he was always up significantly earlier than I was. If I was too tired, he’d tidy up my leftover dishes and straighten up my things. When I had my period and ran out of pads, he went to the drug store and bought me some. Including chocolate ice cream and painkillers. He doesn’t mind doing the grocery shopping alone and doesn’t complain when I leave my bra on the bathroom door. He wiped my tears when my boyfriend left me and brought me flowers the next day.

Shinso was perfect in every way.

I was lucky to have him in my life.

The doorbell rang and I rose from my bed and raced to the door. Just as he said, Shinso had ordered from my favorite restaurant, as seen by the menu poking out of the biggest bag. I gave the delivery boy a small smile and thanked him, before shutting the door and walking into the kitchen. I placed the takeout bag on the counter and began to take out all the items from the bag. He brought chicken parmesan, mushroom ravioli, fettuccine alfredo, vodka alla penne, and two garden salads. In the second, smaller bag, were two pints of ice cream and complimentary miniature cannolis.

“I didn’t know what you were in the mood for so I got a little bit of everything,” his voice echoed throughout the room, causing me to jump.

“Jesus—” I looked up from the array of food to my roommate. Who was dripping wet and practically steaming from his shower. Grey sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, extenuating his sharp v-line. He was shirtless, which wasn’t something new, he often walked around the apartment that way; however, the droplets sprinkled about his bare chest were doing things to me. His damp hair was slicked back, combed out of his face. Shinso walked around the kitchen’s island and popped open the lid off one of the containers. The display of his bruised knuckles resting on the counter caused my insides to churn.

Maybe it was the way Justin ghosted me earlier, or maybe it was the way Shinso cared for me— the longer I looked at him, the more I wanted him to bend me over the sink and make me scream.

An intense blush flushed over my face and I instinctively bit my bottom lip.

Without missing a beat, my roommate placed his hand on mine and locked eyes with me. “Is there something wrong?”

“I. . . ugh. . .” I looked away from him and down at the ground. “I’m fine.”

I could feel his violet-purple eyes squint with uncertainty. Shinso gently squeezed my hand and released a sigh. “I was thinking about what you said about ‘men being trash’ and how Justin was an asshole to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you're looking in the wrong place."

I looked up at his face, taking in his flushed-out expression. Although his wet hair gave him a more refined aura. His cheeks highlighted his boyish charm. Shinso's hand lifted from mine and found itself underneath my chin. My eyes automatically snapped toward his and my breath got caught in my throat. He had an unwavering stare upon his face that made me weak in the knees. Shinso’s eyes slowly closed and brought his face closer to mine. I gripped his shirt and pressed a kiss firmly against his lips. Every muscle in my body relaxed and I felt his arm securely wrapped around me. I moaned against his lips and loosened my grip on his shirt. I dug my fingers in his hair and pressed my body against his.

“I want you,” he groaned against my lips.

“Then, take me,” I replied as I untied his sweatpants. And kissed him again.

Shinso tore away and guided me to the couch. He gazed down at me, a questionable look in his eye. “Are you sure?”

I lifted the oversized tee-shirt over my head and tossed it to the side, My chest was completely bare, my ample breasts in the view of the towering athlete. “I’m all yours.”

Shinso’s eyes darkened. His demeanor was intense and serious. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted my legs to his waist. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he grunted before capturing my lips in a kiss.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. My bare chest against his; my heartbeat in my ears and his body heat warming my soul. I wanted to be as close to him as I possibly could. I needed to be closer to him than I ever was before. “Take me to your room.”

Without hesitation, the pro-hero took long paces to his vacant space. He gently sat me on the edge of the bed and look down at me. “Open your legs.”

I scooted my by rear further on the bed and placed both feet on the neatly tucked duvet. My knees were facing the ceiling and my clothed womanhood was facing him.

Shinso swiftly dropped to his knees and brought his face to my inner thigh. Featherlike kisses sprinkled along the soft tissue and goosebumps ran up my back. When he got to my core, after taking his sweet time, he pushed the soft short and panties to the side before lapping the dripping center. My legs gently twitched and my eyes rolled back. His soft muscle continued to lap its sweet nectar and I swore I could see God Himself. After a short while, he had gotten bored of pushing my garments to the side, so Shinso tenderly removed them from my legs. I halfway expected him to rip them to shreds but I guess he was too gentlemanly for such savage behavior.

The athlete looked up at me with a wistful expression and asked a simple question. “Do you mind if I use my fingers?”

I paused for a minute and smiled. “Come here.”

Temporarily rising from his position on the floor, the massive man laid his body between my legs and hovered his face above mine. “Yes?”

“You use whatever you see fit,” I replied while looking into his eyes. “I trust you.”

Without so much as a second glance, Shinso walks to his nightstand and unlocks the bottom drawer. He pulls out a Hitachi wand, an eye mask, and bondage cuffs. “Are you comfortable with these?”

A blush dusted my cheeks as I looked at the items. “Oh my, I never knew this side of you existed.” I reached for the eye mask and placed it on my head. Then, I lifted my arms over my head and gripped the bedpost. I winked and finally said, “I’m ready when you are.”

Shinso turned to the top drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom. “I should’ve confessed sooner.”

I nodded with appropriate enthusiasm and widened my legs. “Please continue what you had been doing earlier. I want you.”

The athlete reached down to my face and pulled the eye mask over my eyes. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His feather-like touches littered against the right side of my body and I swore I could feel my senses come alive. I felt the bed sink in between my legs and his warm hands reposition my hips on the bed. “Hold your legs up for me, baby.”

I did as instructed and took a deep breath.

I could feel his hot breath fan my naked cunt and all I could do was drip in anticipation. His coarse thumbs spread the thick lips apart; cool air fanned my bud. After a few seconds of no movement, his hot mouth pressed against the dripping mess. A long, deep moan arose from me, as my legs jolted again. He blew against my womanhood, creating a slurry of my nectar and his saliva. I could feel it drip down my cunt and to my rear slowly. Seductively almost. His soft tongue pushed its way into my smooth center and I felt my walls clench. He bobbed his head forward and back; probing me with his tongue as he went. I furrowed my brows and arched my back. Gripping the back of my knees, I bucked my hips against his mouth as slutty moans left my lips.

“Mmm. . . you feel so good, So-so,” I chanted as I whipped my head to the side.

He groaned against my womanhood, before pulling away briefly. He reached up the bed and gripped his desired item. Once I heard a distinctive buzzing, I knew it was the wand. He pressed the toy against my bud, possibly wanting to see my reaction to it. I moaned at the light vibrations and squirmed underneath it. A hum passed his lips as I felt his fingers gently toy with my entrance. One finger slowly went in, curling upward to the desired pleasure button. Shinso used that finger for about a minute before adding a second one. He presses his fingertips against the roof of my cunny and started to jab them upward. I bit my lip and dug my nails into my thighs at the added friction. I could feel a soft pool gather in my stomach and I knew my climax was near.

“Oh fuck! Oh, fuck!” I practically yelled as I gripped the sheets.

Shinso kept his same pace. I could imagine observing the incoming orgasm rise from my toes down my calves and thighs and to my abdomen.

I furrowed my eyes again and brought my legs closer to my chest. “Oh fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh shit!” My legs shoot violently as my toes clenched tightly. My breathing increased and tingles encased my whole body. Then, all of a sudden, all the feelings in my body stopped. And all I could hear was the buzzing of the vibrator in my room. For those two seconds, every fiber of my being clenched, including my walls around Shinso’s fingers. I could feel tears form in my eyes as a throaty moan fell from my lips and my back arched against the bed. I released the grip on my legs and allowed them to shake chaotically against the mattress. I reached under my head for the pillow and squeezed it around my head as I rode out the pleasable wave.

When my legs stopped shaking and my breathing calmed down, I released the pillow and lifted my head. “So-so?”

“I’m here,” he swiftly replied before removing the eye mask from my face. Shinso looked at me with a loving expression and placed a hand on my cheek. “Are you okay? That seemed pretty intense.”

“It was,” I replied looking at him with doe eyes. “Can you just. . . hold me for a while? I don’t think I’m ready to continue.”

“Of course.” He climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around me. His violet eyes gazed down at me with such repertoire that it was almost impossible to keep contact.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked feeling so insecure.

“No, I just. . .” Shinso cut himself off. Somehow trying to find the right thing to say at that moment. He pulled my body closer to his before pressing his lips to my forehead and saying “ I love you.”

I froze. My breath caught in my throat. My heartbeat pausing its usual rhythm. My mind was completely cleared of any passing thought. “How. . . long have you known?”

“Not too long. About a few minutes.”

“Wait,” I pulled away from him and sat up in the bed. “What do you mean ‘a few minutes’?”

Shinso took a deep breath and followed my motions. “I realized I loved you when you told me you trusted me and proceeded to relinquish control. I had never seen you so vulnerable with anyone and we have known each other for five years. It meant a lot to me and everything else just. . . clicked in my brain.”

“So, all the ordering food and tampons. . . you didn’t do that to get me to put my guard down? You did it just because?”

“Well, yeah. I thought that’s what good roommates do. At least, that’s what Tendou says they do.”

“Wow. . . I. . . need a minute to digest. . . all of this.”

“Take your time.”

I spent the next few days hovering about our shared apartment. Replaying those three tiny, tiny words in my mind. I love you. He loved me. Shinso loved me. He didn’t do all those nice things because he wanted to use me or my body for his pleasure. He did it because he wanted to be a good roommate. Shinso wasn’t the type of man to say things he didn’t mean— hell, he doesn’t even speak the majority of the time. He meant what he said. And I couldn’t gather my thoughts to see how I felt about him. I knew what he meant to me. I knew I didn’t see myself living with anyone else and the thought of him being with another woman infuriated me. After a short while, I picked up a pen and grabbed my keyboard to write a song.

Justin found time to text me again; notifying me that he wanted to make up for our failed date by giving a free studio session. Being the starving artist that I was, I took up the offer. On a whim, I texted Shinso to meet at the studio, half expecting him to decline my answer. He didn’t. Shinso walked into the small room, still in his volleyball uniform. His violet eyes brightened when I smiled at him. He gave me a small smirk and a short wave.

Justin, completely taken back by the massive player, gawked at Shinso’s sheer size. “Damn, how tall are you?”

“Six foot four inches,” Shinso stated in a bland expression.

“Wow,” Justin turned away from the athlete and back to me. “I’m ready when you are.”

I took a deep breath, readjusted my keyboard, and looked ahead. “I’m ready.”

I started playing the keys and looking down at the lyrics on my notebook page.

I don’t want to seem the way I do

But I’m confident when I’m with you

I looked up at Shinso with a weak smile.

Lately, all I feel is bad and bruised

Tired of tripping on my shoes

I squeezed my eyes shut and finished the rest of the course.

But when he loves me I

Feel like I’m floating, when

He calls me pretty, I

Feel like somebody.

Even when we fade,

Eventually to nothing,

You will always be my favorite form of loving.

I opened my eyes and looked up at Shinso. His cheeks were a slight pink and his eyes were slightly closed. He seemed somewhat embarrassed by the lyrics, yet really into them.

I finished the lyrics, making sure I kept eye contact with him for the entirety of the song. I watched his shoulders relax, and jaw clench at the sound of the lyrics. He leaned forward as if to hear me better. Shinso’s boyish charm was completely exposed and I was loving every second of it.

When the song ended, Justin stood up and clapped from the other end of the glass. He clicked a button and shouted for me to come out.

“You were so good!” He practically shouted to the top of his lungs. “I should’ve gotten you here sooner.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” I said with a chuckle.

“Please tell me you’re free this Friday, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Justin gave me a hopeful look.

“Actually— “

“She has plans with me this Friday,” Shinso chimed harshly.

Justin looked between the two of us and simply nodded. “I totally get it. Shoot me a text when you are free though. We should talk business.”

“Of course!” I replied with a smile.

Shinso and I trotted out of the studio shortly after the exchange. He remained silent within the elevator of the building. Inside the cab home. And, as we walked through the front door. It was after he retreated into his room and took a shower when he finally spoke to me.

“Did you write that song for me?” Shinso asked after taking a seat in my desk chair.

“I did,” I answered simply.

“Does that mean you. . . share my feelings?” He proceeded to question me.

“Yes, I love you, Shinso,” I offered the response slowly.

He rose from my chair and sat across from me on my bed. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Shinso.”

His lips captured mine in a heated kiss. His calloused hands pulled me closer to him as mine latched in his hair. I leaned back against the bed and spread my legs to give him more access. I moaned against his lips and moved my hips against his groin.

“Do you want to continue?” Shinso asked as pulled away. “We can always—”

“Hurry up and grab the condoms from the top drawer,” I interjected as I unhooked my arms to peel my shirt off.

Without a word, the athlete scooted from the bed and did as he was told. Shinso swiftly removed his sweats and tossed them to the side. He ripped the plastic packet open with his teeth and rolled the rubber on his member. He climbed back onto the bed proceeded to yank my bottoms off my body and spread my legs. Shinso positioned his member against my center and looked up at me. Once I gave him an eager nod, he sunk himself into me. A soul-shaking moan erupted from the two of us, followed by a curse underneath our breaths. He leaned down to give me a soft kiss before slowly rocking his hips against mine.

Gentle moans fell from my lips as I arched my back against his thrusts. “You feel so good, baby.” I brought my hands up my legs and navel; I latched my digits onto my ample breasts and gave them a slight squeeze.

Shinso readjusted my hips and lifted my legs in the air. His fingertips pressed firmly in the soft flesh of my thigh as he had begun to drop his hips down onto mine in such a harsh manner. My walls clenched around him, as I felt myself begin to ooze even more onto him. The new stimulation was making my whole body heat up and I desperately wanted more of it. I gripped the sheets tightly and gazed at his flushed-out face.

God, he looked so powerful fucking me like that. His muscles flexed with each thrust and sweat began dotting his abdomen. The pink hue on his cheeks and the clenching of his jaw made my insides tingle.

I was more attracted to this man than I could ever possibly know.

Suddenly, his pace started to slow down and his hips started to spasm. Just a tad. He was so close to his peak.

“You take me so well, sweetheart,” Shinso grunted lowly. “You’re tight cunt is milking me dry.”

I smirked. “Are you about to cum?”

His violet eyes narrowed and he paused his thrusts. “On your belly, now.”

“Yes, sir,” I teased as I rolled onto my stomach. Chest pressed against the bed and hips in the air.

The athlete gripped my hips as he eased his member back into me. “Rub that needy clit of yours, nice and slow.”

I tucked a hand between my legs and flicked my fingers softly. A small moan fell from my lips as my hips began to twitch slightly.

“Looks like you’re not gonna last too long, baby,” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Of course not, you know how to make me cum,” I said with a giggle.

“I am the only one that will be doing that from this point on, understood?” His gripped tightened around my waist and I could feel his hips begin to twitch slightly.

“Understood,” I grunted as I felt the warm pool fill in my stomach. “I’m getting close, baby.”

“Move your hand faster,” Shinso instructed while keeping his pace.

I flicked my wrist faster and immediately felt the climax rising my legs and thighs and gathering at my stomach. I clenched and released my walls several times before releasing a gurgle-like moan. “Ahh fuck. Ahh, fuck!”

“You better not stop moving your hand, princess,” he warned in a low tone.

“I’m not! I promise!” I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip. “Please let me cum! I wanna cum so bad! Oh, God!”

“Go ahead, you deserve it,” he grunted as he began to move his hips faster.

“Oh fuck!” I gripped the sheets tightly and moved my hand even faster. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

I clenched my walls ever so tightly and squeezed my eyes shut. In the pit of my stomach, I felt a soft soap bubble pop and ooze out to the rest of my body. My entire body clenched, and my hand pressed hard against my clit as I rode out the orgasm. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and my tongue fell out of my mouth. Drool dripped down my chin as the stars behind my eyelids faded. After a few seconds, I slumped forward onto the bed and opened my eyes.

“Oh fuck. . .” I gurgled as my body finished twitching.

Shinso slid out of my smooth canal and kissed down my sweaty back before laying next to me. He gathered me into his arms and looked down at my overly stimulated body. “Promise me you’ll be mine and only mine.”

With half-closed lids, I looked up at him and said, “You buy me food when I’m sad, you get me tampons when I’m bleeding, AND you made me cum so hard I almost blacked out. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you be with someone else.”

He chuckled. “I love you.”

“You better, because you can’t get rid of me. I’m in too deep,” I replied as I snuggled closer to him. After a short moment of silence, I said “I love you, too.”

380 notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years ago

Text

espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #mine

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lovelyspencerreid · 4 years ago

Text

made from the same star

here’s another little something I wrote at 2am in my feels. If you wanna know the vibe I was going for, play the song “Tomorrow’s Song” by Olafur Arnalds. Literally listened to that on repeat for this. Anyways, still wondering when I’m gonna have something like this in my life but whatever, I hope you all enjoy :) (also I change tenses alot????)

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

1.2k words

Summary: spencer and his love sit on the kitchen floor having a soft conversation in the middle of the night.

He spins you around the kitchen to the delicate classical music escaping the worn music player in the corner of the room. Warmth radiates off your flushed faces, nothing more intimate than spending the evening swaying in each other’s arms. The twinkling lights adorning the kitchen reflect in your lover’s eyes, making them seem as infinite as the universe. You feel at peace as he delicately slides his hand to the side of your face and you lean into his touch. The only word you are able to find to describe the moment is ethereal; you feel as though you are in the presence of the universe itself.

You never did believe in the idea of true love, of finding your person, your soulmate, your everything – but standing here before you, here he was. Even more perfect than your younger self may have ever imagined.

He pulls you into his embrace and you bask in the feeling of love – of loving and being loved. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you pull his face down to meet yours. You both smile into the kiss, a gentle kiss you hardly feel, softer than the pure snowing falling outside the kitchen window.

Sliding down against the cabinets, you end up in his lap, never once breaking the kiss - holding on as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Placing your forehead delicately against his own, you can’t help but release a sigh of pure relief.

You shift in his lap as to be able to look up at the skylight. The stars and the universe don’t compare to him -- the beautiful soul that your body rests on. Placing a soft kiss against his cheek, he returns the gesture by looking at you the way the moon looks at the stars.

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’re soulmates?”

After a moment of thinking, he puts his finger up to his lips.

“Theoretically speaking, it is presumed that your chances of finding your soul mate is only 1 in 10,000 or about .010%. But nothing about this is mathematical… it’s not something you can justify with a quantifiable ans–”

“I think so. I think we’re made from the same star,” you quickly respond before his rambles continue.

You position your head underneath his chin and nuzzle in and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. He chuckles, the genius in him urging to tell you that scientifically, that isn’t possible… but he resists. For once, he doesn’t need logic, he doesn’t think with his brain – he feels with his heart.

“You think so?” he asks.

“Mhm, I think we’re meant to find each other in every lifetime because our little star particles try to find their counterparts. They traveled so far to get here, they have to be together.”

“I don’t want another lifetime, I just want to stay in this one with you.”

You pause, mulling over his words, while rubbing your thumb gently over his hand.

“...Spence?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Will you let me go first?”

“What on earth do you mean?” he questions, concern lacing his voice.

“I mean, when it’s our time, I don't want you to go first. I want to be selfish and leave first, I can’t bear to witness the lack of your existence. What ever will my star particles do?”

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time,” he responds surely.

“Promise me?”

“I promise.”

He pulls you in closer, even more so than you thought possible, caressing your every feature. You feel a warm droplet land on your face, looking up to see tears streaking his cheeks.

“Oh, Spence I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, no it’s not that. I just love you so much. You and your star particles.”

“Hm. I love you and your star particles too.”

You intertwined your hands and pulled his to your mouth, your lips delicately leaving small kisses on each of his knuckles.

“Do you know the moment I fell in love with you?” he implores.

You perked up, removing your head from his shoulders and straddling his lap on the cold kitchen floor.

“No, do tell.”

“The first case you were in on, once we caught the unsub… we were on that plot of land in the middle of nowhere. It was the middle of the night and you could see every individual star and I couldn’t help but think you shone the brightest out of all of them… I saw you mouthing words to the sky, and I grew curious. Upon closer approach, I overheard you talking to the moon, clutching your necklace. I knew in that moment that I was doomed. Nothing about you made sense and at the same time everything did.”

You listened intently to every sentence he produced, hanging on to every last word.

“You big sap.” You lightly smacked his arm.

“I’m just recalling the truth, blame my brain,” he responded, giggling.

“You and that big beautiful brain of yours… I remember that. Y’know what’s funny? That’s the same night I fell in love with you … ironically enough, I caught you staring at me with the most precious expression on your face as if we hadn’t just witnessed the horrific events of our job. I knew then and there that you were a wonderful soul and you were the soul for me.”

“Oh, whose the sap now?”

“Shut up Spencer, you know you love it.”

“That I do.”

He let out a warm breath with his chuckle and you swore it was the loveliest sensation on the planet. Nothing felt more intimate than this moment. You pressed your nose against his shoulder and inhaled his scent – a mixture of vanilla and something sweet you couldn’t quite place your finger on. He slowly rocked you in his arms and you could feel yourself dancing on the edge of sleep.

He hummed along with the music, contemplating where the conversation might lead. Your quiet snuffs made his heart full, he pet your hair as you slowly closed your eyes. And when you nuzzled into his chest, clutching onto his shirt, in that moment, he knew.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, my darling?” You mumbled almost incoherently.

“Will you marry me?”

Wide-eyed, you sat up and rubbed at your eyes with your hand covered by the sleeves of his cardigan. You searched his eyes for any hint of a joke – but alas, you found none.

“Say it again.”

“Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you looked at the man sitting before you and you began to nod profusely. Stray strands of hair flying as you pressed your lips to his, almost inhaling him, trying to soak in his entire being.

“Oh Spence, of course I will… Yes! Yes.”

He cradled your face in his hands, breaking the kiss just to look at his love’s face. Nothing could be more perfect, no proposal more fitting for your relationship. Soft, intimate, silly and of course entirely sappy.

He dug into the pocket of his cardigan and pulled out a delicate ring, laying his hand flat out as an invitation for your own. You placed your hand on his and he slowly slipped the ring onto your finger. Admiring it for no more than a second, you pulled him back in for yet another kiss.

“I love it Spencer and I love you even more.”

“Impossible. I love you more.”

You stared into his eyes, a smile adorning your respective faces. Breaking eye contact, you looked down at the ring, taking notice that it was in the shape of two hands holding a moon… and on the side it had one simple phrase engraved into it.

‘After all, we were made from the same star.’

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcannon #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminalminds #spencer reid fluff #mgg fluff #mgg

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ephemerlskies · 4 years ago

Text

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments.

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you.

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his.

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing.

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride.

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly.

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow.

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook.

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right.

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away.

“I suppose you hate everything I love.”

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.”

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question.

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight.

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now.

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear.

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly.

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear.

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall.

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours.

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability.

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him.

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents.

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh.

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder.

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter.

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you.

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed.

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray.

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning.

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him.

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning.

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth.

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details.

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you.

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that.

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now.

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.”

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once.

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?”

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened.

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded.

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan.

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt.

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder.

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them.

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!”

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?”

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity.

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you.

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep.

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself.

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.”

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head.

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her.

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world.

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you.

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete.

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing.

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.”

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook.

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday.

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter.

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon.

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him.

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily.

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him.

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.”

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him.

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant.

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.”

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender.

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.”

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination.

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train.

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.”

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could.

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked.

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder.

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement.

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available.

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot.

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia.

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook.

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.”

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way.

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…”

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon.

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift.

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital.

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with.

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart.

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air.

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it.

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing.

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon.

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts writing #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #bts enemies to lovers #musician!jungkook #of honey and cinnamon #rubycoast

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megsironthrone · 4 years ago

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Flustered and Admired

Based on this request: It’s been so long since I’ve seen a notification from you. I dunno what’s up with Tumblr lately for me. I hope you’re doing well. Could is possibly request a fem reader sparring with Brienne. The reader saying some flirty remarks that fluster her or something along those lines.Big scary woman make head empty and that’s all I can say about that lol from @lycorsa

and this one: Do you also write for Brienne? If so how about a plot where the reader is insisting to be trained as a fighter by her? Brienne gains some confidence due to the reader and Podrick admiring her so much. But when the reader loses a fight Brienne’s I-will-crush-anyones-head-who-touches-thwm mode is triggered?

Here you are, lovelies! *As always, familiar characters are NOT mine!*

Warnings: Mentions of sparring so mild violence, but mostly fluff. (and my horrible flirting. Sorry, lovelies)

Pairings/Characters: Brienne of Tarth x reader

You hadn't meant for this to happen. You hadn't meant to develop feelings for the statuesque warrior. She just grabbed your attention and kept it. The longer you were around her, the more your feelings grew. That should have told you to run the other way. With the world in the state it was in after the Great War, love had no place yet. But did you do that? Of course not. You did the complete opposite.

"Would you train me?" you asked her. She stared at you for a moment. "You want me to train you?" You nodded and smiled. "Yes. You're the captain of the Kingsguard for a reason, Brienne. You are the best warrior alive. And Podrick speaks highly of your abilities."

Brienne blushed and you swore you'd never seen anything more adorable. That wasn't a word you would normally use to describe her, but with that pink tinting her cheeks, that was precisely what she was. "I suppose I could train you," she said slowly. You beamed at her. "Thank you. You won't regret it." With that, you ran off, leaving Brienne staring after you.

That was the beginning of things. It didn't take you long to get comfortable with Brienne. Not the training, of course. That was intense, though you could make it playful when you wanted to which you did. Often. You very quickly learned that Brienne was easily flustered but not angered so you would always find some small thing to compliment her on whenever you trained.

And you flirted. Boy did you flirt. "Good form," she praised. "I could say the same for you," you replied with a wink. Her cheeks turned red, making you laugh. You loved how flustered Brienne got, especially when she still didn't seem to make the connection that you were slowly falling in love with her.

Even though nothing in your relationship with Brienne changed, you could see a change in her. There was a confidence blooming in the woman that hadn't been there before. Brienne hadn't had many people look at her the way you and Podrick did. Although you looked at her a bit differently than Pod, you both admired her strength and resilience. It gave Brienne a sense of self-worth she hadn't had before. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with you about the warrior.

A lot of the other knights weren't happy to serve under Brienne. Despite the fact that she had more than proven her worth, they weren't pleased that she had been knighted above them. Jealousy was a strange thing and it made them say things they shouldn't have. Especially in front of you. One day, you'd finally had enough.

"What did you say?" you asked one particularly loud complainer. He repeated himself and you grew angry. You knew you shouldn't have tried to fight him. You weren't ready, but you weren't about to stand there and let this man insult Brienne's honor. Without giving it a second thought, you pulled you sword, silently challenging the man. He accepted.

You were outmatched. You knew that, but that didn't stop you from trying. The man and the other knights laughed at your attempt. It didn't take long for you to end up in the dirt with the man's sword pointed at your throat. "What is going on here?!" you heard Brienne's voice snap. The man, for all his boasting, looked scared out of his wits. He lowered his sword, allowing you the chance to spring back up to your feet.

Brienne turned her blue eyes to you. "He insulted you," you explained, "I wouldn't let it go unanswered." Brienne turned to him. "I don't care what you think of me. Your opinion means nothing. But you will NOT accept a challenge for my honor with someone else. If you wish to insult me, fine. Then challenge me." Brienne gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to unsheathe it if necessary.

The knight glanced between you and Brienne. It was clear he was trying to decide if he was stupid enough to take on Brienne's challenge. Brienne merely stared him down, waiting patiently. Eventually, he decided to take her on. After all, if he won(doubtfully), he could easily take her place as Captain of the Kingsguard. He raised his sword again, taking a stance he hoped would be enough to take on his commander.

You watched in awe as Brienne and this knight engaged in a graceful dance of swords. The clashing of the steel practically echoed through the courtyard. You couldn't move. You could hardly breathe as you watched Brienne. You weren't afraid. Far from it. It was as if every thought just disappeared from your head when you saw just how fierce and strong the woman was.

You hadn't even noticed the fight ended until Brienne was in front of you once again. "Are you alright?" You stared at her with your mouth unable to form words. You gave a little nod of your head. "T-That was-" you cut off as your brain tried to find the right word, "Incredible. Amazing!" Brienne gaped at you. "Are you sure you're alright? You're acting like you hit your head." You laughed.

"I'm fine. I just…you're wonderful." Brienne continued to stare at you for a moment before she chuckled softly. She shook her head. "You are strange. You spend all your time training making these comments that, if I didn't know better, I would say were rather flirtatious. Yet now you can hardly say a word."

You blinked in surprise. "So you did notice?" Brienne rolled her crystal blue eyes. "I would have to be an idiot not to, Y/N. I simply didn't know if you were joking or not. It's happened before," she told you sadly. It was the first time you'd heard her sound broken. You instantly shook your head. "I wasn't. I've never been good at outright telling people my feelings. Flirting was easy. Telling you that I've been falling in love with you isn't."

Even though you were outside, the air suddenly seemed too thick to breathe. That wasn't what you had meant to say at all. She just had a way of making your brain stop functioning for small moments at a time. The look on Brienne's face was mixture of disbelief and surprise. "Are-Are you telling me the truth?" she asked quietly. Your heart broke a little. Despite all the confidence you and Podrick had instilled in her, she still didn't believe someone could love her?!

You slowly drew a little closer to her. "I have never lied to you, Brienne. It's out in the open now. I have very strong feelings for you. I think…I think I'm in love with you. You can do with that what you will, but know this; no matter your feelings for me, you are worthy of love, Brienne. You are beautiful, inside and out. You are strong and courageous and fierce. Never let anyone make you feel like you don't deserve love and respect."

It was your turn to feel flustered when Brienne suddenly grabbed you, pulling you closer to her. You were grateful she wasn't wearing her armor at the moment. The force she'd used would have bruised you if you had hit armor. You felt your entire body heat up at the contact. Brienne looked into your eyes for a moment, like she was deciding on what to do next.

You tentatively wrapped your arms around her waist and nearly melted into a puddle when you felt Brienne's lips press a kiss to your hair. Even if nothing else happened between you, you would gladly relive this moment over and over for the rest of your life. This was your moment of pure, albeit flustered, perfection.

(a/n: I hope you enjoyed it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @etherealpotter @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @smalltownbigheart @gruffle1 @igotmadskills

#george r.r. martin #game of thrones #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years ago

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Day 1 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!! 🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: Heart of the Mountain

Summary: What if Thror wasn’t mad like everyone thought? What if the Arkenstone was truly at fault? Questions Bilbo and Thorin will have to answer together after Bilbo is swallowed by the gem. Bilbo and Thorin must work together to conquer the magic of the Arkenstone while Bilbo is invisible and forgotten by the others without making Thorin look as insane as his grandfather. Also, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to maybe work out why exactly the Arkenstone considered Bilbo, Thorin’s heart as well.

He did it. By the skin of his teeth and the hair on his feet, if Smaug had anything to say about it. Still, Bilbo did it. He had successfully burgled the Arkenstone from a fire-breathing dragon. Returning it to its rightful owner would be another matter entirely. For one thing, said fire-breathing dragon was nipping at their heels. For another, Bilbo feared for the true King Under the Mountain. What if Smaug was right, and the stone really did possess some sort of adverse effect on Thorin?

It was quite a while later before Bilbo was able to truly stew on these thoughts. After their escape through the mountain failing in ending Smaug’s life. After he fled to exact revenge on a human town that did not deserve such burning fury. After the dragon fell into the lake never to rise again. Bilbo turned back to gauge Thorin’s reaction, only for the dwarf to be retreating back into the mountain.

Lord Elrond spoke of a madness that existed in Thorin’s family. Gandalf seemed confident it would not take the dwarf as it had his grandfather. Bilbo supposed he had to hope for the same. Yet, unease took him at Thorin’s callousness. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found he was chasing after the King. The dwarf’s path straight to the treasure hall was not encouraging.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called.

He paused and slowly turned back to the hobbit with an unreadable expression that gave him pause.

“Master Baggins.” He nodded in return.

“The dragon is dead. I saw it.” Bilbo pointed out.

“One enemy defeated in a sea of others that will come to steal from us. We must make ready.”

Unease prickled the back of Bilbo’s neck. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to jump to assumptions though. He wasn’t going to immediately doubt his friend for a paranoia that was fairly justifiable if you considered their quest thus far.

“I agree, yes, wholeheartedly we need to protect that which is yours, but Thorin...surely, there are more pressing matters at hand?”

“Pressing?” Thorin questioned with his chin raised high.

“Where are we going to sleep? After the food runs out from our packs, what will fill our bellies? The survivors of Laketown will need refuge.”

It was the last point that earned a growl from the dwarf king.

“Do not speak to me of refugees when we know not who or what survived!”

Bilbo was taken aback by his ire, and found himself to be rather tight-lipped suddenly. Thorin shook his head in disgust before retreating back to the treasure hoard of Thror. The burglar did not give up the shining gem in his pocket that night.

The next morning found the company of dwarves and lone hobbit sharing a hearty albeit plain meal of jerky and cram. They had rations to last them a few more weeks, but most of the others agreed with Bilbo’s earlier assessment. They needed supplies. Only, their king was not there to bring such tidings.

“Bilbo, I thought you were with him last night. Did he say anything to you, lad?” Balin questioned.

The hobbit swallowed down the hard tack with a little water from his skin before answering.

“Uh, yes. He said we must be ready for...enemies.”

The dwarves all exchanged confused looks at this. Dwalin and Balin’s eyes met with more desperation and warning.

“I don’t blame him.” Bilbo immediately defended. “We’ve had enemies breathing down our necks the whole quest. Why should it be any different at the end?”

“Aye, the hobbit speaks sense.” Gloin agreed. “Clearly, there are several matters we need to take care of. The hard work is not over yet, lads.”

“And where is he now?” Dwalin rumbled. “Where was the last place you saw him, Bilbo?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He knew the sons of Fundin shared his fears. They were close to Thorin, and Balin lived through the days of Thror’s madness himself. He didn’t want to offer doubts to Thorin’s sanity. Not yet.

“I’m...not exactly sure. I may have a guess though. I’ll just...go see if I can find him and be right back.”

Dwalin didn’t look satisfied with his answer. Balin was a little more understanding.

“Aye, that would be mighty fine, Master Hobbit. Meanwhile, we’ll start talking about defense and reinforcements so as to have an idea to present our king.”

Bilbo nodded gratefully as he hopped to his feet. He really hoped he was long as he meandered down the tunnel that would bring him back into the treasury. The endless waves of gold and gems were just as boundless as they were when Bilbo was last in here. He couldn’t believe so much of it could exist in the entire world! Much less this single, lonely mountain. It would probably be more of a monumental task to find Thorin than Bilbo first suspected. And honestly, he hoped he would not find the dwarf in such a place. It wouldn’t mean anything good, of that he was certain.

He carefully picked his way down the stairs and around the first golden hill calling for the king as he went. He didn’t really expect an answer so it nearly had him jumping out of his skin when the dwarf revealed himself to be right behind him.

“Am I not allowed my peace?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo spun around to see him leaning against one of the pillars broken by Smaug’s mighty forepaws. The dwarf looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked pale and waxy in the glow of the gold.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted unnecessarily, still trying to recover from his fight. “We missed you...at breakfast.”

“The dawn is already upon us.” Thorin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah.” Bilbo nodded slowly. “We’ve been discussing...options for what we should do from here.”

“There is but one option for us.” Thorin snapped. “We have to find the Arkenstone.”

Cold robbed Bilbo’s feet of any feeling, and his coat felt unnaturally heavy.

“Last night.” He began gruffly, clearing his throat before continuing. “Last night, you said we had to prepare for enemies. Now some...shiny gem must be our first priority?”

Thorin’s head snapped to pierce Bilbo with an icy look. “What are you insinuating, Halfling?”

“Me?” Bilbo grinned without humor. “Nothing, nothing at all. I’m just trying to understand. How does a rock matter more in this moment than food and supplies?”

“It’s not a rock.” Thorin scoffed.

“It is!” He argued. “An unusual one, but a rock nonetheless.”

“What would you know?!” Thorin exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “If you had done your job in the first place, none of this would have happened!”

“Excuse you! What would you have me do? Run through flame and death!”

“How about not wake up a dragon?”

“How about there wasn’t supposed to be a live dragon to wake?!”

“Yet there was!”

“Yes, there was. And now he’s dead. Along with half a village of fisherman.”

“A VILLAGE WITH MY NEPHEWS IN IT!”

Bilbo froze. Any anger, resentment, or cynicism he had left just seemed to ebb out as he watched the mighty dwarf king clench his fists and look away.

“I promised Dis...I was supposed to look after them. I thought I was doing right...I made them stay.”

Bilbo never felt so relieved to be washed in the waves of one’s grief. It all made sense. There was nothing sinister about Thorin’s action. He was an uncle worried sick. In fact, it seemed rather obvious in retrospect. Thorin tended to lash out worse when his heart was heavy if his how he described his behavior on the side of the Misty Mountains later to Bilbo was any indicator. Slowly, he made his way to the dwarf’s side and placed his hand on his arm.

“Thorin...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was short with you.”

The king tore himself away, still refusing to look at Bilbo.

“It does not matter.”

“No, it does! It really does, only...why the Arkenstone? Why come down here and search for it all night in your worry?”

Thorin heaved a large sigh, but the tension in his body relaxed none.

“I guess I shouldn’t expect a hobbit to understand such things.”

Bilbo tried really hard for the sake of his friend’s hurting not to take terrible offense.

“Do you remember at the beginning of the quest back in your home when I spoke of the meeting with my kin?” He asked, finally turning to stare at Bilbo.

The hobbit almost smirked. My! Didn’t that feel like a decade ago? However, he did remember the night. Vividly, in fact and nodded his assent.

“They would not join our quest. They thought it was folly. I was told I was only going to my death, and without the Arkenstone they would not join me in my suicide.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows came together as he tilted his head slightly. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. What does the stone have to do with anything?”

“It’s the King’s Jewel. It is a symbol of power to people. One that can command any of the dwarven lords to honor their pledge to Erebor.”

Understanding took hold at that point. “If you had the Arkenstone, you would be able to call on their aid now.”

The king nodded which in turn caused the hobbit to scoff.

“How ridiculous! To be bound so by a…”

“By Mahal, Bilbo, do not call it a rock again.” Thorin swore.

Bilbo held the king’s glare before they both burst into snickers. Perhaps not the best time or place, but a welcome reprieve nonetheless.

“Well, let me start by saying, don’t worry so. If your nephews are even half as stubborn as you, they wouldn’t dare let a dragon kill them.”

Thorin ducked his head with a sad smile. “Let us hope you are correct.”

“And turning our thoughts to food and bedding and clothing wouldn’t be remiss before we start holing ourselves in.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Bilbo grinned. “If ruling is really going to be so much easier with a shiny rock...then I have just the thing.”

The dwarf looked to be losing his patience again at the word ‘rock’, but the sight of the Arkenstone Bilbo pulled from his pocket had him at a loss for words that the hobbit rather enjoyed.

“Not so bad at my job now, am I?”

Thorin barked out a laugh while his eyes glittered in wonder. “Bilbo, how did you…? Just when exactly were you planning to give this to me?”

“When I was ready.” The hobbit shrugged under the dwarf’s glare. “None of that! You can’t expect me to make good decisions on an empty stomach and blisters fresh on my feet. Just what kind of hobbit do you take me for?”

“The thieving kind?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo lifted his nose and gave a rather pretentious sniff. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps I will take this rather important rock and put it back where I found it.”

Thorin laughed as he moved to place his hand over the Arkenstone. “Peace, Master Baggins. I meant no…”

The dwarf never finished his sentence. As soon as his hand touched the Arkenstone, both he and Bilbo were blasted backwards by a surge of power. Thorin hit the stone pillar hard, slumping to the ground before it. Colors danced before him and in it, a rather insidious voice he couldn’t place.

“Dig deeper. In the gold your heart will finally be free. After uniting the lock with the Arkenstone as key.”

Thorin shook his head to clear it as his ears still rang from the impact. He staggered to his feet as he looked around for where the hobbit could have possibly landed.

“Master Baggins?” He questioned.

He waited for a response, but none came. Thorin swore as he spun, checking against every stone and wall for an unconscious body.

“BILBO!” He hollered.

“Thorin?” A quiet and unsure voice returned.

The dwarf sighed in visible relief as he turned to where Bilbo’s voice came from. Only, there was no one there. There was nothing at all save for the Arkenstone.

“Bilbo?” Thorin tried again, creeping forward.

“Here!”

Thorin’s brows furrowed together, and his steps became more cautious. How odd. He could almost swear he was hearing Bilbo’s voice come straight from the Arkenstone. He paused as he reached out for it, his fingertips just ghosting the surface. What if this was how the madness started?

“Thorin!” Bilbo called to him, his voice pleading.

A different type of siren’s song than what he imagined it to be. This had to be the madness that took Thror. His hand flinched back as he recoiled from the tempting stone.

“Master Baggins...Bilbo. The stone is leading down a dark path. I beg you to reveal yourself before I follow in the footsteps of my grandfather.”

The stone released a bright array of colors that had Thorin staggering as he shielded his eyes from the onslaught. The lights burned stars behind his eyelids that had him blinking rapidly as he adjusted back to the returning dimness of the treasury. Only, he was no longer alone. Master Baggins was standing before him. A sight that would have given him joy, if it wasn’t for the fact that Thorin could see straight through him as if he were a ghostly entity. Thorin stared, closed his eyes, rubbed his heels into them, and blinked them back open. He was still treated to the same sight. A spector hobbit trapped in the glow of the Arkenstone with a rather alarmed expression.

“Thorin, it would seem, we have a bit of a problem with your rock.”

#birthdayplotbunnies #bagginshield #thilbo #starterdrabble #its not goldsickness #it's magic rocks

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dahlia-coccinea · 3 years ago

Note

Are the second generation really meant to mirror the first? I'm helping my sister revise for her end of unit test on it and it's mentioned quiet a bit in her notes but from what I've read (though tbf though- I'm reading certain parts for revision) I'm not really getting the vibe of that tbh. Can you help me understand why people may think this. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I'm certainly not an expert on the book and the criticisms about it - I read about it purely for my own enjoyment and there are many interpretations I’m probably not aware of.

First, I would say they aren’t exact replicas or mirrors but are more like echos or perhaps extensions of the first generation. Certainly all the baggage of the previous generation is placed on them. Catherine Linton and Hareton Earnshaw are much easier to connect to the first generation then Linton is, in my opinion, but some critics have tried to do so - mostly in asserting that there is a love triangle between them similar to Heathcliff/Catherine/Edgar. There are a number of connections that critics make between Hareton/Cathy and Heathcliff/Catherine and some have been told a million times but I’ll try to cover the ones I remember. Let me see if I can keep this organized and not get too off topic.

The similarity of their characters: At first glance you have the repetition of names - “C” and “H” appear repeatedly. Most apparent is that Catherine Linton is named for her mother. Hareton, although obviously an old family name since its been carved above the threshold of the Heights, it does feel intentional in furthering the connection between “C” and “H.” I’ve always found it interesting we have this scene from Cathy II and Linton in Chapter 14, that seems to directly call out the C & H connection:

“We found two in a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, tops, and hoops, and battledores and shuttlecocks. One was marked C., and the other H.; I wished to have the C., because that stood for Catherine, and the H. might be for Heathcliff, his name; but the bran came out of H., and Linton didn’t like it.”

Funnily I don’t think the H is for Heathcliff, I think its more likely meant for Hindley, but of course Heathcliff has been semi-assimilated into the Earnshaw family by being given the name Heathcliff, which was the name of a deceased child. To me at least, none of these feel unintentional, it feels fated since we have these repetitions noted by the characters themselves.

Cathy doesn’t only share a name with her mother, she lives in her shadow. We know from Nelly that, “On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late mistress’s death.” Edgar seems to cherish her in part because she is a remnant of her mother, even displaying many similar characteristics, although Nelly is quick to note Cathy is softer and more genteel - which makes sense considering she grows up with a loving father in a calm environment that lets her do as she pleases. She doesn't grow up with the harshness of the Earnshaw family, and Joseph's ranting, and it also seems that Nelly may have softened and become more maternal as years have gone by. I’d say she does become more and more like her mother after living at Wuthering Heights though.

Some really great parallels between the two Catherine’s dialog have been made by Ann Dobyns - I’ve posted a few excerpts from her essay here if anyone is interested, it’s a bit more in-depth than this needs to be though.

Hareton has many parallels to Heathcliff as well - this is intentionally done by Heathcliff who, upon Hindley’s death, speaking of his plotting says, “And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!” Heathcliff and Hareton have such an odd fated destiny, from the moment Heathcliff saves his life by catching him as his father dropped him over the bannister of second floor. Hareton from the start fears his natural father, “squalling and kicking in his father’s arms,” Nelly even fears Hindley will “frighten the child into fits.” Worlds different the description of a scene of very typical father/son affection described by Nelly during Hindley’s funeral when she says little Hareton, “played with Heathcliff’s whiskers, and stroked his cheek.” Or earlier when she had asked Hareton if he liked Heathcliff and he says:

“Ay!” he answered again. Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the sentences—“I known’t: he pays dad back what he gies to me—he curses daddy for cursing me.

In Hareton’s mind Heathcliff is more a protector than his father, and I suppose in many ways he is better than Hindley’s random obscene violence. As wrong as it is that Heathcliff denies Hareton his inheritance and an education, I think it does say something (not entirely sure what) that he is never physically abusive to Hareton in the way Hindley was with him. Hareton doesn’t ever show any real fear of Heathcliff.

Heathcliff has his own complex feelings towards Hareton, definitely preferring him to his own son - he tells Nelly, “Do you know that, twenty times a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation? I’d have loved the lad had he been some one else.” So it seems we have the daughter of Catherine and the wished for son of Heathcliff. Lockwood even mistakes Hareton to be Heathcliff’s son momentarily in Chapter 2.

Some other parallels - Heathcliff notes the similarities between them later on in a discussion with Nelly:

“He’ll not venture a single syllable all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his age—nay, some years younger. Did I ever look so stupid: so ‘gaumless,’ as Joseph calls it?”

“Worse,” I replied, “because more sullen with it.”

On other occasions Nelly talks about how Heathcliff liked to induce horror from those around him and “he contrived to convey an impression of inward and outward repulsiveness.” Hareton behaves similarly - in one scene after being taunted by Linton and Cathy, he throws Linton from the room to the disgust and fear of Cathy in Chapter 23:

...Earnshaw burst the door open: having gathered venom with reflection. He advanced direct to us, seized Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat.

“‘Get to thy own room!’ he said, in a voice almost inarticulate with passion; and his face looked swelled and furious. ‘Take her there if she comes to see thee: thou shalln’t keep me out of this. Begone wi’ ye both!’

“He swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as I followed, seemingly longing to knock me down. I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out.”

Similarly, when sitting next to him, Lockwood says, “My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive.” Even Nelly, who I’d say is typically biased towards Hareton, upon seeing him says he “seemed as awkward and rough as ever.” Lockwood also describes him as being “almost haughty,” similar to Nelly’s repeated references to Heathcliff’s ego and “proud heart.”

Heathcliff further casts light on their parallels when he says he sees Hareton as the “personification of my youth,” adding that, “Hareton's aspect was the ghost of my immortal love, of my wild endeavours to hold my right, my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish.”

The love triangle: I know some critics have said the dynamic between the Linton/Catherine/Hareton is similar to Edgar/Catherine/Heathcliff - I don't particularly see this. Cathy II is forced into marriage with Linton and at that point doesn't have notable feelings towards Hareton, compared to her mother who knows she loves Heathcliff more and still does have a choice to make even if it isn’t an easy one.

Still, there are similarities in their relationship in that both men (Heathcliff and Hareton) end up feeling the need to better themselves because for their respective Catherine. Nelly says of Hareton, “He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments, till Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval were his first prompters to higher pursuits.” I think this is similar to Heathcliff deciding to run away after years of abuse and to risk everything, including his life, after hearing Catherine says it would “degrade” her to marry him. Hareton does seem to show some jealously over Cathy’s attention and regard of Linton, and again with the presence of Lockwood so I suppose it is sort of love triangle-y?

I also think Hareton shows signs of a growing devotion, similar to what Heathcliff felt towards Catherine. He certainly seems to be enamored by Cathy from the very first time they meet - Nelly says he, “stared at her with considerable curiosity and astonishment” and was, “too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion.”

Something I’ve mentioned before is that Lockwood says about Hareton and Cathy, “Together, they would brave Satan and all his legions,” which feels like a direct parallel to Heathcliff’s assertion to Catherine that, “misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us.”

Also Heathcliff seemingly attempts to play the role Hindley played in his youth when he tells Cathy, “Your love will make him an outcast and a beggar.” It seems both Catherine and Heathcliff knew their love would result in the same situation as Catherine relays this to Nelly when she says, “did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we should be beggars?”

There is also, of course, the similarity of social stature - when Cathy first meets Hareton, he has nothing to his name and lives almost as a servant at Wuthering Heights, similar to Heathcliff’s position while Hindley was master. Cathy, similar to her mother, is better educated and has more opportunities - there is no socially accepted reason that she would choose Hareton, seeing as he can’t give her money, status, or respectability.

The circle of events and “The Butterfly:” It does feel, in my opinion at least, that it is no accident that our happy ending is the union of Hareton and Cathy. It couldn’t happen with just any couple or in any other way. It does feel that they are made into the semi-proteges of Heathcliff and Catherine, and the elements of the Linton’s allows for there to be peace between the two families. There is a kind of resolution and unification of their energies.

This is probably the most common narrative of the connection between Hareton/Cathy and Heathcliff/Catherine, and that is rather than just a parallel, critics have noted that the story of Catherine comes full circle with their marriage. The first Catherine wrote out her possible futures on her window sill in the names: Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Heathcliff and Catherine Linton. Her daughter ends up reversing these different identities being born a Linton, marrying a Heathcliff, and finally an Earnshaw. That can’t be merely a coincidence.

Critic Dorothy Van Ghent deemed Catherine and Heathcliff the “original two” and she said that with the civilizing of Cathy and Hareton, "the great magic, the wild power, of the original two has been lost.” Others say that while poetically it makes sense within the repetition, Catherine and Hareton’s relationship is “improbable” but I disagree. I really liked Carol Ramsden’s take on this that incorporates Emily’s essay “The Butterfly,” and makes the parallel between the 1st and 2nd generation - I have posted this before but to save myself the time of rephrasing it I’ll just post the quote:

In Wuthering Heights, we encounter a destructive principle at work in the love between Catherine and Heathcliff. The principle is manifested fully in Catherine’s mental collapse and Heathcliff’s vindictiveness. However, the love between Cathy and Hareton is allowed to flower and they are both, in their own ways, products of the first lovers. The principle of destruction, as in “The Butterfly”, is transformed into a creative energy. Ultimately, Catherine and Heathcliff are also not deprived of this creative energy. Instead of representing a pessimistic view of life, their love, too, comes to suggest that all things work together towards good.

I think that’s an interesting take, besides just a happy ending for Hareton and Cathy it almost feels like a happy ending for Catherine and Heathcliff? In some ways they burned up only to transform into something better. Not saying that is how it is meant to be read, but I do like it (probably because I like a happy ending).

I feel like there are other points that I’ve forgotten? But these are what I remember at least.

#sorry you asked what should be a simple question and got a novel back hah #wuthering heights #hareton earnshaw #i really hope this made sense and was what you were asking about #tw abuse #catherine linton #linton heathcliff #thoughts

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speechlessxx · 4 years ago

Text

Bring Him Light - xiv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: When one threat is resolved, another makes presents itself.

Warnings: character deaths, reference to sexual assault, ptsd, implied smut, shitty writing but we’re not gonna mention it ok, time jump!

Word Count: 2.7k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Confused, angry, annoyed murmurs filled the courtyard as people were ushered outside by the kingsguard. The summer sun had already risen and beat down unforgivingly on the crowd that began to form. An eerie feeling clung to the air – similar to the early morning sunrise when Sister Mary was beheaded. The people had not forgotten about the large army that gathered outside their castle gates this morning. They wondered in fear – had their king been overthrown? Or perhaps… the king was prepared to be a widow once more?

To their relief, King Steven stood at the platform. He was rather calm with his brows furrowed, lost in his thoughts. To their surprise, you weren’t dressed in the traditional execution black, nor were you cowering in the crowd in fear of your husband. Instead, their queen stood tall with her husband’s hand clasped in hers and a crown on her head, reminding them of who you were – reminding you of who you were: an angry queen seeking revenge.

The stoic expression on your face unsettled them. The last time you made a public appearance as queen was when you were struck by your husband. After then, the only time you had been relevant was when guards were storming the castle early in the morning in search of their runaway queen. Though they knew you were back and rested, they had expected your duties to be minimal – that you were to be hidden away, locked in the castle as a crowned prisoner.

They were wrong.

Behind you, stood your father, the invader from this morning. Though he did not seem to pose a threat to you or the king, his army was still sprawled out around the courtyard. Any attempt would be thwarted with ease with both Brooken and York standing together like this.

“Bring them forth,” Steven called out. The crescendo of the people’s chatter became louder and louder as the two criminals were finally revealed.

Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce trudged through the crowd, being led by guards. Shock was expressed on many noble’s faces. Confused muttering shook the crowd as they stared on at the two men who wore black.

“What is he doing?” “Has he finally lost his mind?” “That’s his cousin!” “That’s his father’s sister’s boy!” “Pierce has been an ally to the crown for decades!” “It’s the queen’s doing!” “She’s manipulating him.” “She’s made him a monster.” “No… He’s already been one for years.” “That’s his cousin, his father’s sister’s son!” “He wouldn’t dare.” “He’s a monster.”

The whispers didn’t stop. It felt as if the people were turning their back on Steven, losing hope, respect, and trust. He had yet to say a word that was heard by the crowd. Their mutterings became louder and louder, drowning him out, calling him a monster, saying he shouldn’t wear the crown. They called him mad and cruel, saying he lashed out – disguising his insanity and using treason as an excuse to blindly kill.

It wouldn’t stop. The vile accusations against him were deafening. You stared at the crowd, listening to every word spat out. It sounded like a long continuous scream.

The wails bringing you back to the violent sways of the boat. The nausea induced by the mercenary’s poor command of the boat. Seeing the man on top of Wanda. Hearing her screams of pain and pleads for help. The sticky blood on your hands as you stabbed him. You remembered the sharp shove he gave to your stomach – to your child. The ripping of your dress as he spat, “I should’ve raped you first” with his hands wrapped around your throat. The metallic taste of blood after Wanda slit the man’s throat open. You remembered her falling to the ground and the haunting lifeless look on her face. The terrible cramping pain in your stomach and the discomfort in your back. You remember the blood pooling underneath you as you lost your child.

Everything hitting you all at once. The anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The loss. It all spiraled together, morphing into one hideous feeling that you couldn’t describe. It bubbled in your throat, demanding to be let out.

“SILENCE!” You didn’t even recognize your own voice that bounced throughout the kingdom. It was so loud that you were sure your mother could’ve heard it in York. Maybe the true Mad King heard it from wherever he was.

The entire crowd fell into silence, surprised at your outburst. Steven looked over to you. His own frustration and anger melted into pure concern as he watched your shoulders rise and fall with every breath you took. He called your name but you didn’t hear it, basking in the silence as you wordlessly commanded the respect and attention of everyone in attendance.

Steven couldn’t help but smirk proudly at his queen as you stepped forward from your position, glaring at the crowd.

“You want to call your king a monster?” You asked them. “You have no idea what he has done to protect this kingdom… He has done nothing but protect each and every one of you. Whether the threat be my own father or foreign invaders,” you glared at the two bound men in black, “or lords who plot and conspire for his demise. He’s on the frontline of every battle when he could simply cower in the castle along with the rest of you. And you want to call him the monster?”

You gestured to the chained men. “Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce are the true monsters. They’re the shadows that lurk in the dark. Their the ghosts that haunt the castle. They prey on your fears, they isolate you, they manipulate you.”

You walked to the de-tongued Pierce, a shell of the noble he once was – thanks to your father. “Alexander Pierce brought King Steven two wives. Both from the same house. Both who have died. Everyone’s quick to tell the story that the king murdered his wives. They refused to give him an heir, so he ridded himself of their incompetency, right? I believed that story, too. But no one tells the truth of how Pierce deliberately chose wives of a house who swore allegiance to King Thanos.

“Brock Rumlow manipulated his way into my circle. He fed me lies of how Steven murdered his wives, confirmed untrue rumors – all to turn me against my own husband.” You looked over to Steven, who had a proud look on his face as he watched his wife take control of the situation. “I should’ve believed you, my love. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“These two men orchestrated to have me and my ladies murdered. They posted as people I could trust, promised me protection from a man they said was a threat. They arranged for my friends and I to be murdered on a boat. They hired a mercenary who rap – “you stopped yourself. The word had a foul taste that you could not stomach. “They hired a mercenary who murdered Lady Wanda Maximoff before my eyes. They’re responsible for the death of my child, the heir to Brooken.”

That fact alone stunned many. They were all quick to resent their queen because you had spent months childless… Little did they know they lost their heir they were so desperate to have.

“They’re monsters and if you cannot see that for yourselves, then you, too, will be on this platform next. Call me a killer. Call me ruthless. Call me the monster. I’ll accept it all. I’ve lost a friend and I’ve lost a child. And if their executions and your spiteful rumors are what I must pay for a moment of vengeance, then so be it.”

The crowd remained silent as they took in every word. They may never know what fact is and what is fiction, but everyone can agree that the hurt and the pain in your voice was completely genuine. No one could feign that type of grief.

Steven took a step forward, grabbing your hand and rubbing soothing circles onto the back of it. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before turning towards the two men.

“We needn’t relive the torment you’ve brought upon my wife. You both are guilty of treason, and everyone knows it,” Steven told them, directly. “I, King Steven Rogers of Brooken, with the witnesses of my wife, Queen (Y/N) Rogers and King Anthony Stark of York, sentence you to death for your treason.”

Brock had called your name. He begged for his life. He begged for mercy. He stared into your eyes, pleading for a shred of empathy or compassion. He knew you had it in you – he saw it when you defended your friends fiercely, when you tried to stop your husband from executing the old crone. But he was met with angry, cold eyes as he heard his cousin call for his sword.

Pierce was the first to go. He was brought to the executioner’s block with no hassle – he did not fight. He knew when he had lost and he would lose with any dignity he had left. Steven’s blow was quick and neat. The head fell into the basket with a soft thud as the body was removed from the block.

Rumlow thrashed in the guards’ arms. He begged and he called for your name. He sputtered out apologizes for his crimes in hopes for any ounce of mercy that could be thrown his way.

“Stop.” You said before your husband could lift his sword. “Get him on his feet.”

“(Y/N).” Steven warned, but you repeated your order. The king sent you a weary look before gesturing for the guards to lift his cousin.

Steven watched as you marched over and gave Brock a kind smile. Relief flooded through Rumlow as you fixed the black collar of his shirt.

“You don’t deserve a fast death.” You told him. Though your voice was soft, it was heard throughout the eerily silent courtyard.

Before he could process your words, you gave a swift, deep cut to his throat with a dagger no one knew you were hiding. After the attempt on your life, you always ensured that you had some form of a weapon on your person.

He choked on his own blood as the crimson spurted out from the deep gash. You watched with little remorse as he fell to the ground, clawing at his neck. You didn’t shift your eyes away as you did when Sister Mary was beheaded. No. You wanted to see your enemies fall.

Once he laid lifeless on the platform, you turned and made your way off the platform and back into the castle.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Your farewells with your father were bittersweet and fast. You wished him safe travels as you gave him a sword – specially made for your little brother’s name day. You noticed the saddened look on your father’s face upon hearing Harvey’s name, but you decided not to press him about it.

You watched from the balcony as he and his army disappeared into the horizon. Your hands were still shaking – something you hadn’t thought would happen once you took Brock’s life. Though you have bathed – and re-bathed – immediately after the executions, your hands still felt sticky even if you only had a few splatters of blood on them.

You were too lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Steven slowly walk over to your position. You jumped when his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked you. He noticed how you were still trembling.

“I killed him.” You said. “I looked him in his eyes and took his life.”

“If you weren’t shaking, I would ask myself if I had married a coldblooded killer.” He joked lightly, but you scoffed at him. He kissed your temple. “But I know you are not a murderer.”

“As I know you are not a monster.” You whispered. “I couldn’t stand there and listen to them whispering anymore,” you shook your head. “I do apologize for thinking such things.”

“You had reason to believe it. I do not blame you.”

“You should be angry.”

“I am not.” Steven assured. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” You responded, leaning into him. “Is it over? Is this unrest finally over?”

“It never is.” Steven sighed. “But now, everyone knows… They can’t turn us against each other. We stand together. King and Queen. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are taking strides to a brighter Brooken. Together.”

You smiled at the thought. You basked in Steven’s arms. The security the bring. The feeling of home.

You turned to face him and pulled him down for a kiss. Sweet and passionate. Lips melting together as if they had always belonged there. You pushed Steven backwards towards the room. He broke the kiss as he watched you close the balcony doors. You smiled at him before you cupped his jaw with your hands to reconnect the kiss.

You kept pushing and pushing until the back of Steven’s knees hit the back of the bed. He pulled away from you, combing the loose strands away from your face before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “We needn’t do this if you aren’t ready.” He told you. He was afraid that his desire for you would overwhelm you. Though some time had passed since the incident, he did not want to make you feel pressured in any way.

You shook your head. You tried to bring his lips back to yours, but he thwarted your attempt. “Steven…” You whined.

He chuckled, cupping your face with his large hands. “You needn’t give me an heir… Not yet. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Steven…” you frowned. “I want this. I want you.”

He shook his head. “We don’t need an heir… Not yet. I am happy with just you.”

You groaned at him. “If we have a child this night or the next, it makes little difference to me. I’m not trying to have an heir. I want to make love to you because I love you.”

He smiled. That warm smile that sent butterflies to your stomach. He kissed your lips once. Twice. And a third kiss one from an eager husband ready to make love to his wife.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six Months Later…

You let out an erotic moan, one that quite possibly awoke the entire castle. Not that you nor your husband minded as your hips rutted against his as you both came down from your highs. Exhausted, you slumped down to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. He pressed a kiss to your glistening forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Three sharp knocks were stamped into the wood of your bedchamber’s doors. You and Steven frowned at one another. It was late at night, who could it be?

You quickly got off your husband and wrapped yourself in a robe as he did the same. He walked over to the door to find Lord Barnes, who was supposed to be vacationing in his chateau with his new wife, Lady Natasha. “What’s wrong, James?” Steven asked the obviously exhausted lord.

“Your majesties…” He said, winded. “There’s an emergency. Please. Come to the throne room now.” Steven asked for privacy so that you both may properly dress.

Your bare feet padded against the tiles as you hurried walked hand in hand with Steven. “What’s happened?” You asked Lord Barnes as he rounded the corner towards the throne room. When he didn’t answer, you asked again. He pushed the doors open and you gasped. “Mother?”

“Oh, my sweet child,” your mother sighed out in relief. She held baby Morgan in her hands, the infant had grown in your time away. You rushed to her side and gave her a hug, cooing at your baby sister who babbled happily as she recognized your voice.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Your husband asked.

“Always great to see you, Steve.” Your mother smiled.

“Pepper,” he greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “As much as I find your company a delight, it’s in the middle of the night… It’s winter. Travel is rather troublesome in the north, even for a three-day journey.”

“Where’s father?” You asked. “And Harvey?”

Your mother sighed sadly. Your face dropping. You looked to Natasha who stood with her husband and the guards you recognized belonged to your father’s kingsguard. “What’s happened?” You asked.

“York’s been invaded by Thanos.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #bring him light

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fluffi · 4 years ago

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𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍

pairing: yeonjun x reader

genre: 98% fluff, 2% angst, christmas!au, carolling!au

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: this is day 22 of the christmas moacabin event by @moacabinet! if im going to be honest, not proud of this one, i feel like i could’ve done better with this plot, but regardless, enjoy!

warnings: extremely vague mentions of dog poop

- - -

“So...you must be my caroling partner? Choi Yeonjun, right?” You scanned the familiar boy up and down.

You had volunteered to participate in this year’s caroling event, but you had expected to be placed in a huge group with tons of other people — not stuck with one partner. You hoped that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of your neighbors, and more importantly, Yeonjun.

However, you didn’t mind being stuck with him. Yeonjun was that one dude in school that no one could ever seem to get away from. He was tall, handsome, and his constantly-changing hanging hair just made him all the more mysterious. He was kind, fun, and a social butterfly. The two of you were in the same biology class, but you had different friend groups, and you only heard his loud life-of-the-party voice before class started.

You didn’t know him, but you were already a simp.

Yeonjun smiled and stuck out his hand. “On the document it says you’re my partner? Y/N L/N right?”

“Mmhm, the list says that we need to go to three houses tonight. You think you can manage?” You squint your eyes as you challenge him. Maybe having just one partner isn’t so bad after all.

“Oh, I’m ready. I just don’t know how you’re going to handle singing next to me.” He smirked back at you.

Feeling a little flustered, you diverted the topic. “Let’s walk to the first house? My list says it’s Mrs. Kim’s. Ugh, she probably hates me for that dog-poop-on-her-fake-grass accident.” I mean, it's been a year, but we haven’t talked since.

“Don’t worry. I’ll win her over with my vocals.” He trailed behind you as you rolled your eyes and shuffled your way to the first of many houses in the cold night.

“Ah! Y/N! I haven’t seen you in so long! The last time we met...hm...was it that one time Pokie pooped in my front yard?” Mrs. Kim passive aggressively smiled at you, and continued her statement. “You know, I had just laid down my fake grass that day, for Pokie to release her diarrhea all over it. I wasted my entire evening trying to clean it. Fun times.”

Yeonjun smirked at you, but surprisingly, responded back. “Mrs. Kim, how about we sing you some Christmas songs as some compensation for the horrible, horrible, deed Y/N and her dog did to you a year ago? We won’t take long, we promise.”

You scoffed and side-eyed Yeonjun, but pulled out your sheet music and picked “Jingle Bell Rock” as your first song. Mrs. Kim crossed her arms and squinted her eyes but nonetheless, she leaned against the side of her door frame, waiting to see whether you could prove yourself from the, in her opinion, disastrous event that took place.

Yeonjun counted the both of you down into the song. Sweet harmonies and melodies began to echo throughout your neighborhood’s street. For familiar strangers to be partnered last minute without practice, the two of you were doing great.

You focused on your sheet music to keep in time, but you kept getting distracted by Yeonjun’s beautiful voice. You didn’t know how to describe it, it was mellow and smooth, yet possessed a tinge of roughness to them. You liked it. Plus, he was singing Jingle Bell Rock with adlibs, and making it sound like something Mariah Carey would produce. Even Mrs. Kim was impressed as she had starting bopping her head and enjoying the moment.

---

The two of you had sung 2 songs at Mrs. Kim’s doorstep, and now both of you were in the middle of the last one, “All I Want for Christmas”. Truthfully, you were getting tired and your throat was a little sore. Only one more song and two more houses to go, you’ll be fine Y/N.

You were so focused on getting the tune and melody right (especially in front of Mrs. Kim) that you hadn’t noticed that you were singing by yourself. Startled, you abruptly turned your head to Yeonjun and gasped. He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head at you.

“Keep singing, Y/N. Your voice sounds great.” He whispered, and smiled.

Nervous but unable to do anything about his stubbornness, you finished the rest of the Mariah Carey hit yourself.

Oh, I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

Baby, all I want for Christmas... is you

You sighed in relief and bowed a little. That was actually a decent attempt, Y/N. At least you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of Yeonjun.

Mrs. Kim applauded and nodded her head in approval. “I didn’t know that the both of you were such good singers. I guess this will do as compensation Y/N, good job, I loved your little solo at the end. See you kiddos around, and be careful out there, the sun is already going down.” She chuckled for a bit and then shut the door.

As soon as the front door was closed, you turned to Yeonjun.

“Dude, why’d you stop singing? I literally embarrassed myself and you just stood there smiling at me! If I knew that I was going to get such a douche partner then I wouldn’t have joined in the first place!” You huffed at Yeonjun.

Instead of rebutting back like you expected him to, Yeonjun just smirked. “Chill, Y/N. I only stopped singing because I thought you sounded good. With such a beautiful voice, how can i let it go to waste if I don’t let you showcase some of your talent.” The cheeky boy then winked, or, more suitably, made an attempt to wink.

You rolled your eyes, but on the inside you were absolutely flustered. Is this boy really flirting with me?

Obviously you were touched by this statement, but you weren’t going to show it to him. With your head held high and arms crossed, you scoffed at him and started walking to the next house.

---

“I had fun today, I hope you did too, Y/Nie.” Yeonjun smiled and patted your back.

He had offered to walk you home since it was dark outside, and he didn’t live too far away.

“Yeah, it was fun, I guess.” You were looking down at the ground, conflicted with your feelings. He called me cute, he just called me Y/Nie, he complimented my voice multiple times, and he keeps smiling at me weird. Choi Yeonjun, social elite in school...what is he doing?

“...Y/N? Y/N? What’s wrong? C’mon, don't tell me you’re still mad from me letting you sing by yourself at Mrs. Kim’s?” Yeonjun teased, but you swore there was a hint of concern at the beginning of his statement.

It’s now or never Y/N, shoot your shot when you can.

You sighed, and stopped in your tracks. “Uh, Yeonjun. Would you...wanna...go out with me to the new café downtown?”

Yeonjun seemed to hesitate, and scratched the back of his neck. You immediately regretted your statement.

“No, no....uh, I’m sorry, it’s just tonight you were so-”

“No, no, no, It’s not that. I’m just trying to diet right now. How about a date at the jukebox? I would love to see you sing even more, for real.” he sheepishly smiled and stepped closer to you.

“Okay, deal.”

“Deal?” He placed an arm around your shoulder and looked straight into your eyes. “I’ll pick you up at 4 next Saturday.”

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

- - -

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loki-hargreeves · 4 years ago

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Once Upon A Dream - Loki x Reader [Ch. 3]

[Previous chapter] ~ [Next chapter] Warnings: blood, self inflicted wound, angst, mentions of torture, self-deprecating thoughts, sentimental stuff and the battle of New York (action, fighting etc) Word Count: 9,5K Chapter Summary: You and Loki are finally alone and seemingly no one can bother you. He begins to tell you parts of your past. Nothing good lasts forever, since Erik Selvig arrives with the tesseract and Loki has to set his plan in motion. Turns out that the both of you are fighting for the same thing; freedom, but under very different circumstances. Author’s Note: This doesn’t follow the exact order of the events in the film. I changed a few things to suit the plot better. Other than that, I hope you’ll enjoy it! Listen to: Once Upon A Dream playlist

THIRD POV

[CH 3 All I’ve Ever Known]

~ And now my memory seems to be failing me

What once was fantasy is all I've ever known ~

Escaping with Loki, taking his hand and joining his unknown master-plan, was perhaps the most exciting and frightening thing Y/N had done. It was something she chose to do out of her own will, despite knowing damn well it wasn’t the right thing to do. Helping a prisoner escape? Aiding him in something that S.H.I.E.L.D. viewed as a threat? It was so wrong, but it felt so right.

Perhaps the unlawfulness and rebellious side of it all was what excited her so much. She knew that she was closer to getting the answers she had only dreamt of hearing for so long. Finally, it was her time to shine.

Loki wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what had to be done in order for them to escape unnoticed -- for now. The Hulk was free and the Avengers were too busy trying to calm the raging beast down, so they didn’t have time to think about Loki or Y/N. Not really. The thought of asking for her help certainly didn’t cross their mind.

And when they eventually would come to notice that someone was missing, it would be too late.

As they escaped the massive helicallier, there wasn’t much time to propose questions. They both had one thing on mind, and it was the get out of there as fast as possible.

Watching from the side as Loki used the powerful sceptre to take control over people’s minds was haunting. He didn’t look proud of as he turned the pilots into his puppets, but it was necessary. The entire time from the moment they left the helicarrier and eventually ended up in the city of New York felt like a heartbeat. One moment she had been working with the Avengers so she could gain her freedom, and now she stood by Loki’s side and she felt as free as a bird. It all happened incredibly fast.

“Why are we here?” Y/N wasn’t sure if she had spoken until now. Everything was a haze in her overwhelmed mind.

Loki had been determined to get them on the Stark tower. It stood proud between the other skyscrapers and from up above, they could see the city as far as their eyes would let them. It stretched so far that it was difficult to believe it was real. In every building there were people, the streets were full of cars and it was loud. But not loud enough to disturb them so high up above the ground. It was almost peaceful.

“It’s the perfect place for the plan,” Loki answered quite vaguely. Earlier, when they had been alone, he had been quite sweet and well focused on her. Right now, he avoided her gaze and failed to stay still for a few seconds. It was clear that he was on edge, but she didn’t know why.

Was it the plan?

What was he doing anyway?

“Mind telling me about it?” Y/N felt like she was playing with fire. But at the end of the day, she had risked everything to join him. In her mind, she deserved to know. Perhaps, she could help him fulfill this plan of his.

Loki stilled. He wasn’t proud of what he had to do, but he couldn’t stop now. Even if he wanted it to stop, he wasn’t sure if his body would comply. There were invisible strings attached to him and when he tried to fight it, he felt lost and helpless. Those terrible feelings reminded him of what his life had been recently, ever since he let go of the spear and fell off the Bifrost bridge. In his mind, death would’ve been more merciful than the destiny that followed.

If he didn’t do as planned, he feared he would return to the world of raw pain. Or worse, that Y/N would take his seat in the torturous hell and he would be in the audience. She might’ve not remembered him, but Loki remembered everything.

“Are you okay?” She noticed that her question pained him.

“I will be,” Loki faked a smile, hoping that it would relieve her. He knew how stubborn she could be, or how stubborn she had been before. He wondered if he could distract her from his plan by mentioning their past? The thought alone made his heart ache. It felt so wrong to make her remember them when he was going to break her all over again. Surely, she’d hate him for what he was about to do.

They had time to spare as they waited for the earthly doctor to deliver the final piece to the massive puzzle. Loki put down the sceptre, and when his skin lost touch with it, he felt more relaxed immediately. He faced Y/N who had been following him closely. They stood inside the penthouse where they were sheltered from everything, even if it was only for a brief moment. It was warm, and the place smelled clean. Could he notice the trace of wine lingering in the air?

“I believe it’s time for me to hold up to my end of the bargain,” Loki skillfully geared the conversation away from the big plan to the past. It almost hurt to see the ray of hope shining in her eyes.

“Really?” She sounded excited.

Loki gestured for her to take a seat on the couch. If he was in her shoes, he would’ve needed a seat. “It’s a long story.”

They sat down beside each other, which reminded Y/N much of her previous dream. Only this time, Loki was the Loki she knew, not the romantic man who had kissed her tears away. Her heart was beating faster as time passed and she could feel it drumming against her rib cage. This was it. The moment she had waited for for so long.

“You are not who you think you are. This place,” Loki pointed out of the window, vaguely gesturing at the realm of Midgard, “This realm isn’t your home. You come from Asgard,” Loki finally poured some truth in the mixture of lies she had bathed in.

She was Asgardian?

The thought of being from another planet was absurd. It made her lose her breath and she felt small, rather vulnerable. It was unbelievable. If anyone else had told her she wasn’t even from planet Earth, she might’ve laughed it off. But this was someone who knew her. It made sense that she wasn’t even human, yet hearing it was strange. Her skin felt cold and she was trapped. Did it mean she had a family as far away as on Asgard? A past? A vivid life where she once knew joy?

Loki recognized the look on her face. It hadn’t been too long since he had felt like her too. When he discovered his whole life was not but a lie, that he belonged to a race he was raised to hate. It hurt.

In a desperate attempt to comfort her, Loki gently took her hand in his. It had been too long since he had felt her skin against his, and he wished sincerely that it would spark a memory in her of their shared past.

“We knew each other,” Y/N mumbled, trying to hold onto flashes of memories that passed her mind but to no avail. “How?”

How could Loki ever begin to explain to her what they had? It was so deep-rooted that he was sure there weren’t words good enough to describe what they had. That’s when he remembered something. He turned her hand so her palm faced the ceiling and they could both see it clearly. Carefully, he put his own palm above hers.

“Have you heard of soulmates?” Loki wondered. By now, he wasn’t a threat or an intimidating enemy of people. He seemed like a nervous man who was about to confess his feelings to someone.

She had heard of soulmates in her dreams. “I have,” Y/N admitted carefully, wondering if they truly were soulmates. It seemed crazy, like something out of a storybook. But it would also explain quite many things.

“This might be a lot, but hear me out,” Loki began tracing his fingertips on her skin, running them on her palm which made goosebumps rise on her skin. How could some who fought so harshly be this gentle?

“I was told from a very young age, that soulmates are two people who are carved from the same branch of the tree of life. From the very beginning, they have been connected. They share the same star,” He explained it with passion in his voice. His hand stilled above hers. When he turned his palm up and placed it next to hers, he revealed something new.

A pattern had appeared on their palms that Y/N had never seen before. They were identical. A star constellation that shone on their skins. She noticed nine stars, but only seven of them shone brightly. The two others were dull compared to the rest. Nevertheless, their palms resembled puddles of magic as the constellations moved ever so slightly. The sight of the stars moving in sync was astonishing. They were beautiful. So many questions began to run circles in her mind.

“I suppose to answer your question, we’re soulmates. But it has never been quite that simple. Yes, we were lucky to be born and alive at the same time, but life challenged us.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and faced him worriedly. She swore she saw suffering deep in his expression. Facing Loki and knowing they were soulmates was like looking at him through new lenses. She wished they had the time and the peace to talk things through with time and consideration. But reality was a painful weight on her shoulders. Although they were like this now, it wouldn’t last long.

“I’ll tell you more of it eventually. To keep a long story short, when Odin found out about us, he wasn’t too pleased. He made it very clear that we weren’t supposed to stay in touch, but,” He paused for a moment as a genuine smile spread on his face, “we never listened to him.”

Loki used his magic to paint a fuller picture. He turned their reality into an illusion so they no longer were in the Stark penthouse. Instead, they were on Asgard. It was a place from his deepest memories, from the time he was younger. Asgard looked as great as ever. The streets were full of people, the sun was shining above their heads and it smelled like fresh bread. There was a bakery nearby.

Y/N watched in awe as she took in the surroundings. She could remember this place, and she wasn’t sure how. It made her feel at home and safe.

“Your parents owned a bakery in Asgard,” Loki broke the silence. He stood up and so did she, keeping the distance between them short. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve believed him if he said they had teleported to Asgard. It looked so real.

She wasn’t sure what to say. As Loki began walking towards the bakery where the lovely scent came from, she followed. The next thing she knew, they were looking in through the wide window.

Inside they could see a small family. Once Y/N saw their faces, she recognized them. The woman with the warm smile and orange dress was her mother. She was beautiful, and joy and kindness radiated from her. Beside her, by the oven where bread was being made was a shorter man. He wore an apron and he looked delighted. His voice was deep, although she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Deep down, Y/N knew it was her father.

The next person she saw was herself, but she was much younger. She watched as her child self ran in through the door to greet her parents with a hug. Although she hardly remembered anything of her past, she somehow knew exactly what happened next. She told them about her school day, and then she tasted the new bread her parents had made. She was the one who named it and they sold the bread as ‘sun bread´.

It was a bittersweet thing to witness. There had truly been a time when she had been this happy and full of life. She had a family that loved her. Her heart swelled in her chest and she missed that. Where were they now? Did they know she was alive?

“A few years after this, you welcomed a little brother into your family,” Loki let her enjoy the memory for a little longer until he changed it. Suddenly, the bakery was gone. They were at a healer’s place. The only light in the room came from behind the curtains. Despite the dim lighting, they saw well. There was a bed in the middle and the same faces were there.

Y/N’s mother was holding a crying baby in her arms, as Y/N and her father walked in to greet them.

Loki didn’t have to say it. Y/N already knew that this was when their family was complete. It was just the four of them but they were content and delighted.

A memory sparked deep in her mind and it sent shivers down her spine. “That’s Vragi,” She remembered her baby brother’s name. By now, she had tears in her eyes. How could she have forgotten about them?

To hear her say his name surprised Loki. He knew that showing her visions of her past would jog her memory, but he hadn’t expected her to recover any memories so fast. Nevertheless, it made him happy. That was a wonderful sign.

“Yes,” Loki confirmed that she was indeed correct. “He grew up to be a guard at the palace. I believe he’s still doing well,” He wanted her to know that her brother was still alive. What she didn’t know was that he believed she was dead. Vragi had turned bitter for a while after he learned how the palace treated his sister, but he hadn’t been able to afford losing his job. Loki wondered how he was doing now.

“What about my parents?” Y/N had to know. She turned to face Loki with curious eyes. Her heart felt heavy as she feared the worst. As long as they would be alive and well, she would be happy.

Loki wasn’t sure how he would tell it to her. Being the bringer of bad news was never fun. “Your mother, she is doing well. She still runs the bakery, as far as I’m aware.”

“And my father?”

She deserved to know the truth. Loki already knew it wouldn’t make her happy, but he was strong enough to tell the story to her. He took a deep breath and faced her directly.

“After you were pronounced dead, he refused to believe the news. He went searching for you beyond Asgard’s borders and no one has seen or heard from him since.”

He was gone.

Y/N’s heart sunk to her stomach and she felt physically ill. Had her father died because of her? How was she supposed to be dead? It didn’t make any sense at all.

The only thing that was clear was her sense of guilt. She wished that her father was alive, but if she would learn he had died while searching for her, she would never forgive herself.

“H-how...how am I dead, Loki? Why do people think I’m dead?!”

He wasn’t entirely sure of how he could explain it to her. Was it all on Odin? Was he the one to be blamed, or had Loki a say in it as well? Did she want to be pronounced dead? There were too many loose threads.

The illusion around them turned dark, until it was pitch black around them. It looked like they had stepped into a void.

“I don’t know,” Loki admitted after a while. “I think that only you know the truth, Y/N.”

How ironic. She was the only one with the key to the past, and she couldn’t remember a damn thing.

Suddenly the elevator doors opened which startled both Loki and Y/N. The dark surroundings around them fractured like glass and eventually vanished into thin air, returning them to the penthouse. Loki was ready to attack whoever entered the penthouse, until he saw who it was and he relaxed his shoulders. Loki let out a breath of relief as he saw Erik Selvig with the briefcase. Quickly, he gave Y/N an apologetic look for having to end their conversation so abruptly. After all, they were just getting started.

“Finally,” Loki took the briefcase from the man and felt thrilled. If only he could use that power by himself. It was a shame where it was going to after this.

“What’s that?” Y/N wanted to know. For the sake of her own sanity, she tried to ignore everything that just happened. It was something that would keep her up at night, and distract her. In order to work with Loki, she had to put it aside. It wasn’t easy, but she had learned to control her mind when needed.

She was right by Loki’s side as he opened it, just to make sure it was still there. When he briefcase opened, their eyes were met by a bright, blue light. It was almost too bright to look at.

“This is the tesseract.”

Y/N was fascinated by it. Not only was it beautiful to look at, but it contained so much energy. She could feel it radiating off it and she wanted to touch it, but didn’t. It contained so much raw power to touching it would probably not be a great idea.

That’s what S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to find. They were ready to put together a team of people like her just to get their hands on it again. Whatever it was, it must’ve been incredibly powerful and one of its kind.

Loki shut the briefcase and took a deep breath, “I think it’s best if you stay here. We have work to do.” He didn’t want her to see what they were going to do. Besides, there wasn’t much she could do; for now.

The big plan. Y/N had almost forgotten about it as her mind tried to process everything else. For some reason, Loki didn’t want to tell her what it was all about and it made her curious. How bad it could be?

Without wasting any time, Loki and Selvig walked to the balcony together. Loki grabbed the sceptre on his way, and he changed. His spine straightened and he carried himself differently. It’s like all he could focus on was his mission and he didn’t even glance back at her.

By now, Y/N was sure of one thing. The sceptre wasn’t good. Whenever she saw it, people acted strangely. Back on the helicarrier, the avengers had gotten bitter and they fought each other when the sceptre was nearby. Each time Loki held it, his softness vanished.

She was afraid of what was behind all of this. Or who. Who made Loki do this?

Y/N didn’t even notice that she was spiralling into a dark place until it felt like the world was closing in on her. Quickly, before she would make a fool of herself, she hurried into the nearest room. She yanked the door open, only to see a bathroom and it was good enough. As she closed the door and faced her own reflection, her breath stopped somewhere deep in her throat.

She was free

She had a soulmate

She was Asgardian

She had a family, and if her father was dead, it was all her fault...

Although she thought she could handle it all, she learned she had only been lying to herself. Knowing all that was overwhelming and she felt so awfully guilty. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes and it was difficult to breathe.

“Keep yourself together,” She told herself strictly and tried to take a deep breath. Her body was shaking. It was all so overwhelming and it just had to take a toll on her now, at the worst possible time. When she looked at her palm, the stars had faded. Why were two of the stars dull? Once again, her eyes scanned her reflection on the huge mirror. The outfit she wore didn’t look like her. It was boring and it reminded her of the agents and soldiers who had been her only company for the previous decade. Then she scanned her face, the scars she had, even the one on her neck.

The tracking chip!

How could she have forgotten? There was a chip in her neck that surely led S.H.I.E.L.D. right to them. That was terrible!

“No, no, no, no...” In a panic, she opened the drawers and tried to find something she could use in order to get rid of it. Soon enough, she found a pair of scissors. Although the thought of digging something sharp and cold into her neck was gnarly, the thought of the Avengers showing up there any moment now was worse.

With shaking hands, she went for it. The microchip wasn’t that deep in her neck, and luckily, she knew exactly where it was too. By locating it with her powers, she tried to reach it with one of the blades of the sharp scissors. When it pierced her skin, she let out a series of curse words. It stung a lot, but it was nothing she wasn’t able to endure.

Blood started to pool from the small wound and it ran beneath her shirt, which felt uncomfortable, like wet sleeves after washing your hands. The scissors had done their job and she used tweezers to grab it. The microchip was incredibly tiny and grabbing it wasn’t easy. Blood had made it slick and it didn’t want to be held. Perhaps what was worse than the pain were the sounds. The wound was so close to her ear that she heard everything, making her sick.

Finally, after a battle with the tweezers, she pulled it out. After all those years, it was now on her palm. Despite the pain and the bloody mess she had made, she was happy. Having it out of her neck was just another tiny victory of her freedom. With her super strength, she was able to crush it beyond repair.

Loki couldn’t believe he had come so far. The portal opened and a powerful beam shot up at the sky. In a matter of seconds, it cracked a hole into the blue sky and he saw the darkness of the other end of the portal. Although the sight was powerful and captivating, it wasn’t something that eased him. He knew the destruction that would follow from creating the vortex.

Before Y/N could see it and jump to conclusions, he wanted to find her. She deserved to know what was happening, although it was the last thing he wanted to tell her. It all would’ve been so much easier if it had been true all along, that she was gone forever. But she was there, alive and very real. He felt safe leaving Selvig there alone, to keep the portal open.

To see the spacious apartment without her in the middle was concerning. Loki picked up his pace and decided to check the rooms. His mind went to the worst possibility at once. Had she left? Had something happened when he had turned his back on her?

He couldn’t say he felt relieved when he found her on the bathroom floor with her hand pressed against her neck. He saw dry blood all over her skin and she looked like she had been crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whimpered quietly.

Loki let go of the spear and joined her on the floor in a rush. He was worried for her sake, “what for?”

She raised her hand and revealed the microchip, that was broken by now. “They must know where we are.”

Loki genuinely felt sorry for her. He didn’t wish for her to carry guilt for that. Besides, they would certainly find them now with the portal that was currently pouring an army into the city.

“Y/N, they are bound to find us. It’s alright, it’s going to be alright,” Loki wasn’t sure if he even believed himself. Even if he succeeded and did what Thanos had wanted him to do, there was no guarantee that they would be alright after it all was over. But she didn’t need to hear that right now. She didn’t even know about Thanos.

Loki replaced her bloody hand with his and decided to help. He took a deep breath and focused on magic that was old but well known to him. Healing wounds was essential to someone like him. A green flicker of magic lit the room for a moment. Y/N felt a tingly sensation on her neck as Loki healed the small wound, making it look like it had never been there in the first place.

Now she just felt embarrassed for letting her emotions get the best of her.

“Thank you,” She cleared her throat and avoided Loki’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” Loki wondered. He knew the mindset she was in and it wasn’t healthy. Her entire life was changing and it was something that could break even the strongest of minds.

As Y/N wiped her dried tears away and took a deep breath, she made up her mind. “Yeah, I’m okay. It just got to me for a moment.”

Loki put his hand on her cheek, which made her look right into his eyes. “We’ll make it,” Loki tried to sound sure of it. “Once we finish this, nothing can some in our way.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Despite having no way of predicting the outcome of this battle, she found comfort in his words. That was good enough for the time they had. If only the circumstances were different. Loki would’ve done everything differently, but he had no choice. Time was running out.

“When you walk out of this room, everything will be different,” Loki tried to find a good way to tell her. He helped her back on her feet and for a moment, they stood there just facing each other.

Y/N had a terrible gut feeling.

“My bargain with the person I’m working with isn’t a sight for sore eyes. It’s...something disastrous. But it has to be done,” Loki was careful with his words.

“Loki, who are you working for?” It made no sense to her that someone as powerful as he was doing the dirty work of someone else. Whoever it was, they must’ve been a nightmare.

It was clear that this person made Loki uneasy. He looked scared for a moment, but he tried to mask it with a brave front. “Thanos. There are many words I could use to describe him. But I hope that I can put him in my past once this is all over.”

By now, Y/N couldn’t just stand there anymore. Her curiosity got the best of her as she stormed out of the bathroom, only to look through the large windows in the penthouse. What she saw was like a scene from a movie. The city that looked peaceful yet so busy a moment ago was now full of levitating alien creatures, some were destroying buildings and more of them came out from the sky.

She noticed the portal. The one that the tesseract had created.

“What is going on?” Y/N tried her best to stay calm and think of this from Loki’s perspective. Was there anything he could say or do to justify this? She was in so much shock that she couldn’t even tear her eyes off the sight.

He appeared right behind her and he too watched as chaos unfolded before their eyes. “The Chitauri army is here. In order to free myself from Thanos’ regime, we made a deal. I bring him the tesseract, and in return, I would get my freedom. But in his terms, my freedom is Earth.” As Loki remembered the torture he had gone through, he cringed. He remembered how the Other had threatened him by saying “If you fail if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.” They had tortured him for so many moons, and if that wasn’t pain enough, Loki didn’t want to imagine what they had in store for him.

It was conflicting. At times, Loki felt so confident in this plan. He was eager to follow through and become the king he knew he was, that he was born the be. A part of him wanted to succeed so Thor would feel his wrath. Then again, Loki found himself thinking he was doing something terrible, that he had to make it stop. He didn’t really care for humanity or the realm. To rule it wasn’t on the top of the list of his fantasies. Was it too late to turn back now? Possibly. The longer he thought about it, the less he seemed to know of his own needs and desires. He was simply a man with a mission.

Y/N didn’t know any of that. “What happens if you fail?” She genuinely wondered what could be so bad that Loki would do this in order to avoid.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. Loki wasn’t quite sure, but he knew it was terrible. If he thought the torture he felt through Thanos’ hand was bad enough, then he couldn’t imagine what concoction of terror he had planned for Loki next.

They faced each other. For a moment, in the middle of the havoc that was destroying everything that people knew to be safe and normal, nothing else existed. They both thought about it, about how much better it would’ve been if they had always been by each other’s side. If they had walked down a different path in life, would they be standing there right now?

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Loki,” Y/N knew he wasn’t going to answer her previous question. She truly meant that. She had a hatred for people after what they had done to her, but deep down she knew that not all of them were cruel. Hopefully, Loki’s plan wouldn’t risk too much. She wasn’t going to stop it though.

Both Loki and Y/N noticed a familiar man soaring through the sky, towards them. It was Iron Man, landing on another balcony while keeping direct eye contact with both Loki and Y/N.

The sight of him disarming himself and walking inside sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. She knew that this was only the beginning of something huge.

Loki didn’t want Y/N to get into trouble. Quickly thinking, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kept the other wrapped around the sceptre, holding her so she wouldn’t be able to escape, only as an act. The tip of the spear was pressed against her pulse.

At first, being grabbed by Loki made her flinch. Had he lied to her the entire time? Was he going to hurt her? Then she put the pieces together and realized what was going on. It was all an act.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Loki whispered in her ear from behind. One step at the time they made it toward the bar where Tony was making a drink. How bizarre.

Tony glanced at Y/N, unsure if she was a hostage or an enemy. For now, he couldn’t be sure so he had to assume she was still on their side. having her on the team would be remarkable. Tony had read her report and he knew that it was much better to have her as an ally rather than an enemy.

“Does she really have to suffer so you can succeed with your shenanigans?” Tony wondered, implying that Loki was ready to harm her.

Y/N tried to look afraid. A part of her was genuinely scared, but for entirely other reasons. Her breath was heavy and she was tense as she felt Loki’s touch on her body. It was almost nice if it wasn’t for the situation they were in. She was playing hostage as Iron Man stood before them. He probably had a plan in his mind and they had to be careful.

“Please tell me you’re trying to appeal to my humanity,” Loki mocked him. Right now, his voice was so deep and spiteful. Her back was pressed against his chest and she could feel his deep voice vibrating against her back as he spoke. She swore she could feel his heartbeat as well.

“Uhh, actually no,” Tony looked into Y/N’s eyes, and it seemed like he was trying to read her. It didn’t last long, as he continued his conversation with Loki. “I’m threatening you.”

Loki didn’t seem too impressed. Once again, the power of the sceptre made his only ambition to finish this job. “You should’ve left your armour on for that.”

Tony poured something into a glass and took a sip of the drink, acting as if this was an entirely normal situation. “Perhaps. Would you like a drink?”

“I won’t let her go if that’s your goal. Stalling me won’t help and it certainly won’t save her,” Loki’s words sounded so genuine that if Y/N hadn’t known any better, she would’ve been terrified.

Tony wondered why Loki hadn’t used his mind-bending powers on her yet. The entire hostage situation was strange. Was she more valuable to him without the brainwashing? He wanted to know.

“Are you sure?” Tony tried again. He needed as much time as he could get in order to proceed with his plan.

Loki loosened his grip on her ever so slightly. It would be easy for Y/N to untangle herself from him, but she didn’t need to nor did she want to. She knew that Loki trusted her to act if they met more enemies. She had made up her mind. She was going to stand by his side through the madness that was happening.

“The Chitauri army is here and you’re having a drink,” Loki wondered why the hero wasn’t out there, working with the precious Avengers. The longer Loki held the sceptre, the angrier he grew. The hatred and pain he felt inside turned stronger and it wasn’t good. The more he focused on all the negative feelings within himself, the less he cared about everything else.

“Fighting your army would be easier with her,” Tony looked at Y/N. “And we have to stop you.” He wanted free her from Loki so they could fight side by side. Tony could only dream of that.

“I have an army,” Loki felt the need to make that clear. How could they possibly defeat that?

“We have a Hulk.”

“I thought the beast had wandered off,” Loki admitted and Y/N silently agreed. She too thought they hadn’t possibly contained the raging beast. It certainly surprised her.

Tony’s easygoing attitude shifted. He took one glance at the outside world and suddenly seemed more serious. Was he afraid? Did the Chitauri make him uneasy?

“You’re missing the point. There’s no version of this where you come out at the top,” Tony sounded incredibly sure of himself. It sounded like he wanted piss Loki off, which was a terrible idea. “Maybe your army comes and maybe it's too much for us, but it's all on you. Because if we can't protect the Earth, you can be damned well sure we'll avenge it!”

Y/N felt Loki’s muscles tense as he grew more furious. Tony’s degrading words reminded him too much of Thor and their so called friends. His grip on the spear tightened and Y/N suddenly didn’t feel as comfortable being wrapped up against him anymore. Tony, with the drink in his hand, walked away from the bar and made his way closer to them. That’s when Loki pointed the sceptre at Tony instead of Y/N.

“One more step and you’ll be busy fighting your friends with her,” Loki threatened Tony.

What did he mean by that?

As soon as the words left Loki’s mouth, he pushed her to the side, rather harmlessly. Then he pushed the tip of the spear against Tony’s chest, right above the spot where his heart was supposed to be. It all happened incredibly fast. Y/N expected to see Tony turn into a mindless toy soldier, but absolutely nothing happened. How was he safe from the power of the sceptre? The sight baffled her.

Tony expected Y/N to rush to his aid. After all, he had hoped she was truly a hostage and that she was by their side. When he stood there and Loki confused over why his powers weren’t working, he knew it; Y/N was now an enemy.

Tony looked disappointed.

“This usually works,” Loki tried to understand how he was immune to such great power. It had never failed him before!

“Performance issues are quite common. I just didn’t think she’d tag along with you, knowing this-” Tony’s witty sentence was cut short when Loki grabbed his throat harshly, nearly crushing his windpipe. Then Loki sent Tony flying across the room. The glass shattered loudly and his drink spilt on the floor. He let out a pained grunt and tried to get up, but Loki was faster. He grabbed Tony’s neck and pulled him up again with ease as if a grown man weighed nothing at all.

Watching their fight unfold was intimidating. It was odd to see Loki so aggressive and angry when he had been so gentle with her. The look on Loki’s face radiated pure wrath. She watched as Loki flung Tony out of the window, just like that. He was falling to his death unless there was a miracle up his sleeve.

Despite siding with Loki, it was a frightening scene. Instinctively she ran toward the now smashed window and she looked down with her eyes wide open. A moment later, something flew right past her, nearly pushing her out of the window as well, and it chased the falling man.

Y/N turned around to look at Loki who was now enveloped in his own bitterness. Once again, the negative energy didn’t radiate from Loki, but the sceptre. It had completely surrounded him.

“Are you okay?” Y/N wanted to know. She kept her distance. Would Loki actually use the sceptre on her? Didn’t he trust her already?

Loki wasn’t sure why she would ask that. The Chitauri army had arrived and they would both be free very soon. Why wouldn’t he be okay?

“You are not doubting me, are you?” Loki wondered. He cared for her, but he couldn’t have her as his enemy. It would ruin everything. Maybe, just maybe he could defeat the other Avengers, but not her.

“No, I just-” She didn’t know what to say. Would he be upset if she pointed out how the sceptre affected him? “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

They were yet again cut off. Iron Man flew up to them and he was as good as new. They didn’t have a chance to wonder how he survived the fall as he shot a beam at Loki.

“No!” Y/N yelled out in surprise, afraid he got hurt. For a moment, she was terrified that he had hurt Loki. Before Tony could hurt him again, she formed energy blasts around her hands. The energy of the sceptre was strong and she was delighted when he learned she could use it to strengthen her own powers.

Tony was startled by the sight of her powers. His weapon was loaded and he was ready to shoot at Loki at any given moment, but he stalled, “You can still join us, Y/N. Whatever he promised you, it’s likely fake. You don’t have to do this.”

“Why would I want to help the people who kept me locked up for years?! You treated me like a villain!” She roared angrily, surprised by the outburst of emotion. Just a moment ago, she was much calmer but now the pain of her past bubbled in her veins. She wanted revenge even if it was the last thing she would achieve. “Maybe it’s time for me to play the part.”

Loki had gotten up from the ground. Tony’s attack had barely scratched him, but it had taken him by surprise. He was ready to fight Tony, but he was interested in Y/N’s outburst. It came out of nowhere and he saw power in her that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. The energy around her only grew stronger and he knew the impact she would create would be merciless.

“Don’t make me do this,” Tony almost sounded disappointed. Was he upset?

Y/N wasn’t. She unleashed the powerful blast right at him, and Tony was sent off with it, flying far away from them. For a moment, the heavy impact confused him. He was roaming back towards the ground for a while, but he saved himself just in time with the strong jets in his suit. Despite avoiding the impact with the ground, Tony had snapped his neck back so fast that it hurt him. For a moment, he felt incredibly light-headed.

Loki was impressed by this. He could only imagine how satisfying it must’ve been for her to get a taste of revenge on these people.

“That was impressive,” he said it out loud for her to hear. Only then Y/N snapped out of her trance.

She was shocked by her actions, but it was quickly replaced by joy. It felt so good to stand up for herself, even if the way she did it was wrong. “He deserved it,” Was all she could say.

The agent suit she had worn earlier didn’t feel right. Although Y/N barely had any memories of her past, she could imagine Asgardian armour, all the gold and the beautiful, vibrant fabrics. With the help of her magic that she was slowly able to use again, she changed her outfit. The dull and dark skintight outfit was gone and she wore new armour. It resembled Loki’s in many ways, but it had her written all over it. A cape of her favourite colour seemingly grew out of nowhere until it cascaded down her shoulders.

Loki lost his breath for a moment.

How did she recreate it? The last time he had seen her like that was on Asgard well over a century ago.

When she stretched her arms to see the details of the armour and the suit beneath it, she felt delighted. It just felt so right. Everything fit her perfectly and it looked amazing. Then something strange happened. A flash of a memory from long, long ago surprised her.

She saw herself in an unfamiliar place, a tall forest full of people. It smelled of smoke and fire, and the irony scent of blood. She saw many warriors in outfits that resembled what she was wearing. They were at war. In her memory, she was fighting someone on the ground. She had defeated her enemy and when she stood up, she saw Loki who was looking at her. The Loki in her memory seemed proud. He had dirt and blood on his face and his daggers were messy, but he looked just wonderful. It all ended as fast as it had begun.

“I haven’t seen you like that in a very long time,” Loki was the first one to break the silence. When had he walked right up to her?

“What do you mean?”

“Your armour,” Loki glanced at the tiny details on her shoulder blades, “It’s exactly what you wore in battles back in the good old days.”

Even if she didn’t remember everything that happened, it seemed like the knowledge was still in her muscle memory. Somehow she just knew how to change into this gear. It felt so natural. “Maybe it’s finally coming back?”

“I certainly hope so,” The sincere and kind Loki was back. They were together and they had a mission to complete. “I really do.”

“What are we going to do?” Y/N wondered. It was impossible to forget Tony’s threat. All of the Avengers were lurking right around the corner.

Loki put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to walk with him to the balcony. There they took in the sight of the Chitauri army. It wasn’t a pleasant sight at all. There was destruction everywhere. Despite knowing the army wasn’t from this planet, it was fitting to humanity. Destruction and chaos was everywhere.

“We must win this fight. Once the tesseract is with Thanos, I don’t know.”

She felt anxious just thinking about this Thanos person. “I don’t know?” She repeated his words, hoping he would elaborate.

“My first plan had been to stay here. I didn’t know you would be here too, Y/N. That changed everything,” Loki admitted. The universe had put her on his path for a good reason, but he hadn’t figured out how to move on now.

A quinjet flew around the building and Y/N saw Natasha’s familiar face. She was flying it with Clint, who was clearly his own self again. A moment later, Thor appeared with his mighty hammer. It looked like they were cornered, but they couldn’t possibly underestimate Loki and Y/N together.

The sight of their enemies fueled both of them with energy. This was a fight for freedom. Without saying another word, Y/N got into action. She used her powers to leap from the balcony to the quinjet, taking Natasha and Clint by surprise. Loki went the other way to fight Thor, which he had waited to do for a while now.

Being on top of the jet would’ve been terrifying if it wasn’t for the adrenaline that flowed through her veins. She held onto it tightly so they couldn’t shake her off the roof.

Through the speakers on the quinjet, Natasha spoke, “You have one chance to abandon Loki’s side and fight with us!”

Were they serious?

Y/N allowed her suffering to form new energy blasts. She directed her power into the ship and when she let go of the energy, her power tore off the wing. Just like that, the quinjet lost its course and it was time for her to find a new ride. As they neared the ground at a dangerous pace, Y/N jumped off the ship. She landed on a stranger’s balcony safely as the quinjet continued its destructive path.

There was no turning back now.

Loki had never fought Thor with such fiery hatred before. Not even when they fought back on Asgard. This was different. His negative feelings had doubled, either because of the time spent with Thanos, or because of the sceptre that fed his hatred. The mere sight of his so-called brother was enough to make his blood boil.

They were throwing punches at each other. Despite how strong Thor appeared on the outside, he struggled to fight Loki. Thor tried to hit Loki with Mjolnir, which Loki gracefully dodged and then delivered his brutal blows. As Loki swung the sceptre at Thor’s face, they both stopped for a moment. Why didn’t Thor fight back?

The moment Loki stalled to wonder what was going on, Thor had Loki pushed against the wall, but instead of knocking him out, Thor attempted to reach the Loki he once knew.

“Look at this!” Thor wanted Loki to truly see what he had caused.

Loki didn’t know why he did it, but he listened to Thor. Thor yanked the sceptre out of Loki’s grasp so Loki couldn’t use it against him. He simply stood there and watched as the Chitauri army ruined buildings and spread terror among humanity. For a moment, Loki felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t what he wanted. He simply wanted to be free from his past, and this was the only way to make it happen. He wished it was that simple, that he could make it stop and not worry about what would happen next. But if he made this stop, surely Thanos would find Y/N. He would find everyone Loki had ever cared about even slightly and hurt them. It would all be on Loki. He couldn’t risk that.

“Do you think this madness will end with your rule?” Thor continued harshly.

His words reminded Loki of why he despised Thor. He always believed he was better with Loki, that Loki wasn’t capable of doing anything right in his life. It was the spark his anger needed to get over the heart-to-heart Thor attempted to have with him.

“It’s too late,” Loki knew that deep in his heart. The portal was open, and he was so close to delivering the Tesseract to Thanos. If he stopped, and even if Thanos wouldn’t find him, there was no way Loki could walk away from this like nothing had ever happened. “It’s too late to stop it,” Loki explained and he wished he could’ve said it was too late to stop him. But Thor would never understand.

“No,” Thor sounded hopeful. “We can, together. You, me and Y/N.”

Loki stared at Thor in shock. How did he dare to use her against him? Last time Loki checked, Thor stood like a trained dog by Odin’s side as Odin threatened to banish Y/N merely for existing. Thor had let her walk a path of heartache just to she could look good in Odin’s eye. When Y/N had been pronounced dead, Thor had barely remembered who she was. Thor didn’t give a damn about her unless it was for his benefit.

“Sentiment,” Was all Loki could say as he used a dagger to push Thor off him. It sunk into his flesh through his thick armour, forcing Thor to take a step back, releasing Loki simultaneously.

Loki watched as Thor groaned in pain on his knees. He knew it was twisted, but he hoped Thor felt half the pain that he felt. That he regretted speaking of Y/N like he actually cared about her. Loki knew a lie when he heard one.

Before Thor could get up and fight him, Loki exited the scene. Ever so casually, he walked over the edge of the balcony. He only fell for a split second until he landed on a flying chariot. It was a smooth landing and he was happy to be far away from Thor, even if it would be for a few seconds.

Right now, he wanted to find Y/N and make sure she was alright. He didn’t doubt her powers, but they were in a special situation. Perhaps Loki’s worst fear was that one of Thanos’ children had arrived in the city for some reason. There was no way he could let them find her.

As he neared the ground, he saw people running away. Some were screaming, others were crying, some were frozen in shock. They looked at him like he was a monster.

Loki noticed a child further away, lost or simply otherwise alone. He was crying and calling out for his mother who was nowhere to be seen. The sight made his stomach turn in a sick way. Loki might’ve wanted a glorious war, but not like this. Before a piece from a building could fall on the poor child, he stopped it by using his magic. He grabbed the huge chunk of the building with his magic and pushed it so it landed further away, avoiding the child completely. Instead of smashing the human child, it smashed an empty vehicle. As soon as he was done, he flew away, not bearing to witness the look on the child’s face. He wasn’t playing hero, but he certainly wasn’t there to harm people for fun.

Unbeknownst to Loki, Y/N had been much closer than he anticipated. She returned to the Stark tower merely to find Loki. She wanted to make sure no one tried to close the portal. As much as she disliked the Chitauri, she knew Thanos must’ve been much worse. As she made her way up to the penthouse, she saw Thor. The sight of him made her regret going up there. Yes, she was powerful but so was he. And Thor was Asgardian. She wondered, had they met in the past? Before she could run the other way, Thor noticed her by the elevator and he marched toward her like an angry bull. She froze and decided to stay. Surely, she could fight him and his silly little hammer.

“You can make him stop this!” Thor pointed at her with the Mjolnir. He genuinely thought she wasn’t on Loki’s side. She assumed he was the type of person to see the good in others, even when it didn’t exist.

“Why would I do that?” Y/N decided to test him. It was a dangerous game but she wasn’t scared. It was exciting to see the shock on Thor’s face. He hadn’t expected to hear that from her mouth.

Thor had to let the words sink in for a moment. He had his suspicions of her when he first saw her. But so long ago, Thor had been told she was dead. He couldn’t possibly believe she was alive and in the Avengers project, fighting against Loki.

But now when he saw her like that, in her armour, by Loki’s side via devotion, he was sure of it. It was the Y/N he knew of back then. And she was still connected to Loki. Breaking that commitment would be difficult, if not impossible. Thor knew he had to do this the hard way.

“Do you really want to hurt these people?” Thor wondered. From what he remembered, she had been sweet and kind. Sure, a mighty warrior in battles but as a person, someone Loki had needed at the time and perhaps she had needed him too, just as much. Y/N had been so loving and Loki challenged her, in the best ways. They truly were soulmates, which was often times fantastic.

When soulmates teamed up and turned against others, it could be catastrophic.

“People won’t get hurt if you stop fighting it,” Y/N was sure of it. Loki wasn’t here to hurt people for sport. He only had to keep the fight going on so no one could stop him from delivering the Tesseract to Thanos.

“And then what? They would fall under Loki’s rule. Loki and humanity do not go well together!”

“Humanity sucks, Thor! They are cruel creatures who only care for themselves. Besides, Loki doesn’t want to rule this mess!” She was quick to bark back at him. Perhaps it had been the original plan, but Loki just told her he didn’t know what to do once it would all end.

Thor seemed confused. If not to rule humanity, why would he start a war?

Y/N continued, “We both just want to be free.”

“You can be free, if you stop this,” Thor tried his best to win her over with words.

Y/N didn’t believe Thor for one second. That would be pathetic of her. Her trust had shattered a long time ago. Loki was different because he had something real to back up his words.

To show Thor that she wasn’t having any of his tricks, she pulled out a weapon she hadn’t touched in a long time. Fishing it out from a pocket dimension, she grabbed it gracefully and smiled. It was her sword that had been her backbone in many situations before.

“I won’t let you stop him, Thor.”

“And I can’t let you help him.”

“So be it,” Y/N was disappointed that even Loki’s own brother couldn’t understand. She was ready to fight.

[Chapter 4]

A/N: Oh my god, I can’t believe how long it took me to continue this story. I’m so sorry! This year has simply been unbelievable. But I’m back at it again and I truly hope you can find some joy in this. If you do, I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts, even if you would simply smash your keyboard. Feedback makes my day and hearing from you guys inspires me so much. Have a great day 💚

Also there will definitely be more action and angry Loki in the next chapter. I just wanted some softness before the eventual chaos 👀

TAGS: @lokislittlecorner @angelicwolf98 @iraniq @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @chipmunkchick @chimera4plums @myraiswack @grincheveryday @surprisinglyaestheticinfj @kinghiddlestonanddixon @subtlemalice @alfoos @ayamenimthiriel @whimsicalwoodlands @strangemcuvlogs @green-valkyrie @i-have-arrived-bitch @alfoos @amwolowicz

#Once Upon a Dream #Loki fanfiction #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson imagine #Loki series #Loki imagine #Loki story #Loki angst #OUAD

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